#i will almost certainly clean this up later but for now i think the flaws in it add to it

[syn4k]

a question google can't answer

[ryttu3k]

Ta'varin 'Tae' Arkenval | Drow (Surface) | Circle of the Land Druid / Cleric of Eilistraee | They/Them | 94

Questions by @sporeservant , found here! A slightly more lighthearted set of answers for my fluffy pastel custom Tav when compared to my Durge, haha.

Favourite weapon: Phalar Aluve most beloved! They don't actually use it much? Like, they're very much not trained in using a longsword, haha. But they have an emotional attachment to it due to the connection to their Goddess, and so it's a permanent part of their gear.

Style of combat: Distance magic user. They mostly use stuff like Moonbeam, Spike Growth, and Call Lightning, although Sunbeam certainly becomes a late-game fave!

Most prized possession: As mentioned, very attached to Phalar Aluve.

Deepest desire: By the end of the game, it's to find a cure for Karlach. You don't willingly go to the Hells for someone you don't intend on helping to the fullest extend of your ability!

Guilty pleasure: They're most comfortable in the wilderness, but secretly… they really like shopping in the Wide.

Best-kept secret: They actually secretly really like the Underdark. It has this weird sort of beauty to it - glowing mushrooms and trees and all. It sort of feels like an insult to Eilistraee, but it's just… a cool vibe.

Greatest strength: A finely balanced combination of gentleness and forgiveness, and a willingness to murder someone if they deserve it. This may or may not be a strength.

Fatal flaw: A finely balanced combination of gentlene…

Favourite smell: Clean green loamy smells, the smell of the forest after rain. Also, freshly baked bread.

Favourite spell or cantrip: Speak With Animals their beloved. It was the first one they ever used (a scroll as a birthday gift) and is still their most-used.

Pet peeve: People who leave trash and stuff around their campsites. The traveller's chest just kept filling up with random trash they kept finding in the wilds so they could dispose of it later. Pick up your shit, people!!

Bad habit: Like. Eating leaves and flowers and mushrooms. One of the reasons they started learning herblore and the like was to work out what would be safe to randomly stick in their mouth. Their favourite is acorn truffle.

Hidden talent: A pretty dab hand with a grass whistle. PHWEET.

Leisure activity: Honestly they just love hanging out outside and chatting with animals. Catching up on gossip with the birds and all. They also enjoy reading and listening to music, and a bit of drawing (albeit not very well).

Favourite drink: Fruity teas. Technically at this point they're not actually teas, they're like, fruit infusions, but they're nice hot drinks with fruits. Tea!

Comfort food: Pumpkin soup, served with freshly-baked bread dripping with a good-quality olive oil, a good sweet caramelised vinegar, and sprinkled with nuts and spices (I'm thinking EVOO, caramelised balsamic, and dukkah specifically, although I don't think it'd be called that in Faerûn. The wiki does, at least, list sesame seeds, coriander/cilantro, cumin, and mint, and hazelnut oil that implies the existence of, well, hazelnuts, has olive oil, and has vinegars, so the dish itself would certainly be possible!). Shit now I'm hungry.

Favourite person: Karlach <3 Aside from their actual girlfriend, though, they adore and look up to Halsin - he reminds them a great deal of their wood elf grandfather, who, while not a druid, had a love of nature too that he instilled in young Tae.

Favoured display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Honestly they're almost like an animal themself in the sense that it's just… sitting and existing near a person they like. Not necessarily touching or talking (although they're not opposed to it!), just… chilling in their space.

Fondest childhood memory: Got that Speak With Animals scroll and was never the same again. Spent that entire birthday just wandering the forest and talking to every animal they could find.

[musicoalex]

My Father’s Ghost

Randomly, out of nowhere, several months after he had died I was sitting at home one day when out of the blue I heard my father’s voice, how he greeted me the randomly sporadic times he actually managed to call me…. I miss him… but who exactly is this “him” I miss? During the first few months immediately after his death I wasn’t entirely sure. But it is thanks to his passing from this world that I’m finally able to now fully feel, how he really loved me in his own misguided, deeply flawed, disconnected-from-reality, even useless way – he didn’t know me, not really, he didn’t know the man I’ve become, the person I’ve become. He didn’t know my favorite foods, my favorite TV shows or films, my favorite hobbies, he didn’t really know how much music and my career in it really mean to me. He didn’t let me or my younger sister fully get to know him either, and he completely and forever abandoned our older sister when she was only 6 years old.

I’ve exhausted so much energy being profoundly angry at him for all the horrible, truly awful things he said and did to me, my sister, and most of all my mother who got the brunt of it – one of my earliest life memories is of him punching my mother in the face; once while drunk he tried to kick her as she was holding my then toddler sister; he once told my mother she wouldn’t amount to anything without him were she to leave him, that she’d have to whore around just to be able to support us; (she finally did leave him when I was 11 and my sister was 4, to go on to support us for several years on only her pittance earnings working as a cleaning lady;) multiple times he didn’t bother picking up my sister from school because he was too hungover; when I was 19 he told me he’d never speak to me again for “not having the balls to stand up to my mother,” against her adamant wishes I not bring him food she’d cooked for me and my sister – he eventually broke his promise several months later and started speaking to me again, pretending nothing had ever happened, but things were never the same for me again, especially because I’d made a concerted effort to bond with him the prior summer…

and I’ve spent even more energy repressing that anger… and I’ve exhausted still even more energy repressing the sadness, the deeply profound, utterly heartbreaking sadness and disappointment that he wasn’t the father that I and my sisters needed and deserved, the husband my mother needed and deserved.

And yet… and yet… there was a genuine sweetness and joy in his voice those times he called me; I poignantly remember this iridescent smile he had this one time he unexpectedly ran into me on the subway – I somehow mustered courtesy and politeness for him from I don’t know where, even though I was very tired and cranky from a long day and couldn’t wait to get home.

How does one possibly reconcile these completely extreme polar opposites, these paradoxes?

…I wish I had lunch with him that one last time he invited me to – I was very willing, as I told him, but, as was almost always the case whenever he’d invite me to join him for a meal… I was never available any of the times he’d suggest. (And he only had a prepaid cell without texting or even voicemail, and he certainly never got an email address, so scheduling anything with him always proved maddeningly elusive.) Eventually I would burned out from perpetually trying to reach him to no avail – and he’d frequently vanish without a trace, often for months at a time – so there came a point I stopped going out of my way to try, even to return the sporadic random calls he’d capriciously make to me that I’d almost always inevitably miss, knowing full well I’d almost never be able to reach him or leave any kind of message. June 23, 2022 was the last such missed call I got from him before his passing about a week later on July 1st. I have to confess: I’m left wondering, “Was he scared the last few days and moments of his life? Did he think I hate him for not having had that final lunch with him? Or for not picking up the phone on that final call he made to me?”

…some time has passed since I’ve last written. I’ve since realized I’ve been missing him never apologizing for all his abuse, misdeeds, and mistreatment. I’d given up any illusions that he actually ever would’ve done it long, long ago… or at least I thought I had. Perhaps at some other level I was still hoping for the impossible – not that a mere apology could in any way ever undo all the harm he caused. And I even grew to have compassion for my father and all the demons he was battling: recently I learned he’d been molested by priests at the Catholic boarding school he was sent to as a child, and in addition to alcohol, upon his death my sister and I also discovered he had a cocaine addiction, the shock at learning which piled on even deeper consternation in particular to my younger sister’s already profound grief. So in one sense my heart breaks that my father became yet another statistic: an abuse survivor who goes on to propagate abuse unto others. But even with all this, an apology from him would’ve been something, SOMETHING. That very acknowledgment, that kind of bare minimum would’ve offered SOME peace. His death irrevocably sealed fate in a different direction, however, leaving behind a painful, indelibly omnipresent wound I’ll have have to find a way to cohabitate with.

[sam-t-a]

Okay. 

*Deep breath* 

I think I’m finally calm enough to put into words exactly why I hated the finale and why I wasn’t completely surprised that I hated it. 

(Heads-up: this is really long and pretty negative. If you disagree, I would of course appreciate your point of view and love to hear it, but just thought I’d let you know in case this is the kind of post you would like to avoid.)

To me, it felt like every character on the show got betrayed in some way or another, but the main ones are Han Seo (devastatingly), Chayoung (obviously) and Han Seok (bear with me). 

Cha Young: 

She started out as a solid FL who annoyed some people for sure, but who had so much promise as someone unconventional and bold. The way her mother’s death affected her and caused a clear shift in her personality was a super interesting plot point that really never got explored. We have no idea how she came to sacrifice her morality in joining Wusang, just that she wanted to spite her father, which is a very superficial exploration. She gets cute idiosyncrasies in lieu of an actual character and an actual character arc. 

We also, halfway through the show, seem to forget that her father's death was the initial trigger. Cha young does not suggest bold ideas or intricate plans, she doesn’t fill the gaps Vincenzo is incapable of filling (because that would require that Vincenzo have flaws, and that’s not something the writers can abide), and she’s literally victimized in episode 19 and bedridden in episode 20, and that is IT. 

Someone who started out supposedly as Vincenzo’s equal just became another piece in his chess set, no matter how important a piece she may be. 

So her role as a badass avenger is trashed. That leaves her role as a love interest. Now, as Vincenzo’s love interest, she was supposed to get kidnapped in like episode 5 or 6 at the most if the villain has any brains whatsoever (Han Seok may or may not, more on that later). We need a reason for that not to happen too early. Cue villain is somehow in love with her for all of 15 minutes or so throughout a 20-episode series because a love triangle is inconceivable with the show’s current structure and for its purposes. 

So, she spends 15 or so episodes making the first move on Vincenzo, every time, putting herself out there, creating cute moments, getting nothing in return, and then he leaves. No confession, nothing much, he wasn’t even going to say goodbye or give her the choice of coming with him. 

I’m sure more chayenzo-oriented fans have already expressed all the necessary outrage over this, so I’ll move on to the part that I’ve personally been way more emotionally invested in from the get go: the Jang brothers. 

Han Seo: 

I was among the minority that  hated the “Vinny hyung” angle from the get-go and I’ve ranted about it in another post, so I won’t get into it here in-depth, but basically it was because I felt like Vincenzo hadn’t earned it, so to have the last words Han Seo hears be “You deserve to be my brother” or whatever the fuck he was on about PISSED ME OFF. It’s VINCENZO who doesn’t deserve to be Han Seo’s brother and hasn’t done a single thing to earn it. He was a good ally. The situation he allowed Han Seo to be a part of was beneficial to him, but Han Seo’s attachment to him was neither healthy nor heartwarming, and it certainly wasn’t returned on the level he offered it.

Vincenzo’s disregard of his death didn’t strike me as odd because I never saw enough indications that this was a two-way street and Han Seo’s safety and well-being came second so often that I didn’t get the impression Vincenzo was doing much to keep him alive. This is what I meant when I said the show was glorifying a torture survivor’s trauma responses. Han Seo himself, as a torture survivor, meant nothing to them. He was just there to create one more contrived comparison between Vincenzo and Han Seok. Instead of recovering from the trauma, it’s simply employed to someone else’s favor. He doesn’t go to prison for Han Seok, he takes a bullet for Vincenzo, and we’re supposed to see that as so much better.

All of that might (JUST MIGHT) not have ruined the show for me if he’d died better. 1) It was narratively pointless and totally avoidable, 2) they could’ve framed it as heroic, but instead Han Seok’s hand patting his head is pushing it down, so he can’t even get shot with his chin up and his back straight, Taec’s already taller, so the angle’s fucked and the whole cinematography screamed “kicking an injured puppy” and most certainly NOT “survivor finally stands up to his abuser”. The final nail in the proverbial and literal coffin is that he is mourned by no one. They’re FLIRTING not 3 MINUTES LATER, it felt so tone deaf and left such a bad taste. As I said, I didn’t expect significant mourning from Vincenzo (gotta say, I didn’t expect no mourning, that was a shocker), and Cha young and the tenants had no real interactions with him and no reason to mourn him, which left only one person who could. 

Which brings me to Han Seok. 

Han Seok started out as a solid villain, clear goals, clear skills that help him achieve his goals and basically make him a villain worth defeating, and a very complex relationship with both his own psychopathy and his brother. 

Let me get it out of the way: I do not believe Han Seok is capable of killing Han Seo because he had every reason and every opportunity to do so in previous episodes and couldn’t do it (I say couldn’t because a certain degree of reluctance is in itself inability). Han Seo’s danger far outweighed his material value the minute he shot Han Seok and then completely lost any value once he came out to the world as the chairman and it became clear that the prosecution would be going after him if anything happened, and not his brother. But time and again, he’s proven he’s all bark and no bite when it comes to Han Seo (killing-wise, specifically). 

The scene where he asks him to beat Vincenzo to death could be interpreted as him wanting to give Vincenzo the “painful death” he would have given him, but honestly, I think he was way past that point. He just wanted him dead in the “You crazy? we have to kill him before he kills us” sense. To that end, killing off a key ally of Vincenzo’s, who betrayed you and almost got you killed a bunch of times, should take priority, but Han Seok’s priority is reclaiming Han Seo by forcing him back onto his side. Now, much like his “love for Cha young”, Han Seok’s keenness on not killing his brother was essential to the writers so that Han Seo can justifiably make it this far and still be useful to Vincenzo (he can’t help if Han Seok completely excludes him from all events, plans and management processes, so Han Seok needs to want to keep him on his side enough not to do that even when it’s more prudent). 

All of this isn’t to say it’s unbelievable that he would kill Han Seo, but it’s DEFINITELY unbelievable that he would stay the same man after killing him. Someone here (I’m sorry, I don’t rememebr who) once said that Han Seo had become, over time, far more of a foil to his brother than Vincenzo was. To me, this means that Post-Han Seo Han Seok would be out of balance (tilted screen), unhinged in a way he never was before. The Han Seok we see shrugs and “oh, well”-s and moves on in a flash, not really any different from the villain he was four minutes and a whole brother earlier. 

This is very consistent with the way the show has been de-humanizing him from the start. I’m not saying this to defend Han Seok in any way, he’s a serial killer, an abuser and a total maniac. But you can be all those things and still a human being. In fact, you can ONLY be those things if you’re a human being. The show used its villain vs villain idea to justify a lot, but in the end, Vincenzo had to be a protagonist. He had to follow up every “I’m a villain” with a contrived “but at least I’m not (insert something worse)”. 

On the level of humans:

1) Vincenzo is supposedly different because he doesn’t hurt children or women (unless the women deserve it, and shooting a parent in front of their kid doesn’t count as hurting.) 

But we never see Han Seok hurting women or children either. In fact, if we proceed with the “chayoung is the myung hee of the good guys” comparison, he hasn’t hurt any women nearly as badly as Vincenzo did. 

2) Babel vs Mafia 

Babel’s corruption is compared a lot to the mafia, with Vincenzo commenting repeatedly that the people are WORSE than the mafia...which is bullshit. Babel is a set of companies that provide goods and services, but use illegal means to maximize their profit, so they hurt/kill people in the process because they want more money and care about money more than ethics. The Mafia is an inherently criminal organization that functions PURELY on the basis of its criminality. Every single dime Vincenzo spends is blood money. None of it is clean. And while we’re on the topic, I find the whole “taking Miri under his wing” thing pretty unreasonable too because he tried to have her killed you guys, I cannot believe we’re just glossing over that. He had everyone who worked on that vault killed, just random fucking construction workers. And he’s not sorry. And the show tells you he shouldn’t be. 

3) Repentance

Han Seok says outright he won’t atone, and while Vincenzo says no such thing out loud he just...doesn’t repent, I guess. He keeps the blood money, he goes back to being a full-time mafia dude doing mafia things. He leaves the same man he arrived. 

So, if on the level of harm inflicted upon humanity, Vincenzo and Han Seok are pretty much equal (and Vincenzo might actually be worse), then why should we root for Vincenzo? 

Well, my friend, that’s where the dehumanization comes in! 

I was initially very excited to see their portrayal of a psychopath because of the very interesting ways in which the informal moral code and official justice system surrounding a psychopath/sociopath/narcissist affect their behavior and their chances of not turning out rotten, and the show looked like it was looking at corruption in general. 

But as the show went on, the villain vs villain thing proved not to be enough, Vincenzo has to be better in some way (or if you’re as obsessed with him as the writers are, then ALL ways), so it became a villain vs monster narrative. Vincenzo isn’t ethical or fair or in any way interested in having a remotely positive impact on society, but at least he’s A HUMAN BEING unlike SOMEBODY. So, the characterization goes to shit, Han Seok becomes a cartoon card-board cut out of a villain and emphasis is put on how pointless his violence is, as opposed to how purposeful Vincenzo’s is. 

This is dangerous on multiple levels (and I promise this is the last point I’m making). 

1) For people in general, dehumanizing abusers/murderers/etc. makes us very liable to forget that you don’t have to be “a monster” to cause harm, and it makes people complacent in their belief that they are “not bad people” since they aren’t total monsters. The Banality of Evil is a thing, and in this series, it goes completely ignored. No one is inherently incapable of good or inherently undeserving of humanity. 

2) For victims of abuse in specific, it’s dangerous to portray abusers (including serial killer and non-serial killer ones) as entirely bad and unlovable, because it poses the dual risk of making victims less likely to acknowledge their abuse if it comes from someone who cares about or loves them on some level because the idea that someone cannot both love and hurt you is so stereotypical. Your abuser can genuinely want you in their lives and need you and, on some level, love you, and IT DOESN’T MATTER if that love doesn’t stop them from hurting you. 

On the other hand, portraying the victims of abuse as capable of flipping an off switch and hating the abuser with no hesitation or second thoughts to the point of unapologetically and cheerfully helping someone kill them and having no mixed feelings about it sends the message that if you CAN’T do that, then are you really abused? Are sure you’re not complicit in your own abuse? Do you even want to get rid of them? 

So this is basically why the way the show ended was so painfully disappointing for me. And the main reason it hit so hard was that it was initially so good and had so much promise. I really expected more.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You Don’t Need To Be Cured

Prompt: Logan trying to cure either his epilepsy or chronic pain becsuse he thinks the other sides pity him for it. It backfires, making his condition worse.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: descriptions on epilepsy and seizures

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2965

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks at the table once more. The solution looks so innocuous, barely darker than the water he has next to it. The flask is cool to the touch in his hand.

He’s not been blind. He knows how the others look at him behind his back. He can hear the mutterings of conversations that cease the moment he walks through the door. They pity him.

 They pity the way he asks to have a moment to note down the time and type in his seizure journal. They pity the way he has to leave during certain movie nights when the light sequences get too rough. They pity the way he can’t remember things that happen during his seizures.

 They pity him. That’s too close to being a joke for his comfort.

 They don’t take him seriously, he realized one night when they wouldn’t let him even try to watch Venom with them. They don’t trust him to know his own limits, to make his own choices, or to speak up when he’s being adversely affected.

 He overheard Virgil saying they should just wrap him in bubble wrap and leave him be once. It didn’t help that he had a seizure barely an hour later.

 Logan looks back at the whiteboard. His thoughts are scribbled neatly in rows, drawn next to the equations and names for the varied AEDs he’s researched. Those work for humans, however, not Sides. He takes another deep breath, slow and controlled. Then he reaches for the recorder on the desk and hits the button.

 “Epileptic seizures,” he begins, doing his best to keep his voice even, “are caused by abnormal electrical impulses that act on other neurons, glands, and muscles to produce thoughts, emotions, and actions.”

 He rolls his shoulders back to ensure he still has some degree of motility.

 “The abnormalities can cause muscle spasms, an inability to tell what is happening around you, and occasionally, a loss of consciousness.”

 As he speaks, the residual nerves from finishing his project slowly begin to diminish. His hands don’t shake as he holds the flask up to the light. The solution inside refracts it across his glasses.

 “During a seizure, neurons may fire up to 500 times a second, a 625% increase from the normal 80 times a second.”

 His arm trembles slightly from the exertion of holding it still. He takes another breath and lowers the flask.

 “One of the most studied neurotransmitters involved in epileptic seizures is gamma-aminobutyric acid.” Logan glances over to his notes. “Otherwise known as GABA. It is an inhibitory neurotransmitter that counteracts the effects of other neurotransmitters that cause excitation, or overstimulation.”

 No one else listens to him when he’s like this, he realizes suddenly as he starts to explain the side effects of low GABA, they don’t care. They never ask what they can do to help him with his epilepsy, only that they performed some cursory Google search and decided they knew best.

 They didn’t want to know about him, they had just decided to pity him.

 Well. Lucky for them, Logan knows how to fix it.

 “Considering the complicated nature of human brain chemistry,” he says, finalizing the preparations, ��it follows that any solution and/or treatment for epilepsy would be similarly complicated. However, as I am a Side, and am susceptible to Thomas’s perception of me, my treatment may be simpler.”

 Research into the balance of GABA in stereotypical treatments, regulatory patterns to establish a proper treatment method, far too many late nights performing differential diagnostic testing on himself, on different case studies. Haphazardly assembling tables upon tables of results for comparison. A few too many favors asked Remus to hide the failed solutions.

 “And here we are,” he murmurs, more to himself than to the recording, “this should be it.”

 He can’t help the slight smile that comes to his face as he raises the flask in a mock toast.

 “To my health.”

 The solution isn’t quite bitter, not really, but that’s the closest word he can derive for it. He sets the flask aside, now empty, and reaches for the glass of water. The smile doesn’t leave his face.

 He did it. He did it. It…it worked.

 The experiment worked.

 He looks down at his hands, opening and closing them a few times. He turns them over. He can feel them. There are none of the residual tinglings that normally accompanies his movements. No stiffness.

 With a rising feeling in his stomach—a good one, not the warning one—Logan moves to the window to look outside. The sun sets over the garden that Roman created in the Imagination for him, the golden light catching and winking off of the damp leaves. It looks beautiful.

 He should go for a walk, he realizes excitedly, he should go ask Roman to come on a walk with him. He starts for his door only to pause.

 Will they be happy? That Logan’s figured out a way to fix himself?

 They’ll be happy, certainly, that they won’t have to pay as much attention to him anymore.

 They’ll be happy they don’t have to worry about his needs when they pick what to watch.

 They’ll…they’ll probably be happy they don’t have to listen to him out of some obligation anymore.

 Logan reaches for the doorknob only to freeze.

 Will they…will they listen to him at all now?

 The others, despite their flaws, are caring people. Leaving someone in distress is not in their nature, any of them. And they have made it no secret that they…they would rather not have to worry about him.

 But if they don’t have to worry about him, they don’t need to pay attention to him. Which means they may not listen to him at all.

 Without pity, he may…he may just become the joke.

 He blinks.

 “—gan! Logan!”

 “Oh my goodness, Logan, can you hear us?”

 “Back off guys, don’t crowd him.”

 “Logan? Sweetie, can you hear me?”

 His head feels so heavy. It throbs. What happened? He tries to lift it, even just to turn and see what’s happening, only for it to explode.

 Figuratively, but it takes a moment to confirm that.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs as he lets out a pained groan, “don’t move too much, sweetie, take it easy.”

 “What—“ why is his throat so dry?— “why are you here?”

 Janus’s face twists. “What do you remember, sweetie?”

 “I...” He swallows and peers up at Janus. Why is he so blurry?

 “Here,” comes Patton’s voice, before his glasses are fixed by two careful hands, “there.”

 “I don’t remember when you came in,” he says after a moment, “in fact, I was just going to come and find you.”

 “Well, we’re here now, L,” comes Virgil’s voice—where is he?— “and you’ve got some explaining to do.”

 “Oh, way to go, Peter Deadpan, that’s a great way to reassure him.”

 “Kiddos,” Patton says sternly, before leaning into Logan’s line of sight, “Logan? Do you remember anything else?”

 “No, why—why am I on the floor? Why does my head hurt?”

 “What time did you try and come get us?”

 “A few minutes ago.”

 “What time, L?”

 Logan frowns, blinking long and slow. “Around 2:30. Why are you asking me this?”

 “Because it’s almost three, Logan,” comes Roman’s soft voice from behind him, “and we got here at 2:45.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie,” Janus soothes immediately, reaching out to move a book out of the way so Logan doesn’t hit his head, “just look at me, okay?”

 “It worked, I thought it worked—“

 “You gotta calm down, L,” Virgil says evenly, “come on. You know we’re here to help, it’s gonna be okay.”

 He lets Virgil walk him through his grounding techniques but it hurts. This was supposed to work. They weren’t supposed to pity him anymore.

 “Oh, Specs,” Roman murmurs, passing Patton a tissue box when Logan sniffles.

 Moving is agony, he realizes as soon as he reaches for a tissue. Everything tingles, everything hurts it’s awful, he wants it to stop, it was supposed to stop—

 “There…” Patton finishes cleaning his face off and cups his face to fix the ends of his glasses. “What do you need?”

 Logan blinks. “What?”

 “What do you need,” he repeats, “what can we do? What would you like us to do?”

 “D-do?”

 “We want to help,” Roman fills in, still a little out of sight, “if…if you’ll let us.”

 Pity.

 Anger flares up and he pulls away. “Nothing. You can go.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow and hisses lightly.

 “We don’t mind, kiddo, we can—“

 “I said,” Logan mumbles, as dignified as he can, “you can go.”

 “But—“

 “Pat,” Roman says softly, “if he wants us to go, we should go.”

 Patton looks back down at him. Logan refuses to meet his gaze. He doesn’t want their pity. He doesn’t need their charity. He can figure this out by himself.

 “L? Do you really want us to go?”

 He swallows the lump in his throat. “Leave.”

 He ignores Patton’s noise of disappointment and does his best to bury his face into the carpet. He hears the soft swish of a Side sinking out. As soon as it fades, his chest shudders with a shaking sob, his glasses fogging up and pressing uncomfortably into his cheek.

 He’s ruined everything.

 Not only was his experiment an utter failure, but he also seems to have made things worse. His seizures are more uncontrollable, he’s suffering more drastic memory losses, and now…now the others definitely pity him. Perhaps more than they ever did.

 He sniffles.

 “…Logan?”

 Logan freezes.

 “I thought I told you,” he chokes out furiously, “to leave.”

 “You did,” comes Roman’s soft voice, “but…well, I’ve never exactly been good at listening to you, have I?”

 Logan’s fist clenches against his—he’s in the recovery position, they put him in the recovery position— “get. Out.”

 “I can’t do that, Logan.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because you just had a seizure that lasted almost half an hour, and we can’t exactly take you to the hospital.”

 Roman’s words twist deep into his chest and hurt. He’s right. Leaving him entirely alone would be irresponsible, not to mention dangerous. But his anger won’t let him admit that out loud, so instead, he bares his teeth in a snarl that Roman can’t see.

 “Why,” he spits, “did it have to be you?”

 That’s not fair, some part of him whispers.

 “Because you’re angry,” Roman replies easily, “and I’m the only one who’s used to that.”

 He’s right.

 “Then you’d think you’d know better,” Logan says even as he desperately wants to stop talking, “then to do something I don’t tell you to.”

 “You can be mad at me, Logan, I don’t care. I’m not leaving.”

 “I could just make you leave.”

 “You still can’t move,” Roman points out gently, “and I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 “I wouldn’t need to.”

 “Oh, I know you could,” comes the sigh from over his shoulder, “you’ve got more insults and jabs prepared for me than I could anticipate. You could tear me down with barely any effort. Make me argue with you, cry, scream, storm off in a huff, all of it.”

 There’s a pause, then a soft rustle of fabric.

 “But you won’t.”

 “And how can you be so sure?”

 “Because you’re you, Logan,” Roman says, “and you won’t.”

 Logan’s face twitches up into a grimace as more tears leak out of his eyes. “You’re not allowed to be right this much,” he tries as a last resort.

 “I’m not allowed to do a lot of things, Logan.” He hears Roman lean against the wall. “That includes leaving you.”

 The anger in his chest melts into just plain hurt, leaving him sprawling awkwardly out of the recovery position. Distantly, he hears Roman get up and come around to kneel in front of him.

 “‘M fine,” he manages, “I can breathe and everything.”

 “I’m just making sure.” A hand hovers near him. “And to make sure you don’t accidentally roll onto your tie.”

 “My tie?”

 “Virgil undid it when you were still having the seizure. We had to make sure you could still breathe.”

 Oh.

 “May I?” Logan lifts his arm enough to let Roman reach in and carefully pull his tie free. The slight susurrus makes his head tingle.

 “Bad.”

 Roman pauses. “Bad?”

 “Bad noise.”

 Roman nods. “Thank you for telling me. I’m just going to set this on your desk, alright?”

 Logan moves his head enough to watch Roman lean up and set the tie up there. From the angle, he can just see the very rim of the flask.

 “Hey, hey,” Roman calls when Logan lets out a whine, “what’s wrong?”

 “It was supposed to work,” he manages, “it was supposed to fix this, or at least make it b-better. Not worse.”

 “What was supposed to work?”

 “My experiment. I—I tried to balance out my GABA levels, stabilize the inhibition of the excitatory neurotransmitters, so this would stop, but it just made it worse.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Logan sniffles. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 “No, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry that it didn’t work.” Roman’s hand hovers in front of his face again. “That can’t be comfortable, Specs, lying on your—well, specs like that.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “Okay.” Roman retracts his hand and sits back. “What’s GABA?”

 “What?”

 “Your experiment, you said you were trying to balance out your GABA levels, what’s GABA?”

 “It’s short for gamma-aminobutyric acid. It’s the primary inhibitory neurotransmitter.”

 “And its levels affect epilepsy?”

 “Lack of it is one of the main studied causes of epilepsy.”

 “So treatments revolving around increasing levels of GABA are effective?”

 Logan squints up at him. “What are you doing? Why are you asking me these questions, why do you care?”

 Roman meets his gaze easily, stretching out to sit in front of him. “You like talking about your experiments, Logan. You enjoy teaching us things. I enjoy being taught by you.”

 Roman what?

 “And I’m supposed to be helping you calm down,” he continues, lightly knocking Logan’s outstretched hand with his foot. “Talking about your work often calms you down.”

 He smiles and tilts his head.

 “And I really hope you don’t need an answer as to why I care.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-what?”

 Roman’s smile fades as he looks at Logan’s disbelief. Concern writes itself plainly across his features and he reaches out.

 “Sorry—“ he catches himself— “can I—may I touch you?”

 Bemused, Logan nods, only to close his eyes as the tenderness with which Roman takes his head in his hands. His breath leaves him in a rush and he sags into the grip.

 “Stay with me,” comes Roman’s faint reminder. He opens his eyes to look up at him, only to see his face break out into a smile. “Hey, Specs, keep those pretty eyes open for me?”

 “You—you think my eyes are pretty?”

 “Yeah, I do.” He quirks an eyebrow. “But don’t distract me. Do you—why did you look so shocked when I said I cared?”

 “Because you pity me,” Logan argues, “that’s not the same thing.”

 Roman’s face truly falls. “No, no, Specs, I don’t pity you. I’m sorry if it ever came off that way. None of us pity you, none of us.”

 “B-but you—you won’t let me make my own choices,” he stammers, “you end conversations when I walk in the room, you—you look at me like I’m something you—you—“

 “We what, Logan?”

 “Like you have to care about me,” he whispers.

 “Oh, Logan,” Roman whispers, “no, no, we’ve done this so wrong.”

 He comes closer, lying down with his hand still resting on Logan’s shoulder.

 “We don’t pity you, Logan. And we certainly aren’t being forced into caring about you. We’ve messed this up good and proper, but I swear to you we don’t pity you.”

 Logan’s brain stutters to a glorious pause.

 “You…you don’t pity me?”

 “No, Logan, I could never pity you.” The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Sometimes I think you’re the strongest out of all of us.”

 “…only sometimes?”

 “Well, sometimes Virgil decides he’s going to throw Remus over his shoulder like he’s a ping-pong ball.”

 Logan snorts at the image. Roman’s smile grows as he watches, rubbing Logan’s shoulder fondly.

 “We’ll be better about this,” he promises on a more serious note, “but…please, I know I don’t have a right to ask anything from you, but we’ve never pitied you, Specs.”

 “…yeah?”

 “Yeah.” Roman gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re our Logan. We could never.”

 “Y-your Logan?”

 “Yeah, Specs, you’re not going anywhere. No one else gets to have you. We called dibs.”

 “…I do not believe it is possible to call ‘dibs’ on a person.”

 “Doesn’t change the fact that we did.”

 “I’ve never heard you call dibs on me.”

 “Well, we did. And I’ll do it again right now.” Roman raises his voice a little, looking around as if at an imaginary audience. “Dibs! Our Logan! Keep your greedy little paws off him.”

 “Roman!”

 Roman chuckles. “You’re not getting away from us, Specs. You’re stuck with us.”

 “Hmm. I can see how this might be considered a tragedy.”

 “Truly,” Roman sighs dramatically, “stuck with a family who loves and cares for you, how will you ever survive?”

 Logan’s quiet for a moment, before he nervously lifts his hand to lay it over Roman’s. At Roman’s encouraging nod, he squeezes gently.

 “…with their help, hopefully?”

 “Always.”

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[wrenhyperfixates]

The Secret Admirer

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When he is too nervous to confess his love for you, Loki decides to take on the role of secret admirer. Can a perfect night out with you give him the confidence he needs? Warnings: it’s mainly fluff and some pining with a slightly steamy (but very quick) make-out session A/N: 1) Though I usually aim to write the reader as gender neutral, they are a female in this one. It’s nothing essential to the plot, but Loki does refer to them as a “woman” and “lady”. I apologize to all my readers out there who don’t identify as female, but maybe you could just skip those lines? I promise the next one will be gender neutral again. Thanks for reading :) 2) Thanks to @shypickleghostsuitcase​ for requesting. This was a lot of fun to write!

Loki watched from around the corner as you walked into the kitchen, ready for your post-workout snack. You frowned as you searched for your favorite fruits, which were nowhere to be found. That is until you spun around and saw a basket filled to the brim with them. Loki was glad to see a smile tugging at your lips as you picked up the little notecard attached by an emerald green ribbon. He sauntered in as you read it.

“Another gift from you secret admirer, I see,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah,” you replied with shining eyes. “It’s the third one this week.”

“Any clue as to who it might be?”

Loki, in reality, did not need to ask that question. After all, it was him who had been leaving you the presents around the Tower. However, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to see that adorable little blush creep its way onto your face.

“I might have a couple guesses,” came your carefree response.

“And who, might I ask, are they?”

“Well, you know Justin from accounting? I think he’s been dropping hints. Oh! And Chris from R&D has been pretty friendly recently. And he’s cute, too, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” Loki answered, suddenly becoming very sour.

He’d known about this downside of his little plan, but he was too self-conscious to come right out and invite you on a date. Especially so after hearing you talk about others in this way. So, he resolved to make sure you fell completely for your admirer before coming forward. He made a gruff excuse as he left the room, and you stared on in confusion at his sudden mood swing.

Loki didn’t see you again until dinner, where the topic of conversation was him, not that any of his teammates knew it.

“Five bucks it’s that guy named Lawrence,” Tony speculated. “You know, that agent SHIELD keeps sending as a messenger.”

“Yeah, he does seem pretty fond of you,” Wanda added, playfully elbowing you.

“No way,” Nat argued. “It’s Matthew, that blonde from the labs.”

“Can we please talk about something else? Literally anything?” you pleaded.

“Indeed,” Loki came to your defense, and you shot him an appreciative smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Certainly someone has a different topic to conversate about.”

“Ok, ok,” Bucky conceded. “We’ll stop making guesses.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“So then, who do you want it to be?”

You just shook your head and got up from the table as the rest of the team erupted into a fit of giggles. They called you back as you stormed away with flushed cheeks, but you just flipped them off. When it became clear that no one was going after you, Loki took it upon himself to check on you. Once again fully immersed in their ridiculous guesses, no one noticed as he excused himself from the table.

He called your name as you were stepping into the elevator, and you held the door open for him so he could join you. You were still obviously pissed, and Loki wondered if he should have been like the rest of the team and let you blow off steam. When you fixed your gaze on him, though, your eyes were soft and appreciative. He wanted to get lost in them forever, to jump in and never come out. He certainly would have settled for being lost in a kiss, too, but he wouldn’t want to taint your sweet lips with his venomous ones.

It simultaneously pleased and annoyed him that no one had guessed he was your admirer. On the one hand, it meant that he was doing a good job keeping it a secret. On the other, it probably meant that no one thought you were a good match. Though, if they knew he was the one leaving you the gifts, that might change. After all, they fawned over the fact that you had a secret admirer. Sometimes they even tried to guess what he’d leave next.

“Hey,” you ventured, breaking the silence that had settled in between the two of you. “Thanks for backing me up in there.”

“I assure you it was no problem. The whole discussion was rather irksome, don’t you agree?”

You nodded your head in agreement as the elevator came to a stop. How Loki wished he could put an end to all those debates by just coming forward, but he was certain you wouldn’t feel the same. He was sparing both of you the guilt and embarrassment that would surely accompany his confession. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine holding your hand as you walked side by side, your head resting against him. It would show everyone that you were his. But you weren’t, not yet anyway.

“Um, Loki?” you asked after popping into your room for a second and coming back out with a jacket. “I was going to grab a bite to eat since I didn’t finish dinner and was wondering if you maybe wanted to come?”

Loki froze in his tracks. He knew how you meant it, but it almost sounded as if you were asking him out on a date. Never in his life had he been that lucky, though, so he was certain that wasn’t the case.

“Yes,” he said, masking the eagerness in his voice. “I would like that very much.”

The two of you made your way out onto the busy city streets, and Loki’s heart sped up as you took his hand to keep from getting separated. He knew that it was an innocent gesture, but to anyone else, it would seem as if you were something more than just friends. The very thought made the palpitations of his heart grow louder still.

Usually, Loki avoided going out into the world as much as possible. No one outside the Tower ever did seem to truly trust him and often sent him worried glances as if he might start another invasion right then and there. Being with you, however, seemed to ease everyone’s minds. People still sent him hurried looks that they thought he didn’t notice, but they were far fewer than when he ventured out by himself.

As the two of you stopped at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, he felt something cold and metallic brush against his wrist. He looked down and saw you wearing the charm bracelet he’d left you about a week ago. It pleased him to know that you liked the gifts, even if you were unaware that he was the one giving them to you. He averted his gaze before you could think anything of it, and a few minutes later, you were pulling him into a storefront, brightly decorated on the outside with red and yellow.

“McDonald’s is one of my favorites,” you explained as the door closed behind you, and you got on line to order. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I cannot say that I am.”

Loki, in fact, was not well acquainted with any of the Midgardian cuisines dubbed “fast food” and squinted at the menu, trying to figure out which of the undoubtedly greasy options was the best. However, he didn’t have to, as you insisted on ordering for him and sent him off to claim a table in the crowded restaurant. He found a small booth tucked in the corner, and you soon joined him, arms filled with the food you’d bought. Loki hesitantly eyed the burger that you had called a BigMac but bit into it after seeing your excited smile. He had to admit; it wasn’t half bad.

After you two had finished eating your burgers and shared some hot fries and chicken nuggets, Loki’s eyes flitted back down to the bracelet around your wrist. This time, you noticed before he could look away.

“It was a gift from my admirer,” you told him, unaware that he already knew this fact.

“Well, I must say, they have excellent taste. Both in jewelry and women.”

You blushed both from the compliment and the intense look in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s very flattering, and I do appreciate it. I just kinda wish they’d confess already, you know?”

Loki frowned at that. He was certain that both of you would be disappointed if he came clean. Still, the idea was tempting. But then he’d remember just how many people seemed to be interested in you, and he was once again sure that no number of gifts could buy your affection. He knew that it was a great flaw in his plan, but he could find no better way. Besides, the gifts certainly made you happy, and that was worth it in and of itself.

“Actually,” you continued, “I’m not too sure I really mean that.”

“Why is that?” Loki said, somewhat shocked by your change of heart.

“Well, right now I can pretend that it’s the person I want it to be. But if the admirer comes forward and it’s not them, well, I guess I don’t know what I’d do. The gifts are thoughtful, so I suppose I’d give them a chance. Get to know them and see where it goes.”

“Unless it’s someone you already know and have absolutely no interest in, correct?”

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought much about what would happen if I felt that way. But, yeah, I guess not.”

Loki admired your features as you took on a pensive look, trying to sort through all these puzzling thoughts. He had a lot of thinking to do, too. Right now, it seemed as if his chances were decent. Even if he wasn’t who you’d been hoping for, he might be able to get at least one date with you. Though, he’d put a lot of thought into the possibility that you might have no interest in him, and actually believed it to be the most likely option. But that soft look on your face as you turned your attention back to him did change his mind a little. He made up his mind; he was going to tell you, and he’d do it tonight.

Before he could figure out the proper way to confess, you were dragging the raven haired god out of the restaurant, pursuing your next craving. He quirked an eyebrow at you as you came to a stop on a short line at an ice cream parlor. By now the sun was almost completely set, and a chill was settling into the air. He was worried about your frail mortal form becoming too cold after consuming the frozen treat. Voicing his concerns elicited, what he considered, an extremely cute scoff from you.

“I happen to like things that run on the cool side,” you said with a little shrug, stepping up to place your order.

Loki couldn’t help but wonder if there was some hidden meaning behind your words, especially considering a frost giant was your chosen companion for this evening. He didn’t have much time to ruminate on this, however, since he had to place his order. Surprisingly, before he could get the words out, you spoke for him. Not only that, you knew his favorite flavors: chocolate and strawberry. Realizing how much attention that meant you paid to him, he felt his cheeks flush. He wanted to say something, but you were very pointedly looking away from him. He supposed you might not have thought before speaking and were now embarrassed because of it.

You made your way out of the store after polishing off your ice cream, once again grabbing Loki’s hand as not to lose him in the crowded streets. He was enjoying the easy conversation that you shared when suddenly you squealed in delight and pulled him once again to chase your latest desire.

“Look, Loki!” you exclaimed, practically jumping up and down in excitement. “Carriage rides! I’ve always wanted to go on one.”

“Well, I see no reason to deny such a pretty lady her wish.”

Though he was a perfect picture of nonchalance and suave on the outside, his insides were a jumbled mess. As he paid the driver and helped you into the carriage, Loki thanked the Norns for this excellent opportunity to confess. For once, it seemed that the universe was actually on his side. As the horse trotted along the road, you began to shiver, and, giving you his best “I told you so” look, Loki conjured up a blanket for you. It wasn’t his intention to share it, but you insisted. Bundled up under the fleecy material, you took in the sights of the city. Loki, however, basked in the sight of you and all your radiant beauty, bursting forth from your bright smile and infectious energy.

“What is it?” you questioned, noticing how he was observing you. “Is there something in my teeth?”

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, flustered at the possibility. Loki gently grabbed it and pulled it down, considering his next words carefully.

“No, my angel, there is not.” He took a steadying breath before continuing, “I do, however, have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” you remarked, the most adorable look of befuddlement adorning your face. “Ok, I’m listening.”

“Well, you see,” he began, second-guessing his decision to reveal himself, but the eager expression you wore egged him on. “I am the one who has been leaving you presents.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re my secret admirer?”

Loki bit his lip, trying to assess the emotions hidden in your voice. It was something that, in any other circumstance, he was exceedingly good at. His own complex feelings, however, were preventing him from coming to an accurate conclusion at the moment.

“Yes. I am.” Before you could say anything else, he plowed on in an unusual mix of confidence and concern. “When we were speaking earlier, you admitted that, so long as you didn’t hate the person, you would go on a date with them. And I was hoping you would. Settle for me, that is.”

You blinked a few times, doing your best to process everything he just said. Loki waited with bated breath for your reply. As the seconds ticked on, he considered launching into another rambled explanation but thought better of it. It took all his energy to remain composed as you began shaking your head.

“I’m afraid that, no, Loki. I will not be settling for you, as you put it.”

“I understand,” he said, once again resigned to the fact that you would never love him. He couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been to think for even a second that you could.

“Actually, I don’t think that you do,” you continued as he quirked an eyebrow, doing his best to keep that glimmer of hope from invading his heart again. “You see, I won’t be settling because I was hoping that it would be you all along.”

For what was possibly the first time ever, the trickster god was at a loss for words. “I must admit, I am not quite sure what to say.”

“Then shut up and kiss me already.”

It was all the encouragement he needed before bringing his lips to meet yours. You grabbed his shirt and brought him even closer to you, deepening the kiss. Loki tried to memorize every detail of this moment, terrified that you’d suddenly change your mind. He was pretty sure that he could get drunk on the taste of your lips. Your fingers tangled in his raven locks as your tongue darted in his mouth and started exploring. Where he was afraid to go too fast and scare you off, you were sure of what you wanted and went for it. It encouraged him to move his hands down to your waist and slip them under your shirt.

All too soon, you had to break for air, but Loki wasn’t yet ready for his lips to still. He placed sloppy kisses along your neck as you panted, still trying to catch your breath from the passionate kiss. He managed to pull himself away as the carriage came to a stop, suddenly remembering where he was.

“So, about that date?” he ventured, now brimming with aplomb.

“Yes, Loki,” you laughed. “I would love to go on a date with you. Oh, and by the way, that kiss was the best gift yet.”

He looked shyly away as you snuggled up next to him under the blanket. After finishing the carriage ride, Loki walked arm in arm with you back home. You placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before you walked in the doors.

“So, do you want to break it to the rest of the team that their guesses were wrong, or should I?” you playfully asked.

The two of you shared a laugh as you walked into the Tower, hearts full and lips red from kissing.

“Whatever you want, dearest,” Loki replied, placing a gentle, loving kiss to your head. “Whatever you want.”

[stitch1830]

CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: KANTO

So this is a character description for the character Kanto that @precious-metal-girl and I created for AUs where he is in a loving and committed relationship with Toph Beifong. Part of this is to help me keep track of all of his features and personality traits, and if others are looking to write about Kanto but aren't sure about how to describe him, feel free to pick and choose characteristics that meet your AU needs! This will (hopefully) be a living document where characteristics are added and changed over time. If you are curious about our AUs or want to know about a particular trait/personality, feel free to ask us questions!

......

Born: ~88/89 AG (summer)

Residence: Republic City

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Green

Element: Earthbending/Metalbending

Occupation: Deputy for the Republic City Police Department, Metalbender Division

Nicknames: Hotshot, Dep (short for Deputy), Slick, Botany Boy, Pretty Boy, Metalbrain, Metalhead, Rockhead, K, My Rock

Relationship: Toph Beifong

Background:

Kanto grew up near one of the Fire Nation colonies close to what is Republic City today (part of the reason why his name has FN influence). His father took many different jobs and tried to avoid fighting in the war as long as possible so he could stay with his family, while his mother was a seamstress for the town. Often, he would help his mother sew clothes, and because of that he was pretty crafty and good with his hands. He lost his parents at age 7; old enough to remember them and his childhood, but all the memories are pretty blurry.

What he does remember is that his family was pretty poor, but they always had something to laugh about.

He loved learning new skills with his dad, and had his mom read the same two books they had every single night. And one thing he always remembers is eating together as a family.

His parents died either in an accident for rebelling against a FN rule (maybe the FN wanted to take Kanto away for being an earthbender), or from protecting Kanto in general.

Kanto was always pretty feisty as a boy, pushing people’s buttons and egging people on. It only got worse when his parents died because he pushed buttons out of anger now.

He also had a lot of friends, but after, he didn’t talk to anyone for a while because he ran away. Most of his fighting skills were learned while on the run, he never got any formal training until he went to the metalbending academy (maybe 17 or 18? Toph managed a different part of the academy so she didn’t know him. That or he went to a different academy branch entirely).

One thing he remembers is that he was happiest with his family, so he cherishes the idea of a happy family unit, and he constantly searched for something that made him feel close to that happiness.

Personality:

The first impression people get of Kanto is that he is a no-good, arrogant, bad boy. He acts as if he’s the coolest person in town and always has something sassy to say in response. More than half of the words that come out of Kanto’s mouth are flirtatious and sarcastic, a combination that initially drives Toph Beifong crazy.

But in reality, Kanto is an extremely loyal man who’s rather selfless, putting himself in harm’s way so no one else has to. His initial personality is a front to protect himself so that he doesn’t befriend anyone too much, because he knows what it’s like to love people and lose them. He hated how he felt when he was orphaned and never wanted to feel that way again.

When his facade finally cracks with Toph and she sees the real him, he’s actually… a dork.

He’s got a very goofy personality, he gets excited about little things, and his passions do not necessarily align with his looks and his first impression. When he loves people, he does so with his full heart, but again, he’s hesitant to do so with many… His family are essentially the only ones that see him this way.

Looks:

Kanto is most certainly a hunk. He’s got a similar skin complexion to Toph, thick and wavy (borderline curly) black hair (Toph loves playing with it), broad chest and shoulders (a fit and toned body overall), a mischievous, slightly crooked grin (left corner turns up higher than the right) that makes all the women of RC swoon, a crooked nose from being punched in the face one too many times, and classic earthbender green eyes. He’s also pretty tall, that’s where Lin gets her height from, well over a head taller than Toph And despite being an earthbender, his hands and fingers are actually rather long and nimble. Some popular fanart interpretations of Kanto can be found here and here and here and here and here.

Interests:

Kanto likes flowers, he often brings new ones home (especially when he’s with Toph) so he can teach her about its qualities and so they have a nice and natural floral scent in their home. He’s obsessed with pro bending like Toph, and often will attend matches with her. Astronomy and biology are also interests of his. Toph and Kanto also have a cool rock collection, both are trying to best each other to find the coolest one. Kanto reads science fiction novels to Toph in their downtime and he’ll play the guitar or pipa.

Fears:

Kanto is afraid of bugs, he doesn’t care for large fires that can get out of control, and big animals make him nervous at first contact. When Lin’s in the picture, he freaks out when there are too many sharp corners in one place. He’s always afraid she’s gonna fall and hit her head. Kanto also doesn’t like those rip tides or currents in oceans/large bodies of water.

Some of his deeper level fears include losing his family. He cannot stand the idea of losing Lin or Toph, especially if the reason they are missing or gone is because of him. He’s lost his family before, and he’ll be damned if he loses them again.

Flaws:

A lot of his flaws stem from his stubbornness and confidence. He’s arrogant, overconfident, prideful, and impatient. He knows he’s good at his job and he’s not afraid to talk about his skills and talents, and unless he’s working specifically with Toph, he assumes he’s the best for the job.

He’s flirty, sarcastic, reckless, and a bit of a slob (just his home, he keeps a clean appearance). Kanto’s constantly ragging on coworkers, has comments for days, and it’s rare for him to speak in a serious tone while on the job. Just doesn’t happen.

He’s protective, reckless, a troublemaker, skeptical, and vengeful. When he actually finds love and has a family, he is extremely protective, to the point where if criminals threaten his family, he’s not afraid to take the law into his own hands to eradicate the problem. One of these would be his fatal flaw, maybe vengeful? His vengeful tendency could be from a need to retaliate to protect his family from a threat, and that ultimately may take him down.

His flaws mainly seem to come from his overconfident front that he gives to the world. He doesn’t let too many in, or, he lets people in, but they don’t see the real him. Kanto doesn’t trust people right away, but it’s easy to get along with everyone if you just have this confident and charismatic face on. But his ‘face’ seeped into his actual personality, so there are times when he shouldn’t blurt out the first stupid comment in his head, but he does.

Gaang First Impressions:

Aang: He’s always extremely happy and excited to meet new partners, so he was thrilled to meet Kanto. They definitely don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but Aang is great at being friends with everyone despite the differences, so there’s no animosity.

Katara: She’s skeptical at first, because Kanto acts like a douche and has a bad boy persona. Katara just doesn’t want to see Toph get hurt, so she interrogates the man a bit (a lot), but even though the things he says concern her, he’s a gentleman to Toph, very attentive to her needs. So, maybe he’s not so bad… Later on, she knows the bad boy look was all a facade and that Kanto is a sweetheart, and she grows to really like Kanto.

Zuko: He gives Kanto a very cold shoulder at first. He’s very protective of Toph because he thinks of her as a little sister. So, he crosses his arms, glares a bit, and Kanto glares back because that’s what he does at first. But then, they start going on double dates, and Zuko and Kanto turn out to have a lot more in common than they realize. They’re buddies now!

Sokka: Sokka’s attitude really depends on ship preference with him, but in most HC’s, he’s Toph’s best friend, so he would also be distant with Kanto. He wouldn’t like how cocky he is, or that he’s super tall and talented at many things… he’s not a fan. However, Toph is always super happy around Kanto, he makes her laugh, and no one is allowed to insult Toph without an ass whooping from both Kanto and Toph, so, he warms up to the guy. He’s been seen buying Kanto a beer after a long day of work as a truce, and he often goes to Kanto if he needs police paper signed and expedited (Kanto does the same with Sokka, it evens out).

Suki: Suki is pretty chill about it all. She’s pretty perceptive about personalities and whatnot, and she can detect a bit of a bad boy mask. So, she treats the introduction casually and is super cordial with Kanto. They never become best friends or anything, but she was one of his first “allies” in the Gaang, and for that he is forever grateful.

Other Facts:

His mannerisms are that he walks with a slow swagger. Often the slowest of the group, he takes his time whenever he walks places. But don’t let that fool you—he can sprint really fast. He leans back in almost all of his chairs, sometimes he leans too far back. Kanto was a notorious manspreader when he would sit down, but since being with Toph, she put a stop to that instantly. When he’s restless, he bounces his leg a lot, and usually only stops if Toph reminds him (usually a hand to his leg to calm him down). Kanto also runs his hand through his hair a ton to either push it off his face, or just on instinct. He fidgets with his hands, too, Toph does as well. Usually, the two will hold hands or play with each other’s fingers to ‘remedy’ their nervous tick. In extremely stressful situations (like an AU where Lin is kidnapped), Kanto usually throws up and doesn’t sleep at all.

Kanto’s voice is a mix of a rural and city accent, once Republic City becomes prominent. He uses slang in his speech often and mainly uses city words (he picked up a lot of city lingo when interacting with criminals and undercover work back in the day). There are a few words and phrases from his childhood that he uses that scream ‘rural kid’ and that is mainly when the distinction in his accent and speech is picked up. His voice is smooth and deep when he casually talks. When he yells, it becomes a bit gravelly and husky sounding. Oddly enough, when he whispers, the same thing happens.

Kanto smells like the earth or something with a forestry scent (cedar comes to mind). He wears cologne, and the scents he usually goes for are ones that smell like earth, wood, or resin. Kanto likes wearing cologne, but he can’t put too much on, otherwise it bothers Toph’s nose, and he typically checks to see which ones Toph likes, and he’ll purchase that cologne again because he knows she likes the smell. He naturally smells a bit like metal and dirt and a bit of smoke (he was a casual smoker before he had Lin). All these scents are not prominent, but by the end of the day, these are the scents that can usually be detected.

Some of his pet peeves include fake apologies, when people kick or shake the chair he is sitting in, any slightly insulting remark toward Toph, close talkers, people that interrupt frequently, and those that correct his grammar.

Kanto canonically only has one daughter, Lin. In this AU, he’s a loving and committed father who emphasizes putting his family first and protecting them. He doted and hovered over Toph while she was pregnant, cried tears of joy when Lin was born, and is very attentive and caring toward Lin. He’s the one that soothes her when she cries out at night, he’ll get up in the morning with her so Toph can sleep in, and when he comes home from work, he smothers her in kisses and gives her raspberries on the belly (affectionate). Even as a baby, Lin was a Daddy’s girl and Kanto spoiled her as much as possible.

In the relatively canon compliant AU, Kanto dies when Lin is about 6 months old. He left for work, had a run-in with a bloodbender (or an accident on the job), and never returned home. On the day of his death, Kanto planned on proposing to Toph, but never got the chance.

Lin knew about her father growing up, but he wasn’t talked about often because it is a touchy subject for Toph (and for most that knew him well). On her 13th birthday, Lin receives the engagement ring on a necklace, along with a handwritten letter from Kanto.

There are many AUs and headcanons related to where he lives, but those are very fluid and change all the time!

[jokertrap-ran]

(最后的厂牌  LAST CREW) His Story: [MAN ONWIRE] 冷任非 Leng Renfei Translation Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Welcome to another round of Ran’s sinning whims. *Lawyer man’s future tag will be #LAW ONWIRE *THEY RAP WELL!!!

"Before meeting you, he was one who traversed the deep, eternal, and dark night; the Abyss.”

He, who terrorizes sinners with the holiest stance . Deep within the abyss, with feathers as sharp as blades, re-establishing Justice amongst the morass of Sin.

"So what if he's the most reputable Lawyer?" 

A MPV was parked at the entrance of Mingfei Law Firm. A man dressed in an impressively pricy-looking suit spoke to his assistant, who stood outside, through the rolled down windows of the car. "Same old, just give him the money. Double, if he scoffs."

"President He, this is just how Lawyer Leng works. He confirms each case he takes face-to-face with the client."

"What else is there to confirm…?"

Despite having said that, Mr. He still lowered his voice as he spoke. "Has that evidence already been dealt cleanly away with? No one else got their hands on it, right?

"Well… There are currently no other Lawyers in 000 City who can provide you with what you require, even without that evidence.” His assistant reminded him again, somewhat helplessly, of the same answer that the previous few Lawyers had all given him. They'd all said without a doubt that his sentence could only be reduced by a mere 3 to 5 years, and that any more would be impossible.

A few minutes later saw them both sitting inside Leng Renfei's Office.

The assistant was almost purring as he handed all the evidence over to Leng Renfei. "Have a look at these, Lawyer Leng…"

Leng Renfei didn't make a move to stand up and accept the proffered documents. Instead, all he did was to signal the assistant to place them down onto the table.

"We’ll give you anything you wish, so long as you're willing to do us this one favour."

Only then, does he speak. "This isn't a favour. It is my job, that's all."

His gaze fell upon Mr. He, who had been sitting to the side. He contemplated the man for a while before speaking.

"Is this all?"

It was obviously merely just a simple enquiry. Yet, being stared down by those eyes brought about an enormous sense of pressure. Mr. He, who had been so ostentatiously manspreading, couldn't refrain from rightening himself up a little, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"That's all."

Leng Renfei loosened his tie as he looked through the papers.

"Judging from these documents here, I'll say that 15 years for you, is but a normal sentence."

He flipped through it, chuckling as he reached the end. He then raised his head and fixated his eyes onto Mr. He.

"You wish to reduce your sentence to nothing more than 3 years? ...Very well, I shall accept your case. However, you must be absolutely truthful with me about everything pertaining to this Court Hearing. And you will also have to provide me with your full cooperation during the period in which I am taking charge of your case. Otherwise, I can't guarantee that you'll get the result you seek.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the hearing begins.

However, at this moment in time, the defendant, Mr. He and Leng Renfei were both stuck at the junction a street away from where the court was located. The luxurious MPV vehicle they were riding in had been blockaded by a group of people; the plaintiff's angry family.

"Professionally speaking, I humbly suggest that you get off the car now and start making your way towards the court." Leng Renfei suggested, pushing up his glasses.

The plaintiff's family members continued pounding on the bulletproof windows with no signs of ceasing anytime soon. They didn't make any move to back down despite the countless times their chauffeur honked the car's horn.

Mr. He looked repulsively at the dirtied windows of the car, seemingly disregarding Leng Renfei's "professional advice".

"Haven't we already contacted court security? I do not wish to affiliate myself with the masses by trying to fight my way through the crowd.

"You will no doubt be late if this continues on." Leng Renfei's hand landed on the handle of the door. "Besides…"

The last of his words had yet to leave his mouth when he vehemently pulled the door open, pushing Mr. He out of the vehicle with a forceful shove—

"...Only the obedient will be granted victory over the lawsuit."

The crowd outside swarmed Mr. He immediately, cornering him off to the curb.

At the same time, the MPV finally regained its movement capabilities. Leng Renfei, who was still currently seated inside, paid no mind to the on-going chaos outside, only lowering his head to review the documents for the hearing once more. He gave a slight frown, clicking his tongue before speaking once more.

"Please wait for him at the carpark's entrance."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:59, the defendant and his defence attorney arrive at court.

10:00，Court proceeds as scheduled.

Now, the suit adorning the defendant's frame was all crumpled and wrinkly. His hair, mussed up with dirt, and there were even visible red marks on his face. His heaving chest betrayed his obvious fury. Yet, the Lawyer beside him was the same as always. All the way from his neatly ironed outfit to the calm and composed expression he wore, with not a single flaw to be seen.

The duo had presented themselves as such an oddity that it even caught the attention of the judge. After going through the normal proceedings of the court's opening, the judge turned back again to question Leng Renfei.

"Defence Attorney, the court notices that the defendant is dressed in a rather dishevelled manner. Does he require some time to sort himself out before the hearing officially begins?"

Leng Renfei held the defendant back as he shot up from his seat in anger. He stood back up, cleaning his throat before answering the judge.

"Thank you, your honour. My client was actually assaulted on the way here and chose to undertake a huge risk by traversing here whilst under attack by an angry mob; all because he didn't wish to delay the hearing. Although the mob in question has already been detained by the court's security team, I personally think that this attack is intricately, but undoubtedly linked to the plaintiff."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Everything was proceeding as planned. This case was a win. Now all the defendant needed to do was to pay the plaintiff a certain amount of money as monetary compensation.

But of course, the endless stream of questioning and inquiries had to come first before any celebrations could be held.

"The plaintiff accuses you of using underhanded means of winning the judge's sympathy. What do you make of it?"

"Did you and the defendant plan for him to make an appearance to court, as dishevelled as he was?"

"Many people claim that your defence is flimsy and holds no weight. They say that your winning streak in court will soon be broken due to this. How are you prepared to answer these queries?"

Leng Renfei halted in his footsteps upon hearing the last question. He turned around to face the cameras and the millions of faceless civilians who were watching behind the screen.

"All I have to say is that I’m sorry to disappoint you."

"Unfortunately, I've yet to taste defeat even today."

"And as a matter of fact, I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future either.” 

"Lawyer Leng, rumour has it that you'd stop at no end in order to win. May I ask about your opinion on this?"

He smiled. "Doing anything and everything in order to uphold the law? That sounds like a compliment to me." 

"But have you ever placed yourself into the shoes of the victim's family? Can that bit of monetary compensation make up for a life? You are deliberately twisting the truth! It’s despicable!"

Those 8 words were spoken with much emphasis, causing Leng Renfei to look towards the reporter who’d directed the question at him with much interest. It was a youngster, teeth bared and eyes glaring daggers at him. The rims of his eyes were even a little red to further add to the effect. 

The entire media lapsed into silence. All the mics and cameras turned their focus to the lawyer. Looks like this biting question has aroused the interest of everyone present.

His moved his gaze from the young reporter, whose face was radiating sheer justice from it. He removed his glasses, the side of his mouth curling upwards as he replied to the reporter’s accusation with his usual smile and finesse.

“It’s a given that I have to defend my client’s interests seeing as how I’m a Lawyer. I’ve most certainly received the compliments from the plaintiff’s family.”

“Congratulations on another victory, Lawyer Leng.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

―—Back in his grand residence, Mr. He happily helped himself to another glass of red wine despite already being quite drunk.

Leng Renfei’s lips curled into a smile. “I should really congratulate you for having obtained a fair hearing from the court.”

“But of course.” Mr. He all but patted himself on his back. “How would those cretins ever affect me? The real evidence has already been destroyed and dealt away with, right from the very beginning of everything after all...”

Before he could finish his sentence however, he suddenly remembered the “rules” that the Lawyer beside him had set down at the beginning of it all. He sobered up a little, swallowing before looking towards Leng Renfei.

However, Feng Renfei’s expression didn’t change at all, only raising his glass lightly in question. “Not caring for another glass? Victory brewed by one’s hand will only taste all the sweeter when enjoyed in person.” 

“Haha… You’re right, Lawyer Leng. I’m going to sober up.“ Noticing how nothing seemed to be amiss with Leng Renfei, Mr. He breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly removed the cork from the bottle.

Judgement has already been passed, and the results have already been secured. Moreover, all the condemning evidence was already long gone, and even the most powerful Lawyer cannot ask for the case to be opened again. He couldn’t help the smug expression that appeared on his face.

Watching the fresh red wine trickling into the glass as it was poured, the smile on Leng Renfei’s face morphed into one that was a little more sincere.

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Stemming from the heart of 000 City, the river expands outwards in an X formation.

Located upstream were those who slumbered self-deceivingly within a beautifully fabricated dream. And located downstream, was where the entire City's waste was endlessly swept under the carpet. There, at the very edge of the City, was a particularly convenient place to carry out certain "things".

During night, at an abandoned warehouse located near the edge of the City— Mr He, who had been celebrating his victory so triumphantly earlier was now pathetically tied up on a chair against the wall.

His face was bruised, and one of the lenses of his glasses had been pierced by something thin and small. It was levelled just a few millimetres away from his eyeball. He sat there, tied and ramrod straight. He didn't even dare breathe, for he was afraid that doing so would cause that sliver to pierce through his eye.

A guy's voice reverberated through the darkness. "Do you still remember what I said?"

Mr. He frantically nodded, his cries coming out as mere whimpers as fearful tears fell from his eyes in an endless stream. 

"I hope to hear news of your confession tomorrow at noon."

——The dim lights, along with all the piled up junk and debris, formed a blind spot. White feathers darted out from one of the dark corners, flashing past.

It was as if something pure had just quietly fluttered it's wings amidst the sins that surrounded it. Out of place; yet shining ever so bright.

"Perhaps I shall let you enjoy what remaining freedom you have left. All these incriminating evidences are sufficient to land you in prison for the rest of your life after all."

A small blade flew out from the darkness as the voice faded away, cutting him free of his restrains.

Mr. He tore off the tape that gagged his mouth, breathing a sigh of relief as the spiking anxiety in his heart significantly calmed.

The next second saw a sharper, deadlier, blade brushing past the side of his eye, slicing a thin line across his temple before embedding itself into the wall just a mere hairsbreadth away.

The cold silver of the blade gleamed, reflecting his eyes as he widened them in a moment of panic. His breath came in short intermittent stutters, choking, as if he had his air flow concurrently cut off.

It was then, that Mr. He truly saw what was hiding in the shadows—

Leng Renfei, the Lawyer that had still been under his hire mere hours ago, was now here, skilfully manoeuvring his blade as he played with it.

A pair of pure white wings unfolded, stretching out from behind his back, each feather, as sharp as a blade.

With him, there was no hint of any of the kindness associated with angels. The edges of his feathers were razor sharp, akin to claws straight out of hell.

Stained with blood, they had a metallic tang to them. 

"Surprised?" Leng Renfei approached him slowly, one step at a time.

"Funny. I thought I'd already made it clear to you? That you must be absolutely truthful to me about everything that pertains to this Court Hearing. Otherwise, I won't be able to guarantee that you'll get the results you seek. No?"

The horrible pressure Mr. He felt forbade him from making even the slightest movement. His feet, clad in pristine leather shoes, tensed up as he slowly shifted his weight, inching backwards.

"If I fail to see the news tomorrow at noon, then…" A voice, low, yet hard to perceive, sounded beside his ear. Leng Renfei’s angelic wings fluttered a few times, and Mr. He felt the very real threat that they posed inching in closer every time they moved.

Next, a foot slammed itself hard onto his knee, forcing him to revert his focus back in front, to the owner of those deadly wings. From whom, he heard words that angels would never speak of.

"...You shall fall into the depths of hell with me."

He retracted his pure white wings, concealing the holiness once more.

Mr. He’s vision plummeted into darkness once more as Leng Renfei turned his back on him, walking towards the faint light that shone behind the door.

Halfway out the door, Leng Renfei paused. The few rays of light permeating the inky darkness illuminating his features, vaguely showing the way his lips curled into a smile. He placed his hands into his pockets, his words tinged with a bit of child-like “sincerity”.

“Right, I seem to recall that you got a B for your rational adaptation rating. There’s still a way if you wish to live out the rest of your life a little more comfortably.”

Despite how he’d already been driven to the corner, he couldn’t help but to see a new glimmer of hope upon hearing Leng Renfei’s words.

“S-ranked prisoners will receive special preferential treatment. How about you try your hand at it since you’re going to be spending the rest of your life in prison anyway?”

“I’ll always welcome you with open arms as the Adjudicator of 000 City’s Erasure Tests.”

"I promise you that you'll be able to get the fairest trials for your crimes there."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ  ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

The next day, noon. Mingfei Law Firm was swamped with the endless ringing of phone calls. 

The defendant who had won the case yesterday had suddenly confessed and turned himself in to the police. He’d even confessed in front of the media, apologizing to the family of the victim who had died from being unable to shoulder the burden of being cheated out of a large amount of property.

Half-slumped on his chair, Leng Renfei crossed his legs atop the table, off-handedly picking up and answering one of the many media calls.

“Oh? You’re asking me for my thoughts about it?”

“As a Lawyer, I feel sorry for my client; but personally, I’m very happy to see that justice has been served.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦  Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ LAW ONWIRE Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

[geniedocroe]

CLOSE AS STRANGERS

(don malarkey X reader)

angst, potential fluff

wc: 4430+

you were very in love. in fact, you had been for quite a while. since your seventh birthday actually. it was a blur of memories now and you could just barely recognize it. thirteen years passed quickly. soon things began to change and the future you were seeing . . . it wasn’t very bright and happy.

donald malarkey (your best friend, soulmate, the person you were in love with) had always been very perfect in your eyes. there wasn’t much to despise about him. so you simply couldn’t. you couldn’t hate him. of course there were a few things that set you off. these were only little things though. for instance, when the two of you would share a milkshake or something of the sort and he’d accidentally drop it (he was fairly clumsy), or how he’d jokingly trip you (that ticked you off to no end), or when he’d notice everyone else but you . . .

despite these minuscule flaws you loved him. from his toes to the stunning freckles and ginger hair. he was as pretty as a picture. he truly was. you didn’t believe you were as pleasing to be around, but it was always a confidence boost when don politely asked your mother if you come outside for a while. you felt as though he cared when he did little things like that.

today was like any other. you sat on the front porch of the little house you had grown up in, reading a book.

you thought maybe that was why you weren’t as desirable as the other women in town. they all seemed so daft and boring. apparently these “men” didn’t appreciate someone who could use their brain. it frustrated you to no end.

your like any other day was actually very tedious. it was one warm day in june. your mother wouldn’t allow you to work because she encouraged you to attend college first, which you did, but it was summertime. there was not one thing for you to do. so half of your day was spent sitting on the porch, flipping through books you had appeared to have read hundreds of times.

the excitement bubbled throughout your chest when you saw a mess of red hair running your way. it was about time he had shown up. don ran through your front yard and up the steps. he stopped short of you, trying to catch his breath.

“good afternoon, ma’am.” the ginger managed to cough out with a very bad british accent. he never failed to try and turn anything into a joke.

you looked up from your book with a soft smile. you responded in the same accent. “good afternoon, my good sir.”

“the weathers quite alright today, isn’t it?” he questioned, sitting beside you on the swing.

“i guess it is looking rather nice.” you gazed towards the sky. immediately regretting your decision to be blinded by the sun, you blinked at him, seeing colors.

“nice enough for a walk?” don asked, dropping the accent.

you grinned, gently shutting the book before standing to enter the house. “let me ask my mother.”

“you’re twenty years old!” he called after you as the screen door slammed shut. your laugh could be faintly heard.

don gave a soft little chuckle at the sound of your own laughter. he thought it was quite musical. everything about you screamed peace. it was like tiny birds helped you get dressed in the morning, or mice aided you whilst cleaning the house. you were some sort of sweet dream. something that he didn’t even know he wanted, someone he didn’t know he needed.

he may have been smart at times, but he was completely oblivious to your feelings and his own. you hadn’t made it extremely obvious that you were infatuated with your best friend. however, you dropped a subtle hint every now and then. don would just seemingly dance around it, but after some time you realized he didn’t even know how love-struck you were. in fact, you didn’t think he shared that very same feeling. you didn’t think he even had a minuscule bit of that feeling.

don sure felt something, but he thought it was just nerves. his chest felt loose and fuzzy, his stomach seemed to have joined gymnastics, and he just couldn’t seem to stop wringing his hands when you were near. he didn’t hate the way it felt, then again he certainly didn’t appreciate it either.

seconds later you reappeared, slamming the screen door shut behind you. there was a distant yell within the house. don looked up at you with innocent eyes.

“she said yes, of course.”

he stood up with a grin plastered over his freckled face. you bounded down the steps with your dear friend in tow. as the two of you stepped onto the sidewalk, he looped his arm through your own. you appreciated this dearly. it was as close to holding hands that you were gonna get, but it was casual enough where people didn’t ask you too many questions. this action had also made you feel safe. like the two of you were just out of arms reach.

of course you never felt unsafe in don’s presence. you weren’t incapable of protecting yourself, he was just your knight in shining armor. don was there and you would never force him to leave.

“what book were you reading?” don asked, gazing over at you, taking you in as if there was no more time left in the world.

“the wonderful wizard of oz. i cannot tell you how many times i’ve read that book.”

don thought for a moment before replying excitedly. “do you remember when we saw the movie and you dumped that bucket of popcorn on that poor guy? his face is fried into my brain. that was truly one of your best moments.”

“i live to please.” you sighed, throwing up your free arm. “you know what i still can’t get over? how amazing judy garland is. like truly, she is perfect i think.”

“she may be judy garland, but she doesn’t have a thing on you.”

you ducked your head away as your cheeks began to grow warm. a little voice in the back of your brain was screaming at you to just tell him before it was too late. you didn’t know how much time you had left or what girl was going to come and steal him away before you got the chance.

the rest of your walk continued it silence. the empty moments were filled with tranquility. don felt as though he wouldn’t be able to experience times like this for a very long while. all he wanted was to be around his best friend. all he wanted was for you to understand. for you to hug him and tell him that everything would be alright in the end.

approaching “your spot” on this day was unlike any other. it was a beautiful maple tree in the middle of a field with one ancient looking tire swing. not a lot of people knew about this place so it was perfect to get away. to just be the both of you. this was your safe place. you loved it here. you practically grew up here.

you could faintly remember the moment everything changed for the two of you as best friends. the moment you fell in love. you wondered if don remembered it better than you did. you wondered if he even thought about it at all. because to you, it meant the world.

“hey don, can you promise me something?” you asked, hanging upside down from the tire swing. you struggled for a moment before jumping down.

“i’d promise you anything.” he smiled at you as you sat down beside him. the two of you leaned up against the tree, looking out over the field.

“promise we won’t ever be like my parents. that we’ll always be best friends. cause, my parents have no friends and i always want you around.” you wrung your hands together nervously.

“of course we’ll always be best friends. i promise.” he stuck out his pinky to you and you accepted graciously. “oh! i have something for you.”

don pulled his hand away to grab something in his front shirt pocket. the look he had on his face said everything. the excitement had built up at this point. in his hand was held a small chain with a locket hung securely on it. he handed it to you and watched as you inspected it. engraved onto the silver was “forever in my heart” with two tiny roses.

“wow, don!” you gave him a huge grin as he secured the necklace. you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. you spoke into his shoulder. “i love it. thank you!”

“happy birthday.” he said fondly as he pulled away. he stared at you for a moment before he made an impulsive decision.

it was quick and it surely caught you off guard, but don pressed his lips to yours in a fleeting motion. you stood their wide eyed as you blinked at your friend with burning cheeks. don’s face was almost as red as his hair. and you were sure you had never felt this way before.

even at seven years old, you fell in love.

you plopped down beneath the tree without a care in the world. dust flew up as you disturbed the spot with your presence. don stood hesitantly beside the tire swing. his hand reached out to hang onto the rope.

looking out over the empty field sent a warm sensation from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. the sky seemed to stretch for years and the grass was as yellow as ever but that never stopped you from adoring it. the soft chirp of birds was music to your ears. how could you ever learn to loathe a place like this?

“i need to tell you something.”

you looked towards don. he fiddled with the rope for a moment before looking up at you. he didn’t expect you to already be gazing at him with puppy dog eyes. the sight of you almost made his eyes well up with tears.

“i’ll always listen. you know that.”

“i know. that’s why this is going to be so hard.”

as he sat down beside you, you began to think. with the war going on you weren’t very confident in what he was meant to tell you. half the men you had gone to school with had already enlisted or been drafted. it was only a matter of time before don would be leaving too.

there was a moment of silence where the both of you gazed out into the open field. you had to remind yourself that this was the place you loved and that don was your best friend. he wouldn’t ever intentionally do anything to hurt you.

“y/n,” don turned to you, placing a hand on your knee. “i’m being drafted.”

you blinked at him once, twice, then a third time. he stared back at you with sincere, innocent eyes. he prayed that you would understand. that this would all be okay and your friendship wouldn’t suffer.

whatever preparation your mind had done was no use. not a single person on earth was ever ready to face war. it didn’t matter how old you were or how many horrors you had seen. don would come out of the other side of the war as someone else. you knew he would. he would barely make it out alive. you didn’t want to know that person.

“i have to go.” you muttered, shoving his hand away from your knee.

immediately you stood with don following suit. he looked so incredibly hurt by your sudden movements. this was not the reaction he had expected.

a part of you was telling you to turn around and hug him one last time as you stalked off. you knew he was following close behind you but you were hard to keep up with. it was like a giant black hole had materialized in your chest and was beginning to consume all of your organs.

a hand grabbed your shoulder and you whipped around at an ungodly speed. the tears in your eyes were visible. you weren’t angry. don took a step back from you. he frowned at your reaction but still managed to choke out a sentence.

“this isn’t my fault, y’know. i wish i didn’t have to go.” he tried to reach for your hand but decided against it at the last moment.

“i just hope you make it home some day. you stay safe wherever you go, kid. good luck.” you gave a small smile before turning once again.

don was quite taken aback. you hadn’t called him kid in years. it was a joke that had died away after being used one too many times. then it became something you only called him when you were hurting deep down. he couldn’t fathom that this was one of those times.

as you quickly walked through the field you saw flashes of your childhood before you. the good, the bad, all of it. you love it here. actually, loved it.

over the next few days, you and don had absolutely no interactions. you strayed away from him and he felt hopeless. any time you saw him approaching you, you ran in the other direction. however, he never seemed to chase after you. neither of you knew what hurt more.

all don wanted to do was say one last goodbye. he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to see you again. there was some part of him that needed to see you but he couldn’t understand why. so, he left.

the day after don left you had begun to regret not going to see him. that black hole in your chest never subsided and you were afraid it was permanent. you had never gone so long without talking to him. the two of you had always been attached at the hip. if he never made it home . . . this silence would become your biggest regret.

your family looked at you with annoyance as you shoved the food around on your plate. you felt selfish to not want to eat but you truly weren’t hungry. you weren’t tired. you weren’t interested in anything. you had no motivation. it was obvious.

“what is the matter, dear?” your mother asked.

“nothing, mother.” you set down your fork, resting your chin in your hand.

“elbows off the table.” your mother instructed. you did as told. “it isn’t nothing, y/n. you haven’t spoke a full sentence in over a week. you haven’t left your bedroom. i haven’t even seen donald around here. are you ill? have the two of you gotten into an quarrel?” your mother questioned you with clear worry on her face. the rest of your family was silent. they looked at you curiously.

“i ain’t ill and there’s nothing wrong with don. he’s gone off to fight in the war. we won’t be seeing him for quite a while. we’ll be lucky to even see him again.” you huffed, studying the table cloth.

your siblings exchanged a glance. they didn’t understand the war. their naive innocent brains couldn’t comprehend why the war was being fought or why some people might not ever come home. you wished you could be as angelic as them.

“are you infatuated with that boy?” your father asked. mother elbowed him sharply in the side as your head shot up.

“infatuated?” you scoffed.

“let me tell you, y/n, military men are no good to marry. i like donald, but he’ll be completely gone after this war. they never come back home with a sane mind.” your father pointed his fork at you with a raised brow. “thought it will be such a same. he had a great future.”

“yes, because you’re such a great judge of character.” your mother dismissed her husbands opinion with a wave of her freshly manicured hand. “when he returns home you will dote on that boy. i’ve seen firsthand how much warfare can change a man, he’ll need all the help you can give him.”

you looked back down at your plate before looking up once more and scanning every face at the table. they stared at you expectantly.

“may i be excused?”

dear y/n,

i know we haven’t been on speaking terms and i’m sorry for that. i miss you so much. you are my best friend. your opinion means everything to me, but i hope you have tried to come to terms with my absence. it’s been over a year and neither of us have reached out to one another. that truly breaks my heart.

i’ve finished my training as a paratrooper. i’m sure you’ve never heard of that before. to put it simply, alongside the men i have trained with, i will be jumping out of airplanes with a parachute. it sounds terrifying, i know it does. however, i have trained with the best. you don’t need to worry.

i have met some amazing people during my training. it’s safe to say i’ve also met some insufferable individuals. there’s this guy named skip. he really became my best friend over the past year (of course no one could take your place). you would love him. he’s a great guy. super funny too.

my company consists of mostly good men. i don’t think i would ever say otherwise. they have to be extremely brave to want to jump out of an airplane. i have really gotten to know these men and i’m sure i’ve made bonds that will never break.

the beginning of my training took place in georgia. we ran up this mountain more times than i could even imagine. it was so painfully hot everyday. i don’t think i’d ever want to live there.

today i’m in a camp in new york. we leave in a couple days. we’re getting on a boat that’s heading over the atlantic ocean. i don’t know where we’re going or how long i’ll be gone. i’ve always wanted to visit europe, but not like this.

i hope you’re doing well. maybe you’ve graduated from school. maybe you have a great job. maybe you’re dating the best man you could find. maybe you have a kid. maybe you don’t have any of that. what a shame that’d be. you’re a real catch. you deserve anything and everything.

even if i don’t ever come home, i want you to live the kind of life that was always meant for you. find a new best friend. move on with your life. show everyone that you can’t be walked all over. don’t think that it’s all over because you won’t be seeing me again. in fifty years you could have everything you’ve ever worked for.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

dear y/n,

in about two days we will officially be entering the war. i’m terrified and i know i should be. i’m just trying to push through everything so that one day i will be able to come home.

there’s not much i’ll be able to say. i actually don’t know what to say. training has always been rough. they claim they want us to be the best. i secretly think they just want to see us struggle.

there has been a lot of difficulty over the past couple of months. despite all of this, there’s been the usual shenanigan. skip and our other friend alex, have dragged into some odd situations. i’m glad they do though. these are some memories i’ll hold close to my heart forever.

i still miss you. you never responded to my last letter. unless you did . . . perhaps i never got your response. i hope you’re doing great.

is there anything knew happening in your life? did you graduate? have you met any peculiar people? have you met anyone who’s completely changed your life? do you still go to that diner? i know you loved it there. i miss the milkshakes so much. are you working at all? do you miss me?

i pray that you will be able to respond to me. i’ll never know what my last letter will be. this could be it.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

dear y/n,

i still haven’t gotten a response. i hope you’re okay. i don’t know if you’re even alive. how horrible would it be if i was the one fighting in the war and you’re the one who’s passed?

this war is brutal. it’s horrible actually. i cant even explain how bad it is because those words aren’t even in my vocabulary. i’ve seen some really horrifying things. things that would make your hair curl.

we’ve lost people. good people. men with lives and families back home. people just like me. it just makes me realize that my days are potentially numbered.

i ended up getting into some trouble actually. a friend of mine and i had stolen a motorcycle. we went through the country in england and honestly i haven’t had that much fun in a long time. it was nice to let go and appreciate everything that was happening at the time.

if you are reading this, please respond. i need to know that you don’t hate me. or if you do hate me, i still want to know. i haven’t gotten many letters but every single one i get, i hope it’s you.

how are you? i really want to know. it’s been so long. are you okay? i miss you. i haven’t spoke to you in over two years. i’m sure something has happened in your life. something that has changed you completely. please respond, y/n.

i miss you. i always will.

-don malarkey

“hey mal!” skip called over to his friend who sat beside george luz.

don looked up curiously. skip, alex, john julian, and babe heffron stared back. they all shook furiously from the harsh weather of bastogne. taking the piss of conversations during their sad mealtimes were the only way to get by.

“who’s that girl back home that you’re constantly chattering on about?” skip asked.

“girl back home?” george echoed skip with raised eyebrows. “why have i never heard about this?”

don rolled his eyes as everyone looked at him with curious eyes. he had only ever spoke about you to skip. he hadn’t even told alex about you. i mean, what was there to say? you were only friends.

“i gotta hear this.” joe toye leaned forward to listen in.

“there’s this girl back home and she’s . . . she’s everything. you know, we were best friends. we grew up together. she hasn’t spoken to me since i told her i was leaving though. and – and i used to think i wouldn’t need her to just exist, but now without her . . . i feel like there’s a part of me missing. it’s horrible. she’s my best friend, y’know.” don explained. beside him george burst into uncontrollable laughter. skip and alex shared a look before cracking up as well. julian looked at babe with a confused expression. “why are you laughing at me?”

“sounds like you are in love with her, my friend.” joe nodded. george took a moment to try and regain himself but he burst back into laughter a second later.

“there’s no way. i’ve known her my whole life. i just - i just miss her, that’s all.” don pushed george away. the man was all but laughing in his face.

don felt like he was folding back into himself and pulling away from his friends. he didn’t want to bring you up and then get laughed at for your friendship. you hadn’t even spoken in years.

“you said you haven’t spoken in years?” julian piped up. don nodded. “well, why not?”

“i don’t think she wanted to face the idea that i wouldn’t be around for a while. she was pretty hurt. called me a name i hadn’t heard in years. i don’t blame her.”

“oh, so she’s in love with you too?” joe suggested and don gave him an incredulous look.

“i strongly doubt that.”

“you never know until you tell her that you love her too.” julian said.

“what the hell do you know about love?” babe snorted at the replacement next to him.

“i just think it seems kind of obvious.” julian shrugged. “he can’t realize that he’s in love with her and she could be in love with him and doesn’t realize it either. if the both of them can’t come to terms with it then the other would never know. so, they’ll both be suffering while they watch the other move on with their lives. might as well tell her now.”

everyone blinked at julian. for being so young and virginal, he spoke very wisely about love. he had more of a mind than don did. perhaps he would confess to you . . .

y/n,

i’ve never felt more alone. skip & alex got hit. they’re my best friends. i don’t know what to do. please tell me you’ll still be there when i get home.

-don malarkey

don,

i’m sorry about your friends. i’ll be here.

-y/n

dear y/n,

the past couple of months and years even have been extremely difficult. the war has changed my life drastically. it’s put me through the ringer. i pray it hasn’t done the same for you.

everyday i anxiously await the announcement of the japanese surrender. i cannot tell you how exciting that news was. the war is finally over. after years of all the pain and suffering for millions of people. of course, there’s still tons of rebuilding that will need to be done and there’s still so much that needs to be change. all i want to do is come home.

i hope you’re waiting for me. if you haven’t already met someone and started growing a life for yourself, i’d love to go out with you. you’re always the only thing i can think about. which is not good in a war.

i love you. i have always loved you. you mean everything to me and it’s hurt the both of us knowing that neither of us had said it sooner.

i’m coming home soon. i promise. i’ll be home before you know it. please don’t forget about me.

i miss you. i always have.

-don malarkey

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.

Excerpt:

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

--

 “Fuck!”

 Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.

 Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.

 So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.

 Fuck.

 He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and      Alex    .

 They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.

 “Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.

 “Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.

 If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.

 Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.

 “Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”

 “You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.

 Michael scoffed.

 Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”

 The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.

 Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”

 “I don’t.”

 “Huh?”

 “Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”

 That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.

 A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.

 “How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”

     Alex.    The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.

 Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.

 “Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”

 Michael marshalled himself to answer.

 “How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”

 “Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

 His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.

 “It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”

 “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”

 Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.

 “I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”

 “But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"

 The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.

 “All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”

 “Thanks again, man.”

 “Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”

 As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?

 It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.

 “I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.

 “Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.

 “Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.

 Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.

 Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being      Alex,    weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.

 At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

 What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

 But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

 So he’d live with it.

 His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.

 “Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”

 But it wasn’t a spam call at all.        Ortecho    sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.

 “Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.

 “Well it’s about damn—”

 “Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost      died,    what the hell?”

 “Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.

 “Listen, I—”

 Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”

 “…I know.”

 Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.

 He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael      did    know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.

 “Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”

 “Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me.      Are you okay?    ”

 “I…”

 What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.

 “Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.

 Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”

 Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself.  He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.

 “There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”

 That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and      bereft    he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t      enough    to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.

 Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.

 But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”

 “I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”

 “Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”

 “No, no, it’s fine.”

 There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.

 “Look, I should go,” she said.

 “Okay,” Michael replied.

 “I’m—really glad you’re okay.”

 “And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”

 “Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”

 “Don’t be a stranger.”

 She hung up.

 Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.

 Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.

 Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.

 But he should have—

 Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.

     We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G  

 Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.

 All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.

 Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.

 Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?

 The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.

 Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.

 Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.

 As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.

 And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?

 He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.

 Asshole.

 What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.

 Still, progress.

 It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?

 He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.

 Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.

 “Hey,” Michael greeted them.

 “Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.

 “Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.

 “Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”

 “That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.

 Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”

 Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”

 “I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.

 Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.

 Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.

 “You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.

 It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.

 “You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.

 Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.

 “So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.

     That didn’t stop Liz,    his mind whispered, but he shook it off.

 Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”

 Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.

 “And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 “No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”

 Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.

 He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.

 “Seriously, though,      are    you going somewhere?” he asked again.

 “…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.

 “      Alex,    ” Maria said in a scalded voice.

 Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.

 But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.

 “Alex, I told you,” Maria said.

 “I know. But—”

 “No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

 “It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”

 For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.

 Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.

 “I’m      not    leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”

 He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him:      I’m here.  

 “I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.

 Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.

 Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”

 Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.

 “Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.

 Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”

 “Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to      talk to us,    not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”

 “What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”

 Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.

 Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”

 “Did you? See something?” Michael asked.

 “Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.

 “Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”

 “Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.

 Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”

 Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”

     We.    Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.

 But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.

 “Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”

 “      Guerin,    ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”

 Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.

 “I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”

 As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.

 “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”

 “Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”

 Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.

 Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

 Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

 And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.

 Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.

 On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.

 Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”

 Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.

 “I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.

 “I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.

 “How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.

 Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”

 “I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”

 “No! No, hey, hey.”

 They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.

 “I just wanted to protect      you,    ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”

 “You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”

 They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.

 “We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.

 They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.

     We’ll figure it out.    Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.

 “We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.

 “Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”

 Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.

 “Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Absence of Words (Sawdust of Words 12)

At very long last, we have a new "Sawdust of Words" story!

Absence of Words, 13.5k, rated G.

London Sunday after the Apocalypse

They've survived an attempted Armageddon and near-executions, confessed their feelings, and now Aziraphale and Crowley are ready to spend the rest of eternity together.

But thousands of years of abuse are not so easily shrugged off. If this is going to work, if they're going to last longer than a few hours, Aziraphale and Crowley will need to learn to communicate.

It may be their greatest challenge yet. -- This fic takes place immediately after the "love confession" story "Finding the Words," and is my first real exploration in the series of what 6000 years of abuse and unhealthy communication becomes when you're abruptly free of your abusers AND starting a new relationship on the same day. Spoilers: it goes badly.

(However, I assure you all - it does have a happy ending and they will get better in the future!)

I shared the first scenes a few days ago, so the excerpt below is from slightly later, 1.3k of Aziraphale settling his emotions upon returning to the shop after the extreme thrill of walking hand-in-hand with Crowley for almost an hour. Hope you enjoy!

(CW for references to Heaven's emotional abuse/manipulation/gaslighting, and particularly to the fact that Aziraphale is still thinking in the ways they conditioned him to)

--

Aziraphale pushed the door of his shop closed and breathed a sigh of relief. Home again. His own space, where everything always made a little more sense, felt a little more secure.

Despite the fire, everything was exactly as it should be. Every book, every figurine, every speck of dust perfectly in its place. Even the rug he’d moved aside to contact Heaven lay flat in the center of the floor where it belonged, as if the entire horrid day hadn’t happened.

He paused for a moment, fingers resting on a stack of books, and took another deep breath. He didn’t feel quite settled yet; a cup of tea would really help, though he wasn’t sure if he had the time to make one properly.

Fortunately, as an angel, he had other options.

His favorite tea mug already sat on the desk by his favorite chair. Perfect. A quick miracle filled it with warm black tea, a blend of leaves with a hint of roast chestnut, something a little sweeter but more subtle than sugar, and a few buds of chamomile and safflower petals to help him relax. Then he settled into the chair and took a slow drink, letting the flavors linger on his tongue.

Yes, precisely what he needed. A moment of calm amidst the whirlwind, something Crowley would certainly understand once he’d had a chance to explain properly. Five minutes and he’d be ready for whatever excitement the world threw at him, or that he threw himself into, as that seemed to be something he did now.

He wiggled his shoulders, burrowing more comfortably into his pillows, pleased at his own boldness, wondering what he should try next. He’d played football once, years ago, perhaps they could find some energetic youths and play a match. Or he could learn a musical instrument, spend a day as one of those street-corner musicians. Not that he’d ever really wantedto, but he could if he liked, and the possibility was thrilling.

Or he could do something really audacious, like run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. That possibility made a great deal of heat rise to his face as he eyed the sofa where the demon liked to sprawl.

As he did, Aziraphale noticed a few things out of place. Nothing major. The blanket, usually draped across the sofa, lay neatly folded over the arm. The odds and ends across his desk had been properly stacked. The nearest bookshelf had been re-organized so that the books ran from the smallest on the left to the largest on the right. Even this mug, he realized, hadn’t been used for at least two days and should be sitting spotless in its cupboard.

Several possible explanations came to mind, particularly that in recreating the destroyed shop Adam had put a few items in the wrong spots. But he knew Crowley had spent hours waiting here this morning. Perhaps he’d done a little tidying, then sat and made himself a cup of tea.

That brought another fascinating blend of emotions. A little alarming, to be drinking from the same cup. Not proper at all, in today’s society, though it would have been more acceptable in the past. But in modern society, there was something intimate about it. And he found he didn’t mind that at all.

Not intimate, Aziraphale thought, eyes drifting across the shelf again. Domestic. Now there was an interesting idea. Crowley making himself at home in the shop. Making himself a snack, lounging about and being rude to customers, doing his little cleaning routine when he felt nervous, helping himself to a glass of wine in the evening or padding around in bare feet after waking up in the morning…

Instinctively, Aziraphale clamped down on the whole line of thought, burying it, glancing about to see if someone had somehow noticed.

But…there was no one to notice anything. No one to worry about. Not now, not ever again.

I’m…free.

He set down the mug and pressed his hands together. He’d never really considered himself trapped in the first place. Yes, he’d needed to be careful to avoid notice, judgement, but that was his own fault for not being the right sort of angel, for failing to measure up again and again.

And yet. There was no longer any reason to be careful.

No longer any reason to lie.

That was all Crowley had asked, wasn’t it? That Aziraphale stop lying?

Honesty. Now there was his most audacious idea yet.

“I…” He put his fingers to his lips, not quite sure he dared. But he could. He could. “I…love…”

His voice hitched over the word, his mind filling with caution, with warnings not to go too far.

“I lo-love…” Why was he shaking? He could hardly be reprimanded for it now. “I love…Crowley.”

The name seemed to hang in the air, echo off the walls. This was madness, of course, he had taken no precautions. He had every reason to think Gabriel might come back, for a check-up, for some final business, and Aziraphale would — would disappoint him, and that was worse than any punishment.

Only. Only that didn’t matter, did it? What was Gabriel’s disappointment, compared to a garden, a bright sky, and Crowley leaning down to brush his lips…

“I…I love Crowley!” It came out louder and more defiant than he intended, as warmth and excitement rushed through Aziraphale. “I love him! And he loves me!”

He gasped, just a little, to hear it out loud.

He loves me.

Sinking back into his seat again, Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. The mask of calm that had carried him through the Apocalypse fell away, and now he found himself quite close to actual tears.

He’d wondered for so many years. 78 years, 3 months and 14 days, to be precise. Did Crowley love him? Could Crowley love him? Did he feel even a fraction of that powerful force that Aziraphale often worried would destroy him, destroy them both?

It frightened him, sometimes, the love Aziraphale felt, warm and insistent, brash and bold, at times quite needy. Nothing like the pure love of Heaven, patient and kind, austere and a little distant. Not something to be freely given in exchange for a smile or a box of chocolates, but something to strive for, to inspire one towards improvement, towards one’s best self.

He’d tried, of course, oh how he’d tried. Every assignment, every duty, pouring every last bit of himself into whatever they asked of him with such good intentions, hoping for a sign, a bit of praise, a brush of that loving warmth. He always failed, of course, flawed and imperfect angel that he was.

He couldn’t resent Heaven for holding that love in reserve; that, too, was an expression of love, for how could one grow and develop if everything were simply handed to one?

But it had been lonely. So very lonely for so very long.

Not anymore.

Crowley loved him, right now, with all his faults and flaws. He couldn’t say it — such was the nature of the Fallen — but love wasn’t about words. He could feel it in Crowley’s touch, hear it in his tone of voice, taste it in his kiss. And that was enough.

He treasured it so, that love, that trust that Crowley had shared with so few. It was Aziraphale he found worthy, Aziraphalehe gave them to, and Aziraphale would do anything to show they hadn’t been misplaced.

My best friend, Crowley had said; what could be more precious than that? A greater honor than Aziraphale had ever expected.

He just wished he could hear the words in a different tone of voice, one not laced with all-consuming pain and loss. Wished he could think of them without remembering how he’d sat there stupidly, a corporationless angel floating in a void, unable to offer any reassurance or comfort, unable to even let Crowley see his face. Useless, as he’d always been.

That, at least, ended today. He loved Crowley, he was with Crowley. Nothing would ever come between them again.

He wiped his eyes one last time and went to find Crowley’s surprise. And perhaps some biscuits for the road, one never knew when one’s…companion (even that word made him blush) might get hungry.

Read the rest on AO3!

Or read the whole series here!

As always with Sawdust of Words - mind the tags and CWs.

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Would you be willing to do a Michael x Plus Size Reader? I feel insecure sometimes, especially thinking of how perfect he looks and I worry I would be too needy for him considering he called Gallant out for his neediness. I also feel like I would call him out for his neediness too since he wants someone who understands him, assuming we knew each other well enough. Can you do something with all this? 👉🏻👈🏻

Ooph. This one is really hard for me since it’s very far out of my comfort zone, but you don’t get better without practice, right? I hope that this has turned out in a way that you like! 100% yelled at Michael when I saw that shit, too. Like, YOU KNOW ALL ABOUT NEEDINESS DON’T YOU MICHAEL LANGDON?! HUH?! Anyway...fully agree. I think it might have been a little hard for him to see his neediness mirrored in someone else and that set him off. He can be the ONLY needy one. Disclaimer: Please don’t drink antifreeze to experience Michael Langdon. Thank you!

The Two Instances of Neediness

He’d promised you safety. Above all else, he had promised that he would keep you safe and make sure you were cared for when he couldn’t be with you. It seemed only half of that promise came through.

For the last year and a half, you’d been diligently waiting for him to retrieve you from Outpost 3. Safety had been provided, as promised. The white stone and dark wood walls were kept warm for the dozen or so people that resided inside the structure. There were enough rooms and beds for everyone to have their own space. A small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

When you finally saw Michael Langdon again, he had certainly changed. The way he carried himself, the exquisiteness of his clothes, the length of his hair… Everything looked and felt different. He looked and felt like everything he was meant to be. Divine yet deadly, comforting yet cruel. He was the sweet taste of antifreeze coating your tongue, euphoric and paralyzing all at once as he snuck into your system and shut you down from the inside out.

You watched him with a wondrous smile as he strode into the library. Your teeth sank gently into your lip in an attempt to keep from crying out his name. Surely he would still remember you. He surveyed the room with a self-satisfied smirk upon seeing the entirety of the Outpost gathered for him. When he spotted you, though, the smirk morphed into a painfully familiar look.

Eighteen months ago, you stood inside of Outpost 3 clad in nothing but your underwear following the mandatory decontamination process all new survivors had to undergo. A redhead with a pinched, strict face stared at you with a sneer, her eyes taking in every extra curve and flaw of your body. You stared right back at her with a smirk, daring her to make a single comment, when you both knew why you were there. Michael’s own people had brought you here on his behalf. Whatever this woman thought of you? It mattered for nothing in comparison to him.

Now, Michael stood at the center of the main library floor below you, gazing at you with the same sneer and furrowed brow that Venable bestowed upon you that first day. Your grey dress was plain and ill-fitting; at least if you’d been able to fashion some sort of belt or tie it could have almost looked appealing. The high bun was ridiculous and hurt your scalp something awful. Every night you let your hair out felt like a thousand bees stinging the follicles. Any alterations to the servant uniform you had been given were strictly forbidden. As was everything else.

You had been given safety, yes, but cared for? No. And now you stood there, eyes brimming with unshed tears, as he scowled hatefully at you and you could feel your heart crumbling piece by piece. Maybe he’d sent you here as a way to get rid of you. Maybe he’d found someone else, someone smarter, stronger, more conventionally beautiful. Perhaps his gaze would have been different if you had been granted the elegant drapery of the Purples. The corsets that cinched their waists and lifted their breasts gave them the perfect hourglass shape of a goddess. Your full figure would have been the very image of voluptuous and desirable then. There was no way you could bear to look at him now.

Days went by without seeing Michael. Between your work around the Outpost, your blatant avoidance of him, and his nonexistent attempts to reconnect, the opportunities were--thankfully--sparse. Conflict raged inside of you. Part of you wanted to confront him, to see what the fuck he thought he was playing at with your life and your feelings. The other part was happy to live in the questionable bliss of ignorance. You didn’t want to hear of whatever new love he’d found that superseded the love he’d claimed to have for you.

While it was easy to avoid his person, it was much, much harder to avoid his name.

“Langdon” was all anyone could talk about. How handsome he was, how skillful he must be in the bedroom. Gallant was certain that Langdon had his gorgeous blue eyes on him, and you’d never hated the hairdresser more. You hoped he choked on his cube. When his grandmother revealed that she had seen him having sex with someone, you resigned yourself to the fact that you had lost Michael for good. If he was interested in lean blond men, he certainly wasn’t interested in you anymore.

Venable assigned you to keep tabs on Gallant while he was strung up awaiting punishment. Once a day, you would throw a bucket of water over him to keep him clean. He still received his daily rations that you had to feed to him yourself since his hands were chained up. All you would have to do was shove the fork a liiiittle bit too far down his throat, and all the disparaging words he’d whispered just loud enough for you to hear behind your back, all of the times he’d tried to make you doubt your worth would all be over. There was only one man that you allowed to sow seeds of doubt in your mind. You froze mid step when that man’s voice drifted under the closed door of Gallant’s “cell”.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth,” his sweet voice dripped with contempt, “and you almost are.” The slow drawl of Michael Langdon’s voice continued inside of the room, bouncing tauntingly around the circular walls. “It’s not because you’re not physically attractive. It’s your neediness.” His tone of voice shifted dramatically from dulcet and slow to cutting and cold. It made you shiver, even as you felt the anger burning inside of your skin. It wasn’t for Gallant. Oh no, he could mock that shallow, conceited man all he wanted. “You’re desperation to be seen and loved. The hole you need filled isn’t in your face or your ass--it’s in your heart.”

No, your anger wasn’t on behalf of Gallant. You couldn’t help feeling he was also talking about you. How you’d often sought reassurance in him, and hoped to feel loved to validate the feelings that you felt for him, too. Above all, you were angry because you knew his words would have cut himself deeper than any other before he’s become this...this creature. Where was the man you knew and loved before the bombs fell?

“You’re pathetic.” Your lips trembled and tears burned in your eyes. The words, while not directed at you, punched the air from your lungs. Is that how he felt about you? Was that why he was avoiding you as if you had radiation sickness? The footsteps and the opening of the door didn’t register through your self-imposed turmoil. Before you knew it, the man that had been on your thoughts stood before you.

“No.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed at his and you stepped up, toe to toe, with his immaculately polished shoes. “You’re pathetic, Michael Langdon.” For the briefest moment, his glacial eyes melted and looked from your tears to the anger and hurt in your eyes. “You forget that I know you, Michael. Or at least I did once. No one needed love more than you, and now you weaponize that fact against someone else? Is that how you feel about everyone?” You bit into your lip as your entire body shook, the water you carried in your arms sloshing against the sides and mimicking the raging sea of emotions tearing you apart. “Is that how you feel about me?”

The answer never came. His arms remained, as always, clasped behind his back. Wide eyes narrowed dangerously to scan the surrounding halls to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst. His head bowed to yours, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, before he spoke.

“I will be conducting your interview this evening. Ms. Venable is already aware that you will not be attending dinner.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall in perfect, casual strides. You turned and let your back thud against the wall. The stone was cold against your back as you slid, shaking, to the floor

“What the fuck was I thinking?” You muttered to yourself several hours later when it came time to make the journey to Langdon’s office. You dreaded hearing whatever he had to say. Now he would be in the privacy of his own rooms and be able to rage against you however he saw fit.

“Come in.” Michael’s voice beckoned you before you could even lift your hand to knock. You opened the door slowly, heart heavy with dread, and kept your eyes down. Movement from his desk let you know where he was. “Now, now. No need to look so shy.” He approached you slowly, a smirk on his lips, and reached out a hand to cup your chin. “You forget that I know you, too,” he threw your words back at you.

You finally managed to lift your gaze to his and found it resting on your lips. The hardened ice of his gaze dissipated with an inquisitive tilt of his head, and your heart skipped at the familiar gesture. His warm hand on your skin, gently holding your face, brought back so many memories. The next thing you knew, he was stepping back from you and scanning your form from head to toe. The same glare and curl of his lips appeared as the first night he had arrived. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around yourself and attempted to shrink away as much as possible. He exhaled in a heavy, aggravated sigh. So he did think of you that way, too, then.

“She is going to pay for this,” he growled. Your head shot up in confusion. She who? Pay for what? Michael pressed his lips into a thin line of displeasure. “I specifically ordered that your position within the Outpost be among the elite. This is a blatant disregard for my commands. If I had known sooner… Take it off.” Mind still muddled in confusion, you simply blinked up at him. Michael gestured with his elegant, jeweled fingers curling into his upturned palm. “That ridiculous uniform. Take it off. And let down your hair. I can only imagine how uncomfortable that must be for you.”

This had to be some form of trick. You were supposed to have been a purple all along? He’d promised that you would be safe and cared for... No, he was using any trust that you had left in him against you--just like he had toyed with everyone else in the Outpost. The realization made you quickly shake your head. You were not going to expose yourself to him just so he could mock you and hurt you any further. His face fell at your refusal, and his brow furrowed.

“Please. It’s been so long. Knowing you’ve been right here with me the last few days without being able to truly speak to you has been excruciating. Please let me see you.” Oh, how you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted to think he had missed you and desired you. When you still didn’t move, he came towards you again and forced you to back up against the door. “Perhaps you need a bit of help.”

Michael stooped down and gently captured your ankle in his grasp. He removed your shoe with the effortless tug of his hand to toss it behind him and repeated the process on the other. Next, his hands ran up the sides of your legs. Gentleness was a foreign display from this new Michael, but it was one that your Michael had used often in ascertaining his feelings for you. A soft whimper slipped past your lips from the way he carefully gathered the fabric of your plain dress.

“Look at me, my love.” The command was a gentle one that you couldn’t help but to obey. His eyes mirrored the soft, passionate pleading of his words, and the feeling in the room shifted to something much more in your favor. “How I have missed you.” Several silent tears dripped down your cheeks. It would only be a matter of time before things came crashing down. You could feel it. “Now, take your dress off for me.”

He sat back on his heels and waited, smirking up at you quite happily. Every bit of you screamed no, to remain still, not to become so vulnerable in front of him. Yet, you could still see a part of the man you knew in those glistening blue eyes. A renewed determination filled you, and you removed his hands from your dress to tug it over your head. You tossed the dress into the corner and held your arms out to him in a show of exposure so against your usual nature it was painful. If you were lucky, a pit to hell would open up beneath you and save you from the tragedy. Or perhaps you were already there.

“Is this what you wanted to see? So you could mock me for my appearance, for my neediness to be appreciated and loved for more than what everyone sees? Fuck you, Michael. There was a time that you needed to be loved more than anything. That you wanted to be loved more than anything.” Your legs shook slightly from the willpower it took not to crumple in on yourself.

“Yes.” The words came from Michael as a hiss. Still it seduced you to him like the snake of the Forbidden Tree. His eyes appraised you as he stood, wide and remembering, taking in every curve and dip of your body that made you so scared and so uncertain of anyone’s affection. “This is what I wanted to see. To see you.” Michael’s smirk grew and he placed his hands on your waist. “There are only two occasions in which neediness is not a thing to be mocked, but to be adored.” The hands on your waist pulled you against him. Another whimper blended into a moan at the feel of his warm body against you.

“The first instance is the neediness for me that drips off of you. The second,” he pushed to sigh, “is how badly I need you. To see the image of perfection that I have dreamt of every day for the last 18 months. The warmth that has been absent from the bed beside me for too long.” The gentle pressure of his hands on your sides softly moved upwards over your breasts, along the tops of your shoulders, fingers dancing along your throat, the final destination being your cheeks. Love spread over every inch of your body. His words to you were nothing but the truth. A slight tremble to his lips broke the calm composure of the man the outpost knew as Langdon, Cooperative Agent. In his place stood Michael Langdon, your Michael Langdon, and he very eagerly captured your lips in his.

Everything was conveyed in that one embrace. He still needed you as much as you needed him. It would be your little secret.

[rist-ix]

The prophecy arc in sparked was cause for some controversy, so I’ll do my best to clean this up here. Spoiler warning obviously for the finale.

First, the cut together prophecy so y'all don't have to look for it:

-

At last, King Oritel's trusted advisor, Hagen the Blacksmith, has returned from his quest to the gate of the stars. The witches may have destroyed the grand lenses, but the astronomers' records have survived. And from beyond the grave, they bless us with their knowledge.

The witches’ power can be broken, they foretell us, by a company of six warriors, fighting for the light beyond these times of darkness. It is the sliver of hope the King and Queen have longed for. There is no doubt now that the Company of Light will be victorious, with such obvious signs from the Stars. 

What will become of Valtor, one might wonder, their most trusted weapon, once the witches are defeated? The astronomers’ studies have concluded that he can, in fact, exist outside of them. For the Flame is eternal, and even its stolen, corrupted sparks can never be extinguished. And the witches cannot command him through the veil of death. Surely, their spawn will rain new, unforeseen kinds of terror upon us all, in vengeance for his creators.

But the stars favor Domino once more. And so the late astronomers have given us one final prophecy.

Valtor will die.

Our recent failures to kill him have a simple, obvious reason: none of us are chosen. Only a true wielder of the Dragon's power could hope to destroy Valtor, fire against fire. And the astronomers have divined the time of his demise as well:

When the witches are torn from this world, at last, the power of the Dragon Fire will burn across dimensions in a glory once thought lost. Its faithful guardian will destroy the last traces of the Ancestresses, and slay the demonic beast they call their child. Our brave, beloved princess shall claim its spark as her trophy, and its body will rest in forgotten catacombs, deep beneath the earth. 

-

Everything that was written in the chronicle deserves to be treated with a grain of salt, last but not least because it was written by an unreliable narrator: Lord Bartelby. I have no idea what his canon personality is like, but in my fic he's this zealous royalist (and somewhat nationalist) dragon flame stan. Most of the entry in the chronicle are his own words, the actual prophecy is rather short. I've marked it in purple above.

The second point that should have tipped Valtor off was the fact that the predictions, and especially Bartelby's interpretation, were already proven flawed:

He assumed Domino was going to go into a new golden age, and instead it was completely destroyed.

He assumed Daphne would be the one the stars referred to, but she was killed just four weeks later.

He assumed the company of light would be victorious, but half of them are either dead or in exile after the fall of Domino.

Valtor knows all this, but because he's a firm believer in destiny and the stars, and also emotionally impacted, he doesn’t pick up on these red flags. And since he's your POV character, neither did most of you!

(Gotcha!)

Let's cut out Bartelby's fangirling over Daphne and the rest of his speech, and look at the prophecy itself.

The witches power can be broken, by a company of six warriors, fighting for the light beyond these times of darkness.

This, on first glance to them, is referring to the company of light. (Duh.) Six people who fight for the light beyond the darkness, aka a better future, yadda yadda. And it’s not incorrect: the company of light did indeed defeat the witches, which lead to them being banished to obsidian.

But it’s not the only interpretation. Those who have watched the movie, or — like me — binged the wiki entries instead, will know that the Winx are dubbed the new company of light by the end. The witches weren’t really defeated by their predecessors after all, only their power was broken. The real defeating will be done by the Winx (conveniently also a group of six ppl) over the course of two movies.

Knowing this, the part “fighting for the light beyond these times of darkness” takes on a new meaning. It’s not “fighting for the light at the end of the tunnel” anymore, but “fighting for good, but long after these current dark times” aka 20 years later. 

So Bartelby got the timing wrong, in his interpretation.

Another thing he got wrong? Thinking the second part of the prophecy meant Valtor would die. Because it’s never this explicitly stated. If you pay attention to the writing style, you can kinda tell which parts are the original, translated predictions, and which parts are his interpretation. “Valtor will die” doesn’t fit with the flowery rest of the prophecy, it’s safe to assume Bartelby just skipped ahead to the point with that line.

The only actual quote from the astronomers in that entire paragraph is this:

When the witches are torn from this world, at last, the power of the Dragon Fire will burn across dimensions in a glory once thought lost. Its faithful guardian will destroy the last traces of the Ancestresses, and slay the demonic beast they call their child. Our brave, beloved princess shall claim its spark as her trophy, and its body will rest in forgotten catacombs, deep beneath the earth. 

We have in part 1:

the witches are torn from this world (dead/trapped in obsidian)

Dimension-crossing dragon fire (Bloom being send to earth and returning to Magix (bringing the “glory thought lost” — the royal family was assumed extinct, after all)

Then, in part two:

destroying the ancestresses traces

Slaying their demonic beast child 

And this is where Bartelby's, and by extension Valtor's big mistake is! They assume the guardian fairy would destroy the witches “last traces” by killing Valtor. But the two points are not necessarily related. 

Bloom does destroy the witches' traces, but she does so by eradicating their power over Valtor. And she certainly slays his demonic form, in a way. It vanishes almost instantly, probably never to be seen again.

(And what happens *ahem* after counts as slaying too, in my book. Girl is gonna give him a heart attack one of these days)

If you want to be petty, you can argue that she does actually kill a demonic child of the witches later on - Mandragora, a character from the movie. That's Close Enough for the stars.

A big reason for Valtor and Bartelby interpreting this part as Valtor's death is the wording of the next sentence.

The Princess will claim Valtor’s spark of dragon fire (aka his life force, aka his heart)

His body will rest in underground catacombs, IMPLYING that he will be buried there and forgotten

And well. All this does happen, doesn’t it? She officially wins Valtor's heart and love for herself, and together, they find some well deserved rest in the catacombs. In other words, they Take A Nap. 

Eat THIS Bartelby.

[seizethesam]

Look At Me

Summary: You feel a little down and start to doubt yourself when you see the lifestyle of the Alexandrians, Daryl comforts you. (Set in late season 5 - Alexandria.)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Word Count: 1556

Author’s Note: Heyy!! This is my first Daryl one-shot. I’ve been working on it for a few days and now it's with you!! I hope you like it!!

Happy reading! xx

You took sluggish steps through the large gate, your eyes wandered on every human being you spotted. Daryl was standing by your side, on his rightful place, with cautious eyes and a dead possum hanging from his one hand, the other holding the strap of his crossbow.

His chin was slightly tucked to his chest, watching everyone with his piercing gaze. He looked intimidating, if not dangerous. He was on alert just like you with all your guards up.

You were brought to this so-called paradise where people lived happily, without any worry, any wrinkles on their brow. You’ve imagined that the only thing they had to worry about was what extraordinary food to cook that evening.

Alexandria… The name had a good ring to it.

The people were laughing, chatting, going on about their days, while you and your family were covered in filth. Your bodies were caked with blood and dirt on the road. You were pretty sure that you looked like months old human garbage.

You were afraid. You were afraid that all this could be real. You were terrified that this place could give you hope for a better life.

You were used to being out there, in the wild, walking on the dangerous lands. Lands that now only belonged to nature and the dead. The dead, starvation, and danger had almost become a second nature to you.

Almost.

But at the same time, you were tired of losing people, tired of seeing blood everywhere, tired of sleeping with one eye open. And you were sick of getting blood on your hands.

Altogether, you wanted to rest, wanted comfort. You wished to have a fine supper with your family, a good night sleep with Daryl’s arms wrapped around you. You were afraid that a chance to get all this also meant losing them all over again.

First, the leader of the community, Deanna, took all of you for interviews. Rick was the first one to go, then Glenn, then you…

You stepped into the large living room and spotted an armchair and a video camera right in front of it. You didn’t know what to with yourself. You walked towards the armchair, drawing a circle around it, afraid to stain it with your dirt.

Everything in the room was so clean and neat that you felt out of place with your body caked with blood and dirt, greasy hair sticking to the sides of your face.

“You can sit down,” the voice came from the entrance to the living room.

Deanna greeted you with a warm welcome which caused a wave of shock through your body.  

You hesitantly sat down on the armchair across the camera. The comfort was causing uncomforting feeling.

“What is your name?” asked the woman.

“(Y/N)”

“You’ve been through great deal, haven’t you, Y/N?” she questioned.

You paused for a minute to think about the things you’ve been through; the farm being gone, the road, the governor, the infection, the governor again, the road again, terminus, the road, and the constant pain of losing people along the way…

You swallowed the pain growing inside you. “I guess,” you answered plainly.

“What did you do before all this?” she continued. Her eyes were wandering over you, studying you. You didn’t make sense of the question.

“A painter, a teacher, an astronaut, a zookeeper,” you listed the first professions that had come to your mind, “does it matter anymore?” your voice was tired and flat, and far from being irritating.

You were just exhausted.

After the interview with Deanna, you were all gathered in one of the houses that they have assigned you. You were all on a knife edge, constantly looking for reasons to bail out, reasons to take this place down.

It wasn’t much later that you thought how crazy all this was. Yes, you needed to protect yourselves, you needed to stay sharp. But being on the edge at all times, looking for reasons to not to trust people would just make you insane. Drive you crazy.

“They’re trying to split us apart,” Carol commented.

“We should all sleep here for tonight, ‘till we make sure they’re alright,” added Rick. His voice was almost a whisper that you could barely make out what he was saying.

The air moved fast through your nose and lungs. A light buzzing sound filled your ear when you saw stars falling down in front of you. Daryl was mouthing something, but you couldn’t make out what.

You supported yourself with one hand on the couch next to you and draw the other to your head when your vision went dark for a second.

“Hey hey,” Rick approached you with concern, “you okay?”

The others were watching you with worried eyes. “Yeah, I’m alright. —Guess it’s the blood pressure,” you said when Daryl had rushed to your side.

“S’ go outside,” Daryl suggested and you nodded after Rick padded your shoulder.

You exited the house to the front porch, and you sat yourself on the comfortable swinging chair. Daryl sat down next to you, handing a bottle of water for you.

You sat in silence for a while, observing the greenery of Alexandria. You saw a woman exit another house with a smile on her face, waving good-bye to the other person. They were really living their lives down here, weren’t they?

You couldn’t help but be jealous. They were in here eating chocolate cakes, while you were fighting out there, and yet, still losing.

“You think this is all real?” you asked with a low voice, referring to the community.

Daryl waited for a while before answering, he was thinking, biting his thumb. “I donno,” he murmured.  

“I want it to be,” you said. You were surprised how vulnerable you sounded.

“Wantin’ it ta be real is one thing, the truth is another,” he pointed.

You chewed your lip as you nodded, “I know.”

“Look,” he said in a whisper, “look at me,” he repeated, and you turned to face him. “We’re gonna make it work, we always do,” he assured you as put his hand on the back of your head.

He drew your face closer to his and pressed his forehead against yours.

“uh-huh,” you hummed as you closed your eyes.

The same day after the sunset, you were in the bathroom of your new house. There was a clean shower, clean towels, a working tab that actually spilled clean water. There were multiple choices of shampoo and shower gel.

You slowly opened the small cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. Your reflection on the mirror was not comforting.

In the cabinet, there were tampons and pads from multiple brands, razors, ears picks, floss, and every other small detailed necessity.

You didn’t know what to think, or what to say. It had been a really long time since you’d seen this many supplies in general, much less personal hygiene products.

You closed the cabinet and saw your reflection clearer now.

You looked like shit.

Your braided hair was sticking to your head with grease. Your undereyes were a different shade of purple now, if not black.

Your lips were cracked like a piece of deserted soil. Your tired hand traced the bitter flaws of your features from eyes to lips. Then, your hand reached for the slightly red, skin colored scar from your neck, over your collar bone, to the chest. A courtesy of the Governor.

You unbraided your hair without taking your eyes off your reflection. You spread and let your hair fall down your shoulders.

They looked fairly lesser than you remembered. You run your hand through your hair and saw the grey hairs that took place in several parts.

You frowned at the discovery. You certainly weren’t old enough to grow grey hairs. No. These were the result of years of worry, fear, and stress.

The person in the mirror looked—old… and tired, and sick…You couldn’t recognize her.

“What’re ya doin’,” the sudden noise from the door made you startle.

You turned to see that it was Daryl. “Was lookin’ for ya,” he said with a soft voice which was not very usual with him.

“I was just checking in with myself,” you sent him a joyless smile.

He stepped in the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He must have felt your downcast. He always did. Whenever you were feeling down or just stressed, he’d be there to just make everything okay. Whether it’d be a silent hug, or his reassuring words.

Daryl would always make your feel better.

He walked towards you, “ya okay?”

Words were stuck in your throat; you opened your mouth to speak but they didn’t come out. So, instead you nodded your head ‘no’.

You leaned your back against the counter, so you were standing face to face with Daryl.

He didn’t say anything to your subtle respond. Instead, he came closer and wrapped his big arms around your weary figure, “C’mere,” he whispered.

The warmth of his body was engulfing yours in every possible way, reminding you that you were safe in his embrace.

“I’m here,” he said.

Opposing to his rough exterior and muscly arms, his hug was that much softer and gentle.

Right then and now, you didn’t doubt yourself. You didn’t look old…or sick…or broken.

You were, now, a whole.

Tag:

@ly--canthrope

[pennamesmith]

Skeletor Ain’t Heavy

Two brothers seek out a community, and Wrong Hordak reflects on the past. More Skeletor stories, if you want ‘em!

*

Two brothers walked the hallways of Bright Moon palace. They were Horde clones, cautious, curious, and concerned. 

“Are you sure this is the right way? I’m certain we passed that decorative waterfall twice already,” the shorter clone complained. He had swept-back ears, and two extra eyes that would never open. 

“Don’t be rude,” the other chided. Tired wrinkles hung at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but he shared the same chestnut shade of hair as his brother.  

“Not only do you trespass in my domain, but you insult me as well! I know the way, I’ve been there before,” squawked the gangly robot guiding them. He strutted purposefully ahead before halting at an arched entryway. “Ha! Here it is! Now, with this magic spell, we shall open a gateway to an evil, little-known dimension!”

He knocked on the door. It swung open. 

Wrong Hordak stood on the other side, bouncing on his feet and wearing an effervescent grin. “Hello, Skeletor!” he said to the robot. “And welcome, brothers! Please, come in!” 

The exuberant clone stepped aside and beckoned the other two through the door. They followed, and found themselves in a modest space filled with a number of other Horde clones. The flock milled comfortably about the room, striking up conversations, taking fruit slices and coffee from a table in the back, and gradually getting settled around an open ring of chairs. 

“Is it your first time here?” Wrong Hordak asked. 

The older clone nodded. “Yes. I am named Sunder, and this is Zed. Skeletor told us about your support group for former members of the Horde. May we join you?”

“Of course!” Wrong Hordak beamed and motioned for the newcomers to join the circle. As they did so, the only other person in the room who wasn’t a clone — a prim-looking lizard — quirked an eyebrow in Skeletor’s direction. 

Double Trouble, a plate of honeydew in hand, sauntered over to where Wrong Hordak stood. “I thought Skeletor left with the princesses on that big interdimensional field trip?” they whispered, bemused.  

“Oh, he couldn’t find a pet sitter for Relay,” Wrong Hordak replied, gesturing to a small robotic puppy sitting happily on a pillow in the corner. Skeletor gathered it up lovingly and almost seemed to smile. 

“Stop licking my face, you dratted dog!” Skeletor whined as Relay greeted him enthusiastically. “Gah! You’re drowning me!” 

He made no motion to put the mechanical mutt down. 

“What? But that doesn’t… oh, never mind.” Double Trouble sighed and wrapped themself around Wrong Hordak’s arm. “In that case, darling, we may as well get started. I want to hear from the fresh meat!” 

They joined the group. Wrong Hordak gave a short clap to bring the session to order, and the ring of clones hushed. They watched him expectantly. 

“Welcome, everyone!” Wrong Hordak began. “Thank you for coming. Today we are joined by two new friends. Brothers, are you willing to share your stories with us?” 

Zed nodded. “We’ve been living in the Crimson Waste since the end of the war, under Huntara’s protection. We were both on the Velvet Glove when it became, ah…”

“The Space Tree,” one of the other clones supplied. 

“…The Space Tree, thank you. I am — was — being grown as Horde Prime’s next holy vessel. But I decanted prematurely when he was defeated by She-Ra.” Zed looked guiltily away from the others. “I have never known a world without freedom from Prime. Yet his evil will always mark me.” 

“Whereas I,” Sunder continued, “served the Galactic Horde for many years, and committed many atrocities in Prime’s name. There was even a time when I imagined myself his top general, though I have since learned that this was a lie he told to many of us.” 

Several of the clones nodded sympathetically. 

Sunder touched the wrinkles on his face. “But even we clones grow old. I was scheduled to be decommissioned, until Prime fell and awakening came upon us all. His death granted me new life.” 

“Hello, Sunder!” the group greeted in cheerful unison. “Hello, Zed!” 

“Thank you for sharing, brothers,” Wrong Hordak commended. “Is there anything you wish to ask of us?” 

Sunder shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There is. I came here because I want to know… how can I live with what I have done? How do any of us atone for the pain we caused under Prime’s control? We’ve worked as hard to heal the planet as anyone, but is it enough?” 

“And how can we be sure never to harm anyone else?” Zed cut in. “How do I know I will not make the same mistakes that created Prime?” 

“My goodness! Such pathos,” muttered Double Trouble, not unkindly. 

“I also have this fear,” one of the clones volunteered. “My sleep cycle is often interrupted by unpleasant fantasies. I imagine myself saying, ‘If Horde Prime created me in hatred, am I not doomed to hate?’” 

Wrong Hordak nodded in understanding. “It is not shameful to have such thoughts. And I also know what it is like to have memories that… no longer give me pride.” He narrowed his eyes. “I served Horde Prime in many battles on many planets before I met the liberator Entrapta and her friends. Regretfully, I can remember most of them.” 

“Yes, I have such memories too,” said Sunder. “Sometimes I wish they could still be taken away from me, but I know that is not the way.” The old clone had an earnest expression. “Please, what rituals may I perform to calm the storm inside my mind?” 

“I have found that nothing works for every one of us without error,” Wrong Hordak replied, glancing around at the gathered individuals. “Yet for many of us it is beneficial to think of choosing love instead of hatred. It is not an easy task, of course, but it is still our greatest power, to choose.” 

“You are who you choose to be,” Double Trouble stated sagely, their features flickering for a few moments. 

“As for my memories,” Wrong Hordak went on. He took a deep breath, as if he had been pondering what he was about to say next for a long time. 

“Looking back, I find most of my life acceptable and good — and most of it I wouldn’t change. I can see the surprise in your face! But yes, I would choose the same progenitors, the same siblings, whatever their flaws or mistakes. I would fall in love with the same person and plan the same future.”

He shared a warm look with Double Trouble. “So the regrets — and there are many of them — are not a rejection of fate. They are essentially hindsight. If I know them.” 

Wrong Hordak spoke the if with conviction.

“Now certainly, if I had just been decanted, knowing what I know now, I would have behaved differently. I might imagine that I should have done this, could have become that, and my life would have been richer, more governed by love and concern for others, more full of life, spirit, humor, adventure, experimentation, risk-taking.”

He gave Double Trouble another knowing glance. “However, in those moments I am looking at my life as the director of a play might look at the script. They might say ‘cut that awful scene’ or ‘have him act more compassionately.’ But they are the director. They know the end of the story! Whereas I, an actor, had to grope along, trying to find the right way, and trying to find the courage to do what I should have done.” 

Wrong Hordak sighed. “So now, I suppose I have to forgive myself for being a messy infant. For being afraid of bullies, for not understanding others, for wasting time, for feeling negative and discouraged, for not expressing love more effectively, for not opening myself to the experience of what others were willing to give me.” 

Zed and Sunder were leaning forward, listening intently. Nevertheless, something in their expressions still seemed uncertain.  

“I don’t understand,” the older clone ventured. “Wouldn’t you still change the past if you could?” 

“And how do you know what to do now?” Zed added. 

“I don’t,” Wrong Hordak shrugged. “I have imagined, if there were an all-powerful being, and they told me, ‘Very well, I shall grant you another try,' and if I lived the same life over, only better, what would happen? At the end, would I feel satisfied? Proud?”

“Yes?” Sunder tried. 

“Maybe?” Zed guessed. 

“I would not,” Wrong Hordak replied, gently. “Because there would still be an entire universe of variables! As a result of the experience of the second attempt I would only cry out, ‘I’ve failed again! Now, as a result of the second attempt, I clearly see how it should have gone! Oh please, let me stay for one more try!’” 

Sunder contemplated this. “And how would your hypothetical omnipotent being respond?” 

“They would say, ‘It is no use, Wrong Hordak. Nothing can be perfect. The third attempt would only bring an increase in wisdom and a completely new set of regrets.’” 

Zed and Sunder sat back as they took this in. Then they looked at each other, and seemed to reach an unspoken agreement. 

“I believe we have much to discuss,” Sunder said eventually. 

“Do you meet at the same time every week?” Zed asked. 

Wrong Hordak smiled. 

*

Later, after the group had concluded their meeting and most of the attendees had left, Wrong Hordak paused thoughtfully while he stacked the chairs and cleaned up the space. 

“Witless fools, do I have to do everything for you?” Skeletor muttered, passing by with the mop. 

Double Trouble noticed and approached their clone lover. “That was a lovely speech you gave today,” they said. “Would you really not change anything in your life?” 

“There are many things I might have done differently,” Wrong Hordak admitted. “But if the events of my existence had not transpired exactly as they did, I would not be where I am now. And I like where I am now very much.” 

“Bravo,” Double Trouble applauded. 

They embraced. 

“Hmph! That’s your opinion,” Skeletor grouched. “I don’t do things for humanity, I do them for me!” He shook his head. “Oh, why do I surround myself with fools? Even the robots are smarter than you!”  

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: VII

George Weasley x Reader

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: (future as well as present) suicidal thoughts, smut, angst, fluff, depression,  attempted SUICIDE, self harm, torture, mentions of torture, violence

MASTERLIST

***

Two weeks later, he was nervous for a different reason. He was not entering a cave of enemies, instead he was joining friends, but that seemed far worse. They would all stare at him when Fred’s name was announced as one those tragically lost to the war. People would pat him on the shoulder and offer the same shallow condolences they had offered at the funeral almost a year ago. All the sympathy he needed had been offered through tender touches and thoughtful gazes across a makeshift breakfast table of milkcrates. Leading up to the day she had asked him if he was okay to go. Three months ago, he never would have imagined himself going to something like this, but three months ago he didn’t have Hannah. He could handle every moment as long as she was by his side. He was even grateful he had been struck with the need to make Hannah happy and invited Malfoy. At least the weasel wouldn’t send him stares of pity across the great marble floor or whisper about him behind thick velvet curtains.

Hannah was still getting ready in their tiny bathroom, cursing every time she bumped against the lopsided shelf, he had installed to hold her absurd number of products. The time was ticking down, and Malfoy had rented a car for the two couples, and it was going to be here any minute.

“Hannah,” he called, flopping back onto the bed, wrinkles be damned.

“Coming,” she hollered back with that infinite amount of optimism one would have to possess on a night like this. The door flew open and she grinned. “Zip me?”

He would have, it would have been the polite thing to do, and it was an excellent excuse to try and seduce her into staying home, but his motor skills seemed to fail him.

She was beautiful. He had known this before, of course, but now dressed long red crushed velvet she was… breathtaking. Most of her hair was pinned to the back of her head, but a few soft, golden curls framed her face, brushing her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a grin, dark red lipstick contrasting the whiteness of her teeth. She knew exactly what she was doing as she stepped closer, looking as innocent as ever. “You going to zip me?”

“I might unzip you,” he muttered, pulling her closer as she laughed. He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away before he could.

“You’ll smudge my lipstick,” she muttered before planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose before turning around, exposing the soft skin of her back to greedy fingers. He placed a kiss to her spine before pulling up the zipper with slow deliberation. She shivered as he allowed his finger to drag along her skin, back arching ever so slightly until he reached the end. It didn’t cover much, reaching only the small of her back, a temptation he was going to have to deal with for the rest of the night.

“I like the red,” he whispered.

“I thought a little statement about Gryffindor would be appropriate,” she replied.

“Oh yes, very. One day when I can bare it, I’ll have to dig out the old quidditch jersey, you’ll look remarkable in it.” His heart panged at the mention of the garment, knowing that an almost identical one sat in the chest beneath the bed, a garment he couldn’t care to look at quite yet. Quickly, she spun around and kissed him again, soft and meaningful, full of the unspoken message that if it was better to stay home, she would do just that.

A cordial knock snapped against the door; Malfoy had arrived.

“Last chance to cancel,” she whispered against his neck, but he shook his head.

“No, it’ll be good for me, I have to get out there anyways.”

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against his lips. The chocolatey taste of her lipstick filled his senses, and he pulled her tight against him, forgetting all about the boy at the door until another harsh knock sounded at the door.

“Get out here, you lovebirds,” he called, and Hannah giggled before pulling away.

“I think he’s getting impatient.”

“I think you’re right,” he said offering her his arm, “M’lady.”

“What a gentleman.” George opened the door, and they were met with the sight of smartly dressed Draco. His suit was all black with a small green gem pinned to his lapel. It was small and almost unnoticeable but a statement, nonetheless. He may have been ashamed about his actions, but he certainly wasn’t ashamed about his house.

Hannah pulled Draco into a hug, kissing his cheek, as her thumb brushed the gem. She wasn’t even a wizard and she knew the message that followed such a piece.

“You clean up nice,” Draco choked out to George and he nodded sharply in return. He was glad Malfoy would be joining them, but he still wasn’t quite sure how to behave around the Slytherin prince. “We’re going to be late,” he continued.

“Oh, of course,” Hannah gasped, sparing George the awkwardness of responding. They made their way to the street and slid inside. Hannah and Sloane awkwardly hugged despite the cramped nature of the car and quickly began gossiping with Hannah.

Hannah listened intently, but her hand never left him as she rested in the crook of his arm.

“Reporters aren’t allowed, but I’m a small exception,” Sloane bragged tapping a pen that was hidden in the curls of her hair. George could only assume a notebook was hidden somewhere else among the folds of silver gown. To anyone else it might have seemed like a neutral color, one full of royalty and elegance, but George could tell by the way Draco was passing the fabric through his fingers it was a show of support far more obvious than his small gem.

The atmosphere was friendly as they made their way to the celebration, Hannah and Sloane carrying a majority of the conversation as Sloane explained what sorts of magic they would come across. Hannah was certainly going to be one of the only muggles attending, if not the only one, but he couldn’t imagine they would have much to say about it, not in light of a celebration that was about the defeat of the very man who had wanted them destroyed.

And if they did, he would send anyone away who tried to give her a hard time. If Draco could befriend a muggle, certainly all those who had fought against Voldemort could as well.

Everything was going well until they pulled up to the steps of the venue. That was when the weight settled onto the two men. They climbed out of the car, invitations clutched tightly in their hands as they took the arms of their dates and began their trek towards individual nightmares.

George handed his invitation to the doorman first and instantly was allowed to pass. He began to make his way towards the banquet hall, but Hannah held him back. He turned to find the source of her hesitation and found Malfoy arguing with the doorman, who must have recognized his face.

“You’re not on the list,” the doorman responded coldly and Draco shifted angrily. He remained silent, as if admitting defeat, but Sloane was not having anything of the sort.

“We have an invitation,” she snapped, shoving the parchment into his face, but he cringed away, not even daring to touch the paper.

“It may have been forged.”

“How dare you, you-,” Sloane began, hand reaching for a wand he was sure she had tucked away beside the notebook, but George cut her off.

“Draco,” he called and all three looked at him, surprise written across each face, “Is this man giving you trouble?” He had never referred to the weasel by his first name, and he had certainly never stood up for him, but tonight was a night of firsts.

“Mr. Weasley, you surely can’t-,”

“I can’t what?” The doorman was dumbfounded, shocked his bullying had been put on hold by someone he considered to be on the same side. “Draco, we best make our way to the hall before our table gets snagged.” Draco nodded curtly and joined the couple, eyes offering thanks.

“I can’t believe the audacity…” Soane was ranting as they made their way closer to the party. She was proclaiming all sorts of threats, most of which involved spilling his dirty laundry across the front page of the Daily Prophet, but George wasn’t paying attention. If the doorman was that biased, how was the rest of the party going to be. He couldn’t defend the man against everyone and everything that considered him the scum of the earth. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them all off, not when he had to get them off his own back.

Their table was in the back corner, per request, and no one of consequence had noticed the pair of couples yet.

“I need the powder room,” Sloane announced, dragging Hannah along with her.

“Don’t let Hannah learn any habits from that girl of mine,” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair in exhaustion. George remained in silent confusion, asking for an explanation. “She’s got some anger issues that one. Mark my words when she comes back her knuckles will be a war wound. Her one flaw really.”

“You’d never be able to tell.”

“She keeps it well hidden. First time I saw her knuckles she tried to completely deny it, like I don’t know what busted up knuckles look like. She’s so loyal though, so goddamn loyal. She sees my name in the paper once and she disappears for a few hours and then comes back with bloody knuckles, and the next day the poor bastard is strong up for some dirty little secret. It almost feels wrong telling her not to get angry when it’s on my behalf.”

“But you’re worried she’ll make enemies she can’t defeat,” George interrupted, and Draco smirked.

“Exactly. I mean, I begged her not to wear that dress, but she insisted. She kept telling me, ‘Someone needs to make a statement. It’s not fair that Slytherin is the enemy, not after the was has ended’. I wanted to strangle her, shake some sense into that ridiculously brash brain of hers. She would have been a Gryffindor if she had come to Hogwarts I’m sure of it, we would never have let anyone that stupid in Slytherin,” he said fondly, the tone not matching the frustration of his words. “I hated her at first, did you know?” George shook his head. “I did. She was so nosy, and I just wanted to disappear, but she wouldn’t let me. And now I love her, never thought I’d say that to anyone before her, y’know.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” George whispered with wide eyes as the girls returned from the bathroom. They took their seats, and sure enough Sloane’s knuckles were swollen and bruised, cuts along each of the knuckles. It was a mixture of old wounds and new, making him wonder why she didn’t heal the wounds.

All around their table was gayety. Old friends reuniting both in person and through paintings. Fred had a painting somewhere, but George wasn’t quite sure if he would ever be able to make it over to that corner, if he would be able to look into the eyes of his brother when he couldn’t hug him until his bones stopped aching and his heart stopped yearning.

The conversation was slow and easy, Draco and George falling into softer moments of their school experience, avoiding moments when they interacted. Through conversation they talked about quidditch and McGonagall and how even the five-star dinner thy were being served now couldn’t compare to feasts at the Great Hall. Sloane was enjoying whatever French concoction they had provided because she had suffered through American school lunches since her first year of school.

Eventually, the band stepped onto the stage and magically a ballroom was summoned, complete with glitter drifting around in reds, blues, and yellows like confetti. Neither boy was interested in dancing, not the girls minded. Hannah cared more about George’s comfort than dancing, and Sloane had disappeared half an hour ago to interview people as subtly as she could bare. It was nice, he had never thought he would find joy in speaking to Draco, but it seemed that when they weren’t forced to choose sides, or being persuaded to be a bigot, they had a lot in common. Nothing had happened, it seemed nothing would until George heard his name called over the sound of soft strings.

“George, I heard a rumor you’re friends with a Death Eater now, but I told them that can’t be true,” Ron called, pushing through the crowd. He seemed so sure of himself until he finally stumbled upon their table, eyes flitting between George and Draco. “I see I was wrong.”

“He’s not a Death Eater,” George replied, taking another sip of his drink, ignoring the look of contempt on Ron’s face.

“I bet his arm says otherwise,” Ron spat and Draco stood, eyes narrowing while his hand subconsciously rested against the arm in question. “Trying to get your girlfriend murdered?”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“Oh, come on, he hasn’t changed at all, I’d bet he’s going to off her the moment you turn your back.” Draco drew his wand but uttered nothing fast enough to stop the impact of knuckles against flesh. Draco stumbled back holding his nose as blood poured down his face. George was on his feet now; grateful Sloane was not around to the end the life of his closeminded brother.

“Get out of here,” he growled while Hannah attempted to stop the bleeding.

“So, you’re a sympathizer now too? Did Fred die for nothing?”

Nothing could have stopped George from lunging forward, not Hannah’s scream and certainly not the flailing of fists that came from his angry brother. They were on the floor, rolling against the harsh marble while a crowd gathered around them. No one attempted to separate them as he relished in feeling of anger, not that anyone could have succeeded.

A crunch of bone against cartilage and then a knee into a rib. Nice suits be damned, propriety be damned, reputation be damned, no one got to talk about Fred that way, especially not his own brother.

George wasn’t sure he would ever stop. He could hear Hannah, but she seemed so far away, on the other side of his rage. Another pair of hands entered the throng and pushed him away. Harry was pulling Ron away, a bloody nose of his own.

“Don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t deserve to have his name in your mouth, you fucking bigot,” George yelled, storming forward but soft hands caught his arm. He whipped around, prepared to fight off whoever had dared to stop him, but instantly softened at the sight of Hannah staring up at him.

“Let’s dance,” she whispered, dragging him through the crowd and to the dance floor.

“Malfoy-.”

“Sloane is taking care of him, let’s just dance,” she whispered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He rested clenched fists against her waist and as they swayed, he slowly relaxed, falling into her.

“I could kill him.”

“I know, but that won’t solve anything.”

“Always so reasonable.”

“I do my best.” He lifted his head and she brushed a soft finger over the black eye blooming across the left side of his face. “I like this, very rugged.”

“Are you saying you want me to get punching in face more often?”

“No, I’m just saying I won’t dump you because of it.” He chuckled softly, doing his best to hide the tears that were threatening to fall down his cheeks. “It’s okay to cry.”

Damn her and her ability to know exactly what he was thinking.

“I’m going to avoid it if that’s alright.”

“Whatever works for you.” He kissed her, his busted lip stinging as he touched her, but he only pulled her closer. They swayed a little while longer in silence, ignoring the people staring at him as best they could. “Thank you for standing up for him. I know it was hard for you.”

“It wasn’t.” She quirked an eyebrow and he continued. “That’s why Fred died isn’t it, for freedom from status or something like that. It would be a dishonor to let anyone suffer the consequences of who they used to be. We accepted Percy when he returned, why not Draco, why not any of them?” She hugged him tight, kissing him as roughly as she dared. He spun her around, covering the pair in glitter.

“Shall we go, my love?” He nodded silently and they rejoined Draco and Sloane who both looked as prepared to leave as he felt. Hannah took Draco’s hand and softly kissed it, a silent apology she shouldn’t have to offer.

“I’m sorry for my brother,” George offered and Draco shrugged. He believed he had deserved it, and maybe once upon a time so did George, but not anymore, at least not consciously. “Dinner’s on me next Friday.” Looking up over the bloody rag he raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll be there.” And then they left, not quite friends, but certainly well on their way to becoming so. Hannah smiled at the pair walking ahead of her and watched as Sloane kicked off her heels before flipping off the doorman who had hazed them prior.

“That doesn’t mean the same thing here,” Hannah whispered and Sloane shrugged before he puked over the edge.

“That means the same thing, I think,” she whispered through laughter before dragging her past the boys and into the car, already gushing about all the news she had picked up through the night. George laughed and slapped Draco on the back as friendly as he could manage. The man grinned back at him sheepishly before climbing in. George glanced back at the venue and laughed at the audacity of thinking a night out would be without flaw, and then he remembered the bed that was waiting for him at home and the beautiful girl who be joining him and then he climbed in.

It would be worth it, everything would be worth it.