#i wish people who wanted to bond over this could make their own new server to talk about health issues

[synthaphone]

its very easy for public discord servers about unrelated low stress activities to eventually become health issue support and vent servers and it makes me so uncomfortable

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

(/rp! also, huge trigger warning for assault, graphic violence, death, abuse, possessive behaviour, obsession, mental breaks, hallucination, really fucking creepy treatment of a corpse, unreliable narrators, the perspective of a villain, torture, manipulation, and gaslighting! this gets pretty fucked up).

When Dream sees Tommy for the first time, there is no dramatic shift, no acknowledgement that his life had changed forever. No knowledge of the fact. All he sees is a skinny little kid who's obnoxious and loud, and he catalogues him just as one of Philza’s strays and leaves it at that.

No, it’s when Tommy drives the sword into his chest for the first time, and Dream wakes up from his non-canon death smiling despite itself when it clicks. He’s not sure what “it” is, exactly, but it’s just something about him Dream hadn’t seen in anyone before that has him hooked, captivated from the beginning.

(There's the vague recollection that he was like Tommy once, a bright eyed naive youth too loud for his own good, but that’s not unique. It’s not that, at least not entirely.)

The conflict was not started by Tommy, nor was he of any particular threat to Dream, but he was fun. So he ignored the rest, and took the boy's music discs. He knew Tommy well enough that he’d fight for them, and fight he did, and even though Dream lost in the end he laughed all the while. He’d played many a game before, but none quite this fun!

They both know this isn’t where it’ll end. Only one hopes it will be.

——

Dream didn’t care much about Wilbur's little revolutionary movement at first. As long as he obeyed the rules, and stayed in the server, it wouldn’t matter whether he delusionally thought he was under his own governance or not.

This changed immediately when he learnt Tommy was involved.

L'Manburg, a name he didn’t bother to remember until he learnt Tommy named it, was tiny, barely any more than a scavenged old world vehicle and some trees. It’s populace was peaceful, only Wilbur even an adult. None of that mattered. It wasn’t that the nation was a threat, though he certainly wouldn’t dissuade his friends fear that it was. But fighting L'Manburg meant fighting Tommy, and Dream wouldn't pass up the opportunity for anything.

He grinned with glee behind his mask as he blew Tommy's strange dirt hovel “embassy” sky high, enthusiastically threatened Tommy before remembering half heartedly to threaten the rest of the nation. He made dealings, found weak links- a new immigrant to the SMP that joined L'Manburg after the war began, it turns out. He offered extravagant promises in exchange for their betrayal, hiding the strings attached to his fingers.

Oh, but it was all worth it when the person with the eyes of an old god lead the revolutionaries into a trap, all worth it when they descended on them at once. It was definitely worth it to kill Tommy, kill Tommy, see him scream and cry in pain and stumble trying to escape and him taking a shuddering last breath. Dream had never seen anything as beautiful.

(It was a war, and feelings like this were okay in wars, right? It’s not like he was obsessed, it’s not like he was a monster. He’d been trying to be good, and killing your enemies was good, right?)

He killed Tommy a second time, too. The boy with shaking hands and a leg hanging limp challenged him to a duel for his nations future. His loss was assured, and Dream knew Tommy knew that also. This one was quicker, Tommy dead between the arrow entering his skull and his broken body make a loud thud against the planks, but it was no less fascinating. If only he had infinite canon lives, Dream would happily give up any ambitions and spend eternity seeing the boy die in so many fascinating ways.

(No, what the fuck was he thinking? The SMP was worth more than some stupid kid, and Dream wasn’t so inept with morality to know torturing someone over and over, killing them, was wrong.)

(Yet, it was so tempting he was almost ready to renounce morality wholeheartedly.)

It eventually comes to the discs again, Tommy handing Dream his prized possessions for some silly little nation. Dream knew Tommy would do anything to get them back. Having so much control was addicting, even more than control of anything else. Dream had learnt long ago that if you didn’t have complete power over anything, people would take the power from you and make you hurt.

So why did he care more about control of some kid than avoiding his own pain?

——

Dream would have sided with Tommy. Really, he would have, but Schlatt just had the better deal.

He holds the book in his hands, power filling him. He repeats the incantation, sacrifices the blood from his veins. He stares into the face of a man near-identical.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, voice level. “”What do you wish of me?””

Dream grins behind his mask. “”Tommy.””

—

Wishes must come true, Dream thinks, as he sits on the beach of Logstedshire, Tommy passed out and leaning against his arm.

Oh, what he’d give for this moment to last forever. Alas, it passes, like they all do. Still, Tommy's getting so obedient lately- barely even grumbling as he threw his item into the hole. Part of him missed when Tommy would fight back all the while- his pained screams were entertaining. Still, it was safer this way, and more enjoyable in the long run. He’d hate to have his little songbird break it’s neck against the cage doors, never to sing again.

He’s not sure when life outside of Tommy became a chore, but he remembers dimly that it wasn’t always like that. There was a Dream long ago that wouldn’t give up friends and family, who'd cry over losing them even if he’d cut their threads voluntarily. He wasn’t that Dream anymore, the numb feeling in his chest a sign of growth. It didn’t matter that everything outside of Tommy was so miserable, because just being around the boy was a feeling a hundredfold better than any happiness he felt before.

Still, he had duties and responsibilities. Ones that seemed so important long ago, so fulfilling. Maybe one day they’d feel like that again. He had plans, from what he learnt. Government had not left him satisfied, but- whatever you could call what his relationship with Tommy was, it definitely did. Family, he supposed, recognising the boys actions towards him and his brothers. If he could make the entire server like that, that’d be a happiness greater than any other, apart from how Tommy made him feel.

He spent time with Tubbo, getting further and further towards getting that stupid fucking ram boy to calling him a friend and giving him Tommy's disc, all he wanted from him.

(He wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. The anger he felt whenever Tommy called Tubbo a friend, that wasn’t jealousy. That was just logical).

Far more interesting was checking on the prison's completion. When it’s completed, it’d truly be a thing of beauty. Of course, his favourite part was the main cell, that he’d put so much thought into. He’d included all the little things that made Tommy squirm, made his breath hitch and eyes dart around fearfully. That would be so much fun.

(Tommy would learn to appreciate the fun in time, too. He was a smart boy, if irritatingly yet fascinatingly stubborn. He just needed to be taught that if he listened and just played along, Dream could give him the world.)

It took far too long, but eventually it finished, and he could return to the ugly mess of tents and logs he’d made so sure Tommy could never leave. He always started shaking when Dream showed up, trying desperately to hide his fear in his voice, and it was absolutely adorable. Dream savoured it, savoured everything about Tommy as they spent hours talking. Everything, his hysterical laugh, his nervous glances for escapes, the way he flinched whenever Dream grabbed his shoulder, his wrist, the poorly hidden look of pain when he held tighter, just hard enough to irritate the bruises that painted his skin a canvas of black and blue, it was all perfect.

Only he could love Tommy this much, and in time he knew Tommy would learn to appreciate that.

——

The second time he used the book, a tower extended from the ruins of the makeshift prison he’d made for Tommy. DreamXD stated ahead of him.

“”Brother dearest,” he said, “why are you calling on me again so soon?””

“”Bring him back,”” he said, voice painfully numb.

DreamXD shrugged a shoulder, golden hair waving around like in water. “”Who?””

“”Tommy.””

“”I cannot,”” DreamXD said. “”He lives.”” Dream couldn’t help but smile at hearing that.

“”Then bring him back to me.””

DreamXD laughed, a sound like church bells. “”That would be unnecessary. Did I not already grant you the mortal?””

Dream clenched his fist hard enough blood dripped onto scorched earth. “”He left me-“”

“”And you shall find him, no matter what.”” DreamXD smiled under the mask. “”You are bonded to him, and neither death nor distance shall break that. Just look, and you will find him, til the end of time and even past.””

“”Thank you,”” Dream said, genuinely for once.

“”Only the best for my little brother and sister. And I know you would do the same for us, brother dearest.””

——

His planning had come to fruition for once.

They were alone, in the depths of the Earth, just him, Tommy, the fucking hilarious excuse for a “president” Tommy called a friend for some reason, and his axe.

Finally, he could bring his dreams to fruition. He could get rid of any loose threads, and claim what was rightfully his. And once he’d taught Tommy to be grateful, he could get to work on the rest of the server.

It’d be beautiful. Everyone would be his friend, his brother, his sister, something in between. There would be no more wars, just peace. Everyone would be safe, he’d know they’re safe and they’d never rip him to pieces and laugh at his pain. And oh, it’d like be hard work, breaking everyone into obedience but not too much to the point they become boring, but so enjoyable and satisfying. He’d almost be disappointed when it was over.

Tommy- his Tommy, his Tommy, was crying, and it was amusing but he almost wanted to reach out and comfort him and explain it’d all be for the best. He’d do that later, once he’d secured him and any loose ends were gone forever. He couldn’t afford weakness until they were alone, but Tommy made it so tempting.

The ram and Tommy hugged a final goodbye, and the adoration he had towards Tommy, hiding his fear behind a smile, made Dream fucking sick. He should know Tommy was his. They all should know. He’d teach them, when he made the server a perfect family. Even Tubbo, if Tommy begged enough. Dream would do anything to hear Tommy's pathetic, gorgeous begging, breaking through his aggressive walls, and bringing back some random sheep was easily in his brother's power.

See, he could be kind. He wasn’t cruel, he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t even care if he was anymore, fun was so much more important than nonsensical human concepts, but it wasn’t even true. He could be incredibly, selflessly kind, as long as he had a reason. They’d learn, once he fulfilled his dream.

The sound of a nether portal, of betrayal, shatters his dreams and at this point he wonders why he’s surprised.

——

He’d had doubts, during the weeks (months, years? he had no way of knowing) he’d been trapped in the cell, but Tommy being here with him confirmed his design was excellent.

Oh, Tommy was being fucking obnoxious- and Dream knew he was doing it on purpose- but he saw it in the way he never was able to look at the lava properly, the way he always woke up in a cold sweat calling for his daddy like the child he insisted he wasn’t. It was perfect.

(Of course it was, though. It’s not hard to build on something already perfected, and Tommy was the perfect little toy.)

Tommy was so frustratingly different though. He tried not to take it out on him- it wasn’t his fault that everyone else spread lies, planted nonsense in his head about Dream being bad and not trying to do the best for everyone but especially for him- but he struggled sometimes, and it was always so tempting to hurt Tommy anyway, and get lost in the melody of his screams. It wouldn’t teach Tommy anything though, and that’s what was important. He needed to teach Tommy what was best for him.

Tommy had unlearnt all the lessons Dream painstakingly taught him. That wouldn’t be an issue- it was so, so fun to teach- but he knew, painfully deep down in his heart that he could not hold Tommy forever, not yet. The lockdown wasn’t forever, and Dream had no escape route yet. Tommy would just forget everything again, at the hands of his “friends” that couldn’t love him as much as Dream did. They needed to learn far more than Tommy did.

(Except Ranboo of course- oh, the purple eyed boy had the silly naive thoughts in his head everyone seemed to have that friendship was anything but possessing another, but he agreed family came first, listened to Dream, helped him, even with clenched teeth.)

And when one day the frustration got to Dream one day and he was so furious he hit Tommy again and again against the walls of the prison and strangled him until he was cold all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh.

It was so, so funny, because of course he’d be the one to destroy everything he loved.

——

This time, when DreamXD is called, he looks upon his brother with concern.

“”Brother dearest,”” he says, “”are you quite alright?””

Dream laughs, because of course he’s alright! The tears staining his face must be joy, because of course he’s alright. He’s holding Tommy here, with him, and he was quiet, he must be listening. He can’t be dead, he can’t be, then there’d be no point to any of this.

“”Drista has been concerned for you for quite a while, you know,”” DreamXD continued. “”Is this because of your mortal?””

“”He’s been ever so quiet lately,”” Dream said, with a voice hoarse from crying and laughter. “”I’m not sure to be concerned or happy with him.””

“”You’re not well, Dream.”” DreamXD said, with a tone of finality despite clearly being wrong. “”The boy is dead.””

Dream laughs. “”And yet he does not slip from my grasp.””

“”Then, brother, why did you call me?””

The silence pierces through air like a knife. Eventually, through hiccuping sobs, Dream says “”Just, please, bring him back.””

Tommy sputters to life with ghostly eye and pure white streaks and more bruise on him than corpselike skin and Dream thinks he has never been more perfect.

——

Quackity's left, he thinks, because the pain's stopped growing.

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore but laugh. He can’t give up the secrets of the book, of course he can’t. Family comes first, after all, and he dreads to think what the bastard would do to his brother. But the pain was awful, never ending in waves through his whole body, and he almost just wants to confess so he can die.

He cradles what’s left of his arm since the bastard cut it off at the elbow, and he sobs. He doesn’t even care to hide it with his mask. It’s not even the pain that hurts the most, even. It’s that Tommy's gone, and by the time Dream escapes- because he’s going to escape, he’s got to- he might be so far from his grasp even their fates being tied might not be enough.

“Of course that’s not true,” a fake voice says in his head, and wavy form approaches. Fuck, the blood loss must be bad today. It always is when he sees things. Usually it’s George or Bad or Sapnap, and it leaves him with a numb feeling in his chest that he’s familiar with, but today it’s Tommy, and that’s worse. It reminds him of what he cannot hold.

“Fuck off,” he mouths at the apparition, voice too tired and hoarse from screaming to speak properly. Not-Tommy laughs, and the sound is so similar to Tommy he almost thinks that his desperate prayers have been answered, Tommy is there again, but he reached his fingers forward and they go through his tired hallucination.

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Not-Tommy says, and laughs again. “But I know you mean the best.” Dream shrugs his shoulder at the fake, and then curls up, new waves of pain curling up his arm.

“I don’t know why I was ever friends with that bastard.” Not-Tommy lies, and Dream wants to believe it. “You’re just having fun. He’s cruel.” Tommy would never understand that clear distinction, no matter how much Dream explained it, but the fake said it with such conviction it was almost enough for Dream to fall for it.

“When you get out, I’ll be there, Dream. And then we can all be a big happy family,” Not-Tommy says, the thoughts so obviously Dream's and not Tommy’s but- the idea that Tommy understood, that he saw sense, was so tempting, Dream allowed himself to believe it, just for a second. Just until the pain started anew.

Broken and bloody, Dream drifted into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

[meliorist-midoriya]

chasing the sun

synopsis: there’s something screaming in familiarity—in mourning—deep in his soul at the sight of you, a complete stranger. this is the price you pay for resurrection, the sun whispers as it rises.

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, reincarnation au

warnings: mentions and depictions of death, major character deaths, mentions of war (+ description of a battlefield scene), injuries, blood.

word count: 11.7k

a/n: happy (extremely belated) birthday, bird boy. and aaaa my baby’s here, she’s finally here! i’ve been working on this fic for a little over two months now, and i’m so happy to see it fully fleshed out! thank you to @dimplesum​ for beta reading, and the tumblr chaos server for listening to me yell all the time abt this fic :’) disclaimer, i did as much research as i could, but any historical depictions are not 100% historically accurate and i have taken some creative liberty, so please take the historical scenes with a grain of salt! 

important: there will be songs linked throughout the fic to be played in accordance with the scene, i do hope you listen to them for the full experience! it is okay if the ost ends before the scene as that is also on purpose. the beginning of the song will start with 【 ☀︎ 】 with a link to the song. with that said, i hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

crossposted on Ao3

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Keigo, the youngest government official in the empire, stumbling upon a lone concubine in the eastern lotus garden. 

He’d been searching for solitude, away from the viper’s nest of samurai-turned-aristocrats, strutting around the castle with their now-useless weapons strapped to their hips, discussing poetry and politics instead of battle and war tactics.

It’d been disgustingly easy for them to make the switch from warrior to bureaucrat, taking the status boost in stride. Those who couldn’t, they stayed with their lords if they were lucky. The warriors who weren’t… Keigo would need an abacus to count the ones who weren’t so lucky, the countless rumors and reports of wandering rōnin with familiar names never failing to reach over the palace walls to get to him.

(Oh, what he would give to join them.)

Of course, he’d been intending to brood ponder over this in the seclusion of the garden he’d discovered a few days ago, staring at the green buds of the young lotuses in the water until his head spun. The sight of the concubine sitting in his spot (that he was certain was too secluded to be found) told him fate had other plans, however.

He cleared his throat and forced down the grimace once he saw the concubine jump, startled, before trying her best to smoothly turn and bow without looking too flustered.

“Good morning, madam.”

“Good morning—”

He smiled through the static in his brain at the mention of his surname, messily tacked to the honorific that he would never get used to. 

That name… it’s not mine. Don’t call me that.

A discordant mess of jumbled kanji that sounded nothing like the powerfully elegant names in the court. The ill-fitting characters standing out like an eyesore on his documents, the syllables falling awkwardly off the tongue in conversation.

Wholly fitting for an outsider like him, really.

The mention of that name grated something terrible in him, and he settled for keeping his teeth grit into a smile. A sheltered concubine wouldn’t know, of course she wouldn’t know. Practically no one did, so he had no one to fault but his own cursed sensitivity to a name he wanted to burn.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The slight twitch in her demure smile was answer enough, but he’d set aside time for this escape, and damn if he was going to let it go to waste.

“Of course not. Please, don’t mind me, my lord.”

He dipped his head in thanks and you bowed in return, the silence hanging in the air settling into something stiff and awkward. 

A minute passed… 

Then another… 

Then five… 

Keigo was going to go mad at this rate. Neither of you had any intention of leaving the rare pocket of seclusion, and the competitive whisper in the corner of his mind told him that leaving first meant conceding, meant losing.

(In his world, losing meant death.)

Keigo’s had enough of losing in life despite his dumb luck, thank you very much.

So, he did what he knew he did best. He talked. Shattering the awkward silence in an effort to coax the tranquil silence he was searching for back into the little gazebo by the pond. Maybe if he ran his mouth long enough, you’d get tired and leave.

“You’re a new face in the palace.”

With an expectant gaze, he watched the telltale shift from awkward to apprehensive, the rigidness of your stature sharply contrasting the flowing brocade of your kimono as you looked back at him with a too-sharp gaze before casting your eyes away to the green buds in the water. Had he been any slower, Keigo would’ve thought that the conflicted expression you quickly smoothed over was solemn (it was anything but). 

“I would say the same to you, my lord, but every face in this castle is a new face to me.” You tilted your head with a thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Although… I’m sure an official who just arrived at the castle for his yearly residence would be an especially new face. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Keigo blinked. Once, twice, his jaw relaxing into a disbelieving smile at the sight of your steely gaze bright with a challenge and a smile sharper than the blades at his waist, the unsaid words ringing clearly. 

Two could play at this game.

Well, now, this was new. 

Perhaps it was your defiance that remained steadfast in this castle, or the blissful ignorance that made you one of the few to look at him straight on instead of down your nose. A little voice whispered that this would change in due time, the politics and power struggles confined within the castle never failing to break down even the most resilient. Those that didn’t know how to play the game correctly simply… vanished.

“Someone’s well-informed, I see.” He folded his hands behind his back, his wish for tranquility long forgotten. “I heard a new concubine has just entered the castle as well. A consolation prize, of sorts, from the farthest reaches of the country. Of course, as I’ve been gone for a year and have only been here for four, I’m not too sure.” He flicks his gaze to you, accepting your challenge with a knife-sharp smile of his own.

“I am curious as to what this concubine’s name is, however.”

You arched a brow, the thin-lipped smile widening into something sweet (that looked better on a fox rather than a beautiful concubine), and you bowed. Any trace of that stiff apprehensiveness dissolved into a graceful fluidity that seemed to disappear within the rippling silk of your kimono.

“Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

To this day, he’ll never admit how surprised he was at your reverence, nor how his heart did a funny little flip in his chest when you giggled at his flustered response. What kind of fool gave respect to a commoner picked up from the slums?

You. Except you were no fool, and maybe that’s why he kept coming back like a moth to flame.

Time passed, and he found himself in that little garden day after day, morning after morning. Listening to the concubine who told vivid stories of lands he could only dream of, foods he found himself craving, and tales of warriors past. 

The conversations at dawn soon turned into stories of the past, the laments of the present, and dreams of a bleak future. With delicate hands and gently prying words, you two unlocked every bar and lock you’d put over your souls and allowed yourselves to lay them bare for each other, the intimacy of a bond forged in secrets and solidarity far stronger than any alliance or contract.

You two confided in each other in that garden, staring at the dew on the lilypads as you two whispered how you didn’t belong in the palace. How the confines of grand walls with ears and eyes were no place for the adopted commoner and a concubine far from home. Two people in this big world who were just lucky enough, fortunate enough to end up within this lavish palace, your lives guaranteed splendor and comfort. 

Then again—you two would share a conspiratorial laugh—maybe you two were unfortunate instead. What was splendor and comfort when you had to constantly watch for a knife in your back or poison in your cup? When a single misstep could cost you your life? 

Conversations shared with you, the concubine with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, were the most fulfilling he’s had in ages. Maybe it was the sense of formality that the intimacy of the waterside gazebo stripped away, or the unraveling realization that he hasn’t breathed this freely in ages, that he was looking forward to these moments in the morning. The intimacy shared in the garden he selfishly liked to call his own little world.

Keigo catches the smile you hide behind your sleeve when he steps into the gazebo, and he realizes you’re being selfish, too.

He didn’t know how the conversation got here, he didn’t know why he had a hairpin meant for you tucked into his sleeve. All he knew was that when it came to you, he was helpless to the whims of rambling and buying a pretty hairpin made of red jade because it reminded him of a sharp wit with a pretty smile.

“I live for this country and I die for this country. Well, not that there’s anything much to die for anyway.” Keigo’s laugh is empty, and your melancholic gaze even emptier. A fog had blown in that morning, covering the pond in a soft cover of white, and your soft voice and softer touch on his arm (careful, almost) silenced his dry laughter and left his throat even drier. 

“What you would die for is also an excellent reason to live, is it not?”

Your words, whispered into the stillness of the moment, resonated so loudly within his soul and forced a shaky breath out of his lungs as he gazed in awe at you. At the soft, ethereal glow in the fog cast by the rising sun breaking through the clouds, the scent of bloomed lotuses wafting in on the breeze that rustles the dangling pieces of your hair ornaments. He is weak to whims when it comes to you, so he pulls out the hairpin burning a hole in his sleeve to slip into your hair with shaking hands unbefitting a swordsman. Keigo watches your eyes sparkle like the gem in your hair, and his heart lifts with hope as he whispers his devotion into the warm morning, carried by the wind into a sea of blooms.

“I’ll live for you, then.”

And with a smile, you fall in love.

(Keigo falls even harder.)

【 ☀︎ 】

He should have known.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from the son of a criminal.”

He really should have known.

“What was that fool thinking, taking a street rat like you in all those years ago?”

Honestly, he’d like an answer to that, too. Too bad the old man was dead and left him to inherit a position he didn’t even want. To think he’d agree with the emperor for once in his short life.

“Tsk, a son will follow in his father’s footsteps, after all. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.”

Keigo should be concerned that he couldn’t feel how the coarse dirt dug into his knees anymore, his cheek still aching from where the guard had punched him. 

(Okay, yes, he deserved it, but he could’ve done without tasting iron.)

The sadistic glee in the guard’s face after he landed that “disciplinary strike” told him otherwise. With a bitter grimace, he spat red into the dirt.

How long has he been kneeling here? Minutes? Hours? The words echoing over and over in his head pulled him away from his present reality, bringing him back to the blur that was the past two days.

(Three? He couldn’t be sure, time passes oddly in a prison cell.)

The servants whispering about a concubine being expelled from the harem, the handmaid being promoted to concubine suspiciously quickly, and sudden memories of too-loud rustling coming from the treeline that he’d foolishly brushed off. All of it culminated in the form of palace guards dragging him from his study all the way to the harem to throw him at the emperor’s feet.

“Could the street rat not keep his hands off the women of the court? Plenty to pick back where you came from.” 

Keigo wanted to vomit at the cloying stench of sake, unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of his mind and forcing his limbs to lock from age-old fear. Not like he could use them anyway, with heavy hands on each shoulder pinning his knees to the tatami and his blades having long been tossed away in the struggle to drag him here.

“Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard?” A sickeningly saccharine voice pulled the man’s attention away to coo at the woman curled into his side, cradling a bottle of warmed sake. “Apparently the small-time nobleman who adopted him, did it knowing he was the son of that criminal you were having trouble with all that time ago.”

The grip forcing his head down loosened from the resounding laughter that rippled around the room, just enough to allow Keigo to glare at the loose-lipped concubine. Your opportunistic maidservant who’d been all too willing to take your place in the harem, having taken her chance and fleeing with it. Her tittering giggles and power-drunk grin grated his ears, and he kept glaring. Daring her to look back, to look him in the eye without feeling an ounce of guilt for what she had done.

Almost as if she heard his furious challenge, she took a glance at the man pinned to the floor (trying to look down her nose like she had been looked down on. Pathetic fool.)  only to jump at the righteous fury burning in his gaze, fear clouding her conscience for a precious moment. 

More, Keigo urged, rage bitter on his tongue, Guilt, shame, despair, all of it.

I hope you regret this for the rest of your life. Lament, as punishment for ruining hers—

“Don’t assume what I have and haven’t heard, woman,” The drunkard grunted, holding his cup out for her to pour with shaking hands and a meek surrender, “But, the man was losing his mind from age. What was that fool thinking, taking a dirty brat like this in all those years ago? Too useless to bear a son nor keep a wife, so he had to stoop low enough to take in a criminal’s son from the slums.”

Righteous fury welled up in his chest, and his body moved before his brain could catch up, spit landing at the emperor’s feet. Almost immediately thereafter, his head whipped to the side, cheek smarting from the sharp strike the guard’s knuckles had indented into his swelling cheek. He grit his teeth as that same cheek came down on the tatami, someone pressing his head into the ground.

“Years upon years of trying to force yourself into nobility, and you’d think you’d learn some respect along the way.”

Had he not been the one with his face pressed into the ground, Keigo would’ve laughed at the shade of fury-red the man’s face was turning. Sake did not treat him well. The concubines at his side, fearing for their lives, immediately rushed to whisper soothing words and calming pleas. Somehow, it worked, and he reclined back into his seat with a heavy sigh, draining the sake in one gulp.

“The son of a criminal shall inevitably become a criminal. Now that I think about it, this is a wonderful opportunity to get rid of an eyesore. A grave in Kozukappara should suit him well.” A sadistic grin split his lips around the cup, chortling with laughter at his own (terrible) wit. “Being buried next to his criminal father! What a filial son!”

The table shook from the force of a fine porcelain cup slamming down on it, as if the emperor were stamping his death certificate right then and there.

(He was.) 

“Get him out of my sight. The next time I want to see his head is on the gates of Kozukappara.”

Keigo the official had died in that room, and the man that was dragged out by his shoulders left the castle as a criminal.

“Done saying your prayers?” 

Slowly, he looked up from the white paper fan set in front of him in place of the tantō that should’ve been there for his use (obligatory seppuku, his muddled brain supplied with annoyingly familiar haughtiness, so the ex-warrior could die a warrior. What a joke—) to the man he’d chosen to be his executioner. Normally, he would’ve snapped back with something witty, something sharp, but going days without water wasn’t treating him well. A heavy sigh, and the man ran a frustrated thumb down the bright blue wrap of his katana hilt. 

“The concubine, of all women? An imperial concubine, at that. I’d expect you to know better than that, my friend.”

Ah, the static in his head was a little stronger today. Wonderful.

“I thought I knew better, too. At least I get to die to someone with a steady hand.”

He scoffed, thumb running over the blue hilt again. Keigo idly remembered seeing the man rub his burn-leathered skin the same way countless times, the anxious habit having stubbornly ingrained itself into his being since childhood.

“Must you be so dark?”

“When am I not?” He managed to muster up a slow grin. “I’m hurt, I thought my closest companion would’ve known this after years of keeping swords out of each other’s backs.”

The heavy gong announcing his execution sounded, and he watched his best friend’s melancholic gaze glaze over into soulless steel that mirrored the blade drawn from its hilt. Keigo dipped his head with a solemn smile and shut his eyes in resignation.

I really… should’ve known…

“Keigo!”

Everything paused for a breath, in shock at your shout breaking the stillness of the moment. He didn’t have to lift his head to know who was crying out, trying to delay the inevitable certainty. A sharp smile and an even sharper tongue reduced to nothing but cries and desperation.

“...I’ll continue.” The executioner ignored your desperate “No!” as he shifted his stance, scarred hands steady as he placed the blade against the back of his neck despite the pain Keigo knew he was in. 

It would’ve been nice to hold you in his arms, at least once— 

No, for eternity.

The blade came down and, like a lotus facing the sun in supplication, you screamed your despair into the heavens. 

That day, the blood red sunset matched the crimson pooling on the execution ground’s floor.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Private First Class Takami Keigo marching into a small city on the way to the front lines, rifle slung over his shoulder and feet aching.

They’ve been marching through the night, and for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful for Japan’s humid summer nights. He’d take sweat over losing toes from frostbite any day. 

But, he decides, sighing in relief along with the rest of the company at the sight of a town once they crested the hill, there was nothing like the relief of a warm bed and any food other than the tasteless military rations.

“Tired already?” The low voice beside him would’ve made him jump had it not been so familiar.

“Aw, what’s this? Is Touya-kun worried for little old me?” Keigo shot a grin at the man marching next to him and dodged the elbow that he aimed at his side with a short laugh.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier.” A pause, and the next response came backed with a dry laugh. “Not like it’d affect you and your monstrous instincts, anyway.”

“Yes, as we’ve been told a thousand times, General.” The teasing tilt to his voice came easy, and he let his best friend elbow him this time, too busy laughing at his annoyance. 

Should he have been a little more worried of the captain catching him messing around? Yes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Judging by the restless shifting rippling through the soldiers, no one was too worried about getting a scolding when they were so close to a warm meal and rest.

“Think the inn will be big enough to house all of us? Another night sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound all that nice to me.” 

Touya scoffed as if his question was the stupidest thing he’d heard all day, keeping his gaze straight as he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, the company shifting around them into formation as they approached the gates.

“You’re complaining like it’s anything new to us.”

“Harsh.”

The conversation faded after that, the rough dirt under his boots soon transitioning into the packed earth of the town’s main street as residents gathered to whisper and gawk at the soldiers passing through, the sight of their uniforms a jarring eyesore in this sleepy town. 

A sleepy, familiar town.

Keigo’s mind was spinning. His restless gaze kept flicking around the too-familiar buildings and shops and people that remained after all these years. The restaurant with the broken kitchen window that was too easy to sneak into, the grocer who still kept his trash bin too close to the alley, the old woman sitting in front of her izakaya who always had ginger candy and a meal to give. 

They slowed to a stop in front of the large inn, and he stared up at the building that looked much smaller than he remembered, the interior much less grand than he’d imagined it to be as they filed their way in, and he found himself in the room he once dreamed of sleeping in. There, Keigo sat in near disbelief, on the futon that wasn’t as soft as he thought it would’ve been.

“How time flies, huh?” He looked up to see Touya dropping his pack next to his futon and sitting down across from him with a melancholy grin.

There was too much Keigo wanted to say, nostalgia bitter in the back of his throat, so he settled for a matching smile.

“Old Man Yasutaro never got around to fixing that boarded up window.” 

Touya barked out a surprised laugh, Keigo’s smile widening into a self-satisfied grin.

“You ever think he did that on purpose? He always did stock too much food.”

“Are you kidding?” Keigo shuddered at the phantom pain of the beatings he earned. “He was scary whenever he caught us, there’s no way mean ol’ Yasutaro would do all that just for a pair of orphans on the street.”

“Mm, I don’t know, he was always pretty sweet to Granny Tamayo, so anything that made him look good in her book.” Touya leaned back on his arms, the melancholy melting into the ease of bittersweet nostalgia. It was easier to smile through the painful memories rather than dwell on the past, so Keigo let himself toss his head back with a laugh.

“God, her ginger candy was the best.” 

“You sure it was the candy? Or the granddaughter who always snuck an extra piece to you?” That earned Touya a frustrated noise of protest and a half-hearted kick he dodged.

“That was ages ago!”

“And you still react like a little boy!” 

Keigo groaned, burying his face into his hands as if that would tune out Touya’s cackling laughter. It was short moments like this that took the weight off his shoulders, the murmurs of public dissent, the leaked plans of a planned riot, the magnitude of his actions tomorrow morning.

(Civilians. Of all things, why did it have to be civilians?)

He suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the heavy weight having pushed itself back onto his shoulders and slotting the familiar hum of alertness back into place. Touya gave him a knowing look that he, decidedly, ignored in favor of getting out before his mind swallowed him whole.

“Dinner is supposed to be in a bit, we should get going.”

“Wonderful job of changing the subject, really.”

“Wonderful job of being annoying.”

Touya dodged another swipe of the leg, laughing at his displeasure as he stood to follow.

“Why thank you, I try.” His grin widened with a certain glint in his eye that Keigo found himself dreading. “Now let’s get going, I heard some of the guys are at Granny Tamayo’s izakaya.”

“What?”

“My, isn’t that little Keigo? And little Touya?” 

Keigo faltered halfway through the entrance, smoothing his grimace into a smile as he watched the old lady totter over from her seat with all the coddling of a grandmother. The soldiers within earshot (who were already drinking and eating away. It was barely sunset—) paused to gawk and grin at the endearing interaction.

“Not so little anymore, Granny.”

“I’ll say. Are you eating alright? Is the military treating you well?”

“Granny!”

“What’s this? Speedy and Torchface have some history here?” Keigo kept his smile smooth, only shifting it just the slightest bit into what he knew would look like a sheepish grin instead of the pained grimace underneath the surface. Boisterous laughter that only alcohol could bring rippled around the spacious izakaya, the men cracking jokes over drinks and food.

“Careful calling him Torchface, he has the temper to match.”

Ah, there it is. Touya shouldered past him to stalk towards the offending table with a scarily wide grin, pulling the loose-lipped rookie into a chokehold, his wide grin unmoving.

“‘Has a temper’ my ass, you’re just jealous that a guy with a bunch of burn scars has an easier time with women than you idiots.”

The laughter only grew louder, Granny Tamayo’s expression softening at the interaction before turning back to Keigo with a nostalgic smile.

“Not so little… I see.” She motioned to the table Touya had made a space for himself at, shoving the rookie (who was still in a chokehold, poor kid) aside to make room for him. “Take a seat, dear, and the drinks will be right out.”

The too-loud laughter and incessantly clinking glasses filled the space up with ear-grating noise, and Keigo wanted to leave. Search for peace and solitude in the quiet streets in a way that was strangely familiar. 

(For a fleeting moment, he thought a quiet garden would be nice.)

However, he’d rather eat with the company of drunks rather than the void of his own mind and the horrors silence tended to bring, so the migraine starting to brew in the back of his head was a small price to pay. As was the heavy arm slung over his shoulder from some random soldier, alcohol-loosened and heavy, and the awkward conversation he found himself following along with perfectly tailored humor.

“Alright, I have two beers as well as a few rounds of edamame and—” 

The familiar voice stopped short, and Keigo felt his heart stop in tandem. Slowly, he looked up and saw the girl who used to sneak out an extra candy when her grandmother wasn’t looking, now a woman in the izakaya uniform balancing trays in one hand and two mugs in the other. 

“...Keigo?”

Almost as if the locked gates had been thrown open, a new rush of memories past had overcome him. Jaunts through the town disguised as adventures, clumsily dancing around an old gramophone and calling it a waltz, and the start of blossoming love. Keigo simply smiled, easygoing and familiar, like it hadn’t been years since you saw him run to the military with Touya the first chance they had, drawn by the promise of food and shelter. Like he hadn’t left a malnourished boy and come back a man with more scars than skin.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“‘Been a while.’” You rolled your eyes, setting down the mug in front of him with a huff. “The two most important people in my life run off to join the army without so much as a word, and that’s what you say?”

His words stopped halfway up his throat the moment he saw Granny Tamayo come up behind you to pinch you on the arm, the half-formed response morphing into a laugh as he watched you flinch back with a surprised (and betrayed) yelp.

“Y/N, darling, don’t be rude to the customers.” You pouted, rubbing at the sore spot on your upper arm.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s fine, Granny. Nothing new, right?” At the sight of his cheeky smile, the old woman scoffs, something endearing, before nudging him out of his seat despite your noise of protest.

“Well, since you two seem to be talking of nothing but the past, why don’t you go take a walk down memory lane?”

“Wha— Grandmother! There’s still customers—”

“Kaede can handle it just fine! Shoo, shoo, get out of my hair.” 

Without missing a beat, Granny Tamayo smoothly plucked the trays from your hands and nudged you two towards the door as the soldiers watching roared with laughter and cooed jokes at the two “childhood lovers”. Keigo turned towards Touya, almost desperately, in a futile search for— what? Escape? Wasn’t he looking for escape in the first place?

“Wait, Granny, come on. Touya’s part of this too, isn’t he?”

“Don’t drag me into this, a trip down memory lane isn’t for me!” With an arm still slung over the now-wheezing rookie’s shoulder, Touya raised the cup of sake he’d ordered as if in toast. Whether it was to Keigo’s mortification, or to the potential opportunities this meant, Keigo didn’t want to know.

Probably both.

(...Probably the former, if he were to be honest with himself.)

A flurry of drunken laughter and lighthearted jokes, half-hearted protests that fell on deaf ears, and insistent pushing at his back later, he found himself standing outside the izakaya, blinking up at the full moon before looking over at you.

“...Did we just get kicked out?”

“I think we did.” You snorted, scuffing a mark into the dirt path with your heel, and Keigo wanted the earth to crack open and swallow him whole. What was he supposed to do? Stuck with the remnants of a rekindling love, the awkwardness that tended to come with years of estrangement and words that failed him when it came to you. 

Well, there’s really only one thing he could do.

Talk.

“So, what’s new with you?” He immediately cringed at his choice of words, forcing himself to school his expression over into an easygoing smile instead of recoiling like he so desperately wanted to do. 

Nice going there, Keigo, really.

“...Same old.” Your quiet answer snapped him out of his thoughts, and he tilted his head, almost like he was beckoning you to continue. “Same old town, same old job, same old life. I pretty much walked the path everyone knew I was going to go on as the granddaughter of the izakaya’s owner.”

You looked up with a sheepish grin, the bright moonlight casting the world (and you) in a silver glow, and Keigo felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Not the most exciting to a man from the military, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen a lot—” Keigo rubbed at the identification tag hidden under his clothes by force of habit, the leather cord heavy around his neck. He has seen a lot. Too much, to be exact, but how would he even begin to explain the horrors of man to someone… “normal”? How could he?

For someone whose wit and silver tongue helped him survive all these years, he was awfully tongue-tied tonight. Or maybe it was just you, and the surreal lightness settling into his soul that had him stumbling over his words.

“But you’ve seen enough?” You finished his sentence with a wry grin, and the surprised laugh found itself past his lips before he could catch it. How could he forget? You were always, always a step ahead of him. Back then and even now.

“Enough of my barracks and Touya’s face? Yeah, definitely.” You swatted his arm with a huff, and the familiar action made the next laugh come a little easier, his chest a little lighter as the awkwardness slowly dissipated into something… comfortable. Normal.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” 

“Well, that’s your answer, Y/N. Don’t know what else to tell you,” He shrugged in mock ignorance, and you groaned, going back to worrying at the deepening scuff in the dirt. 

“What, so, we both had boring lives?”

Far from boring.

“...Yeah, I guess so.” 

You pursed your lips and stared out at the quiet street, the beat of silence almost bordering on awkward by the time you broke it with a resolute sigh, starting to walk forward into the moonlight.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make up for it somehow.” 

“And how would you do that?”

“By going back to when life wasn’t so boring,” You hummed, spinning to face him and grandly spreading your arms, as if you were presenting the lantern-lit street to him, “C’mon! Tonight, this main street is memory lane!”

“Aren’t you taking me out of town at one point, though?”

“Oh, hush. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, coming.”

Oh, your smile was radiant, and Keigo had to force himself to keep moving instead of gaping like a fool.

(Was it possible for him to make you smile like that all the time?)

For the next hour, time seemed to stop. The moon stood frozen in the sparkling sky, watching two star-crossed lovers go around town, laughing and reminiscing on what could’ve been. What could be, if Keigo were to be bold. You took him down Main Street as promised, and he found it hard to relate to the memories you spoke of, associating each store with scornful stares and pitiful ignorance. Eventually, you two looped around to the outskirts of town. To the river that looked more like a creek now, and the quaint houses and maze of alleyways. To familiarity.

He smiles as he watches you skip rocks in the creek, laughs when you wrinkle your nose at the dog that always seems to only bark when you two pass by Old Man Yasutaro’s gate, and revels in the memories.

“You still suck!”

“Hey! It’s not like we skip rocks all the time in the military.”

You merely rolled your eyes and continued to skip ahead, the slow and awkward trudge from before revived into the enthusiastic step he remembered, fueled by the joys of nostalgia and escape. 

This, Keigo realizes, is nostalgia.

Not the pain of remembering a past he wanted to forget, not looking at alleyways to remember what used to be his childhood, not thinking of the shops as someplace otherworldly. Rather, it was this. The joy of reminiscing on good times. The joy of breathing new life into old memories.

The joy he now knew was to be found in you.

“Hey.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see you grinning, the moonlight illuminating something akin to mischief in your eyes. “Remember that old gramophone we could never figure out when we were little?”

“You mean you could never figure out. I didn’t want to touch it because Granny Tamayo is a scary, scary woman.”

And a dirty street orphan’s hands had no place on such an expensive thing.

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled, following along anyway as you set off down the path with a new purpose. The route was familiar, and Keigo already had an idea of where this was going, but who was he to speak when you were nearly buzzing with excitement?

“What I mean to say is: I figured it out, so—” You spun in place again, taking his hand, and his heart damn near stopped, “—would you like this dance? To some actual music, this time.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? A proper lady needs the proper etiquette, after all.” His cheeky grin betrayed the politeness of his words, and you scoffed, tugging him along.

“Like you would ask me first.” Keigo’s tongue stalled around a response, scrambling for a proper comeback because you were right. Deep down, he knew that he still never would’ve asked you first for anything. It wasn’t his place. First, as a kid on the street compared to the granddaughter of the izakaya owner. Now, as a man with blood on his hands compared to an innocent civilian, untainted by the shadows of war.

Who was he to ask anything from a normal person?

“Lead the way, then.”

There was that radiant grin again, brimming with excitement and sending him reeling. Keigo couldn’t help but let your enthusiasm rub off on him as he followed you to the little communal courtyard behind Granny Tamayo’s home, where he knew that she liked to keep that Western gramophone to play for guests. You broke away to go and try and work the old machine, mumbling to yourself as you fiddled with the knobs and rifled through the records filed away in the ornate cabinet it was sitting on. 

He took the chance to look around the empty courtyard, struck with the realization that it hadn’t changed at all in the years he was gone. He left all those years ago, only to return to a town that seemed almost frozen in time. It was too far from the cities for all the modern inventions to catch up with it, so the only things that changed were, well, the people. Keigo most of all. What if he hadn’t—

The sudden burst of music and your shout of victory cut off his wandering train of thought, and you walked back into his line of vision with a triumphant grin.

“I still don’t know how to fix the tempo, so the song’s a little slow. You’ll have to forgive me for that.” You offered up your hand and tilted your head, still smiling. “May I have this dance?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Like you’d ask me first.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo grinned in well-earned defeat, and his hand slipped into yours with the other on your waist. The music swelled, and he took the first step.

One, two, three, one, two, three…

With too-slow, clumsy steps, the two of you slowly began waltzing your way around the small courtyard. You still kind of didn’t know how to work the gramophone—the song almost eerily slow, despite the years of fiddling—but that didn’t matter in the face of the giddy smiles shared, your soft laughs when he spun you in a flash of spontaneity, and the nostalgia of old times.

Before, he was a scrawny kid on the street who clumsily tried to follow the steps of the pretty girl playing a song on her father’s gramophone. Tomorrow, he would be Private First Class Takami Keigo, fighting for his life on the battlefield. Tonight, he would be normal again, slow dancing to Clair de Lune playing off an old, off-beat gramophone with you in his arms, mourning a start he didn’t get to have.

(As normal as a kid scrounging for scraps on the street could’ve been.)

Your voice, soft and wavering, broke the stillness of the moment, as if it were something taboo that shouldn’t have been uttered into existence at all.

“Keigo?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

You flushed at the endearment, the next words shattering his illusion of happiness within nostalgia with the renewed vigor of confidence in the face of the impossible.

“Will you come home?”

Home.

A simple word, really. And yet it dropped like a stone in his chest. Home meant a roof over his head. Home meant warm food on the table. Home meant a simple life in a sleepy rural town. Home meant the promise of a new beginning.

To you, “home” probably meant nothing more than the place you had known all your life.

To him, “home” meant you.

So, like a dreamer in love, he answered with all the confidence of a fool.

“Yeah... I will. I don’t care how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come home.”

He thought the shaky lilt to his voice would’ve given him away, or the way his step faltered in the already clumsy waltz as if trying to step around what he knew should’ve been the answer. 

Instead, you laughed. Something soft, and let him spin you once more.

“Well, I’ve already waited a couple years, what’s a little more waiting?”

Keigo had to keep himself from double checking if this was real. Dancing with you in the moonlight as he tried to step around the reality of that answer with all the awkward grace of a scared child.

One, two, three, one, two, three… 

Truth be told, the both of you knew the answer long before you had pushed the question into desperate existence, searching for a shred of hope. That his simple answer should have been an realistic “I don’t know” or a pessimistic “no promises”, instead of a foolish “yes.”

Instead, he slowed the waltz to a sway, pulling you close to both ingrain the feeling of you into his soul and to hopefully hide the resigned melancholy of a soldier being carted off to uncertainty.

And, for a traitorous moment, Keigo wondered.

Dreamed, even.

What would it have been like to have a “normal” life? Instead of grasping the hand of desperation, would he have grown out of the side alleys and homes made of boxes into a “respectable” man? Maybe he could’ve gotten a job at the grocer’s, at Old Yasutaro’s restaurant, or maybe even Granny Tamayo’s izakaya. Could he have—he pulled you closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your temple—could he have courted you the “right” way? Brought you flowers and honey-sweet words of praise and promises of a happy future, instead of a single night dancing in the moonlight with a brittle promise hanging in the tense air that the both of you clung onto like a lifeline. A promise that Keigo wasn’t even sure he could fulfill.

He would later come to regret this single moment. Of this, he was sure.

(But, as you lifted your head from his chest with glassy eyes and a shaky smile, he knew he wasn’t alone in this regret.)

Keigo knew the words that you wished to let fall into the night air, in hopes of making that brittle promise tangible. Of giving life to a bright future with three little words. The reality crawled up his throat like poison, bitter and cloying, something that he knew shouldn’t be said. Keigo settled for gently wrapping his hand around your head to pull you closer, filtering the harsh truth into something a little softer, the bittersweet tone marking the unspoken truth as a reality instead of the dreams of a future.

One… two… three… 

“Don’t,” He muttered, heart tightening as he felt you go rigid in his arms, “I know. Please, God, I know—”

You slowly relaxed in his arms with all the bitter acceptance of a night before battle, and he murmured the next words into another ghost of a kiss. A whisper against your lips, seen only by the fading notes of a song in the moonlight.

“—but don’t.”

【 ☀︎ 】

Keigo’s breath was rattling, ears ringing with war cries, death wails, and everything in between. The once-blue noon sky was now a startling haze of ash gray, thick with the choking scent of the world burning.

He couldn’t even tell where the carnage started or ended anymore.

(Would it ever end?) 

How long has it been since the first shot?

(Too long.) 

Would he live to see the sunset?

(Of all times to worry about this, why now?)

The incessant drill of artillery fire was nothing new to him, as was the stench of the battlefield that could only be described as death.  What was new, was something that pushed his aching body to keep moving, the autopilot state he usually entered backed with something raw. Something like fear.

Something like the will to survive.

The pain that set his nerves on fire has long since faded, all the pain of countless wounds blending together into something numbed by the adrenaline of survival. Were the wet patches on his uniform sweat? Blood? Both? He couldn’t tell anymore, all he knew was survival and the persistent voice whispering deadly distraction in the back of his mind.

Civilians. You’re fighting civilians, you mur—

The skin of his back prickled, the telltale whistling of something flying screeched in his ears, and his reflexes yanked him to dive out of the way before his mind could catch up. Not even a second later, another explosive detonated behind him and heat blazed across his back. His nerves screamed fresh pain into his senses and he grit his teeth, ignoring the concerning sound of sizzling over the ringing in his ears in favor of ducking into cover, collapsing against the wall of a destroyed building. 

Since when did regular people know how to make bombs?!

In the next breath, someone else had ducked into the small shelter he’d found in this hellscape of a city. 

Well, the remains of one. All hell broke loose once the other side brought homemade explosives into the fray and now, as he stared at the burning and destruction, Keigo wondered if those Westerners who muttered meaningless blessings whenever they passed were right. 

If this “Hell” they spoke of really was on Earth. 

He turned his head, suddenly sluggish, to the man that had joined him in the makeshift cover, and grinned at the familiar face.

“Hey, man.”

(Maybe giving his body a chance to slow down was a mistake.)

Touya ignored his exhausted greeting, instead opting to yank a rag from his pouch as he pulled Keigo to sit up so he could press the rag into the deep gashes the shrapnel had gouged into his back. Keigo immediately groaned in protest at the stinging pain, despite how necessary he knew it was.

“Fucking— how did you even survive that?”

“Dunno,” He let out a weak laugh, “Don’t think I will—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.” Despite his harsh threat, Touya pressed the slowly darkening rag deeper into his wound. A desperate (futile) attempt to stop the life pooling onto the floor underneath them, steadily flowing from the deep gashes in his back and all the other wounds peppering his body.

“Isn’t that the exact opposite—” He hissed in pain at the pressure on his wounds, “—of what you want?” 

“Shut up.”

“You know you don’t want me doing that.”

(He was right. Keigo running his mouth meant that he was breathing. Meant that he was alive.)

Touya pressed his lips into a thin line, Keigo blearily tracking the way his burn scars pulled with the movement. 

Grounding himself, that’s what he’s supposed to do during times like this, right? Hell, he didn’t know. Not every day he came so close to death. Touya really needed to look into something for those sc—

“For the love of the gods, I am begging you to shut up.”

Ah, he said all that out loud? He managed to muster up a sheepish grin, despite Touya’s grim expression.

“Ooh, Touya? Begging? That’s a first, I should stay awake to hear it.” Keigo didn’t have to look to know that the rag was soaked through and Touya was fighting against the inevitable at this point. Keigo? He… he was too tired to fight to keep his eyes open. Too cold.

“Maybe you should stay awake to go home, loverboy.”

“I should.” He fumbled to find purchase, pressing his palm into the ground and scooting his feet closer for leverage. “Can’t leave Y/N waiting after all.”

Maybe it was the delirium from the blood-loss, or the desperation of this cursed situation, but Keigo tried to pull himself up. To move, to get somewhere safer, somewhere where he could survive. His palm slipped on the blood-slick floor underneath him and he came crashing down once more, his strength disappearing along with it as he slumped against Touya.

“Ah—”

“Shit, I’ll get you to the medic.” 

Keigo groaned at the pain of his wounds being jostled as Touya tried to haul the deadweight of his sluggish body up. The reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders (or was it his strength leaving him?) and he licked his chapped lips, whispering the grim truth into the ash-hazy air.

“I’m not gonna make it to the medic.”

“How many times do I have to keep telling you to shut up?” Another attempt to pull him to his feet, and Keigo managed to push out a weak laugh.

“Just a couple more times.”

“Hey… hey, c’mon now, I still have to make fun of you and Y/N for being the most disgusting couple I’ve ever met.” He carefully shook Keigo, trying desperately to get him to keep his drooping eyes open.

“Aw, don’t tease Y/N too badly.”

Something changed in Touya’s voice, a block in his throat that he had to force his words through, and he clutched the dripping rag closer to his wounds as he muttered out his response.

“I won’t.”

“Good, good,” Keigo’s hands clumsily fumbled for the cord wrapped over his chest, tugging at it until it came loose. “Hey, can you tell Y/N that I’ll do my best to come home? In any way I can.”

“...Just do it yourself.” 

“Mm, that would… that would be nice. Coming home, I mean. I promised… Y/N… I would…”

His words faded, and Touya froze, arms suspended in midair around the slumped form of his best friend, his stunned gaze locked on the identification tag hanging from a limp, bloody hand.

“Kei...go?”

【 ☀︎ 】

Waiting was agony.

You used to think you were a patient person, years of dealing with drunks, horrible customers, and everything in between training the patience of a saint into you. 

Today, however, revealed that you were anything but. The moment the company had crested the hill and out of sight, your anxieties slowly overcame you the farther they went. Working in the izakaya helped, the constant flow of customers and orders kept you on your feet and your thoughts off the battle that was no doubt waging mere miles away. Every so often, a wandering patron would come in murmuring that they heard bits and pieces of the battle, and you forced yourself to forget again.

All that effort was lost once the company’s runner came barreling through the town, shouting that the soldiers were on their way back. That they needed spaces cleared for the wounded and their lodgings secured. They called for the doctor, they called for food, they called for supplies. 

If you didn’t know any better, it would’ve sounded like a cry for help.

Word spread like wildfire, and the rush of serving customers turned into the rush of trying to help prepare for the soldiers’ return. None of it helped get your mind off the one thing you didn’t want to worry about. If anything, it just shoved all your worries to the forefront of your mind, accompanied by the dull headaches of something you hoped were just random fantasies.

(Fantasies of a lotus garden, a guarded grin, a red hairpin, a betrayal—)

Would he have to be wrapped in the bandages you were carrying? Would he have to rest in the bedding in your hands? Would he be able to eat the food your grandmother was preparing?

Then, they came. 

A slow straggle of wounded and weary men, leaning and limping on each other as they slowly trickled in through the main street.

There were many things that wouldn’t happen, you would later realize, watching the company trudge back into the town. Their formation was shaky from the hobbling wounded, and you felt your heart drop as you desperately searched the noticeably thinner crowd, trying to peek through the uniforms and bandages and dented helmets for any sign that he had come home. That he had survived.

How many men did they lose?

(Too many.)

You watched the flow of soldiers slowly follow their commander to their lodgings and the doctor, the once boisterous crowd now silent and battle-worn. The rookie that had just been under a chokehold the other night was now cradling bandaged wounds and a gaunt expression that only told of his first brushes with death.

One soldier broke from the crowd to make his way towards you, and—for a fleeting moment—you hoped. 

And just as quickly as it came, that hope you had soon sunk into despair once you saw who it was, and what he held in his scarred hands.

Across the street, a man broke rank, with a heavier burden than most would’ve thought and few would ever experience. He hoped that no one would have to experience this, a death and the task of delivering such news weighing heavy on his shoulders.

Life, Touya thinks, is cruel.

It left such a brilliant mind like Keigo to starve with him on the streets.

It forced him to run to the military in desperation, searching for steady food and shelter.

It snatched away the one man who had salvation waiting for him.

Death, Touya grieves, is even crueler.

Keigo would never get to go home.

He wouldn’t get to see the joy on your face once you welcomed him home with open arms. 

(How could he? When your expression twists into something akin to dawning horror instead of joy, watching Touya make his way up to you with downcast eyes and a heavy bundle of fabric carefully cradled in his palm.)

He wouldn’t get to start the new life he deserved, in a sleepy rural town with the one he adored.

He wouldn’t get to fulfill his promise to you.

A promise that everyone knew was too risky a promise to make. Yet, he believed enough to make it to you.

A promise that Touya holds back on his tongue because he knew this—a little metal disc on a bloodstained cord—wouldn’t fulfill it, not when he hands you the neat square of scrap fabric and watches your tears flow before you even open it. Not when you slip out a worn identification tag, holding it up to the sunset to try and make out the letters you already knew were there.

A lantern illuminates what the fading sunlight could not, casting the stamped characters of Keigo’s bloodied name in an amber glow, and you crumble.

【 ☀︎ 】

Dawn finds Professor Takami, Head of the Sociology Department, first through the doors of the campus café with essays to be finished grading in one hand and his laptop bag in the other.

The cashier greets him with a familiar warmth as he steps up to the counter, his staple order already halfway punched into the register with a knowing smile that he forces himself to return. There’s a nervous energy simmering under his skin that he can’t seem to shake, and it shows. The barista (Touya. His name is Touya. He literally has one of the guy’s essays in his hand, fucking hell. Get it together, Keigo) shoots the normally easygoing professor a worried look as he slides the warmed pastry across the counter to him, the full sleeves of swirling blue and black ink a stark contrast against the smooth wood of the counter.

“Everything good with you, Professor?”

“Perfect, now that I got my pastry. Think I’ll be even better once I drink some coffee.” 

Nothing was perfect, and he couldn’t even put a finger on what it was. 

He plastered a convincing smile on his face as he picked up the too-heavy plate, careful to hold it steady before making a beeline for his usual table. The faster he got to sit down at his usual corner booth and sort himself out, the better. 

He knew that he would just drown himself in grading papers instead of figuring out what was making him feel off, but it was the thought that counted.

The hum of energy under his skin was nothing new to him. Something deep inside that made him almost jumpy, wary of the peaceful days that had consumed his entire life, lying in wait for… something. For what? Keigo wished he knew.

(For battles yet started, for warcries yet sung, for survival yet fought for.)

All he knew was that the strange hum that threatened to vibrate him out of his own skin was different this time. Wrong. It didn’t help that his sleep had been suffering for the past week, plagued by dreams and nightmares both of eras past, the blurry picture of the same person a constant sight in the swirling mix of history. Images flickering between a secluded lotus garden and an elaborate kimono to an old izakaya and Clair de Lune at moonrise. Images of yearning and blood and tragedy and endings before the beginnings.

At least his conversations with the once-intimidating Japanese Literature professor got a smidge more interesting.

With the resolute click of a red pen, he swept away the thoughts clouding his mind as he resigned himself to his fate of just dealing with the strange mood for now, fully intent on getting to work. Years of repetition and muscle memory had him opening up his email with practiced ease, quietly sighing to himself as he waited for the doubtlessly endless emails from students and colleagues alike to load. 

Would procrastinating just the tiniest bit by fiddling with the rolled cuffs of his sleeves or pushing up his glasses for the nth time help at all? 

No, but it let Keigo expel the weirdly restless energy in what ways he could, the creeping sense of foreboding setting his nerves into overdrive. The page loaded and he frowned at the onslaught of emails he knew were going to flood his inbox. 

Hell, he expected them to.

What he didn’t expect were the contents, the subject lines all variations of “Did you know?” and “There’s no way” and “I can’t believe it” from colleagues he didn’t even talk to regularly. Sure, the email from the cultural anthropology professor made sense, but the graphic design professor? The head of the business department?

Before he could open the first email of many, his laptop chirped out the familiar ‘ding!’ of a new email, the sound rippling through the café as everyone’s phones and laptops lit up with the same message. 

A schoolwide email? Okay, th—

The world slowed to a crawl, everyone in the packed coffee shop silencing almost at once and the shocked whispers rippling throughout the space only serving to make the silence all the more deafening (“Hey, check your email.” and “Look at this.” and “No way.” and it was too loud someone please make it stop—), his ears near ringing as he struggled to tear his gaze away from the picture embedded at the top of the page.

“Looking a little rough there.” The cotton suddenly stuffing his ears muffled the barista’s voice and would’ve made him jump out of his skin had he been focused on anything but burning the email into his eyes. God, he’d barely even registered the guy coming up to serve his coffee, what was wrong with him? “Professor? Was it that email?”

“Y-Yeah, I just read it.” He cleared his throat and slid the mug closer to himself, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to ground himself as he stared at the picture of you. 

The barista merely arched a pierced brow and muttered a soft “ah.” before going back to his spot behind the espresso machine, vibrant blue eyes tracking the rattled professor suspiciously. Keigo was too preoccupied to thank him as he usually would’ve. Too preoccupied with what was staring back at him from his laptop screen.

A picture placed right under the subject line plastering “Unfortunate news about Prof. L/N Y/N” across his screen, the few words in the body text (that he could pick out through the sudden tidal wave of memories past clicking into place) painted an image that he couldn’t help but mourn.

After being reported missing… remains found… will be missed.

Will be missed… 

Well, now that he thought about it, Keigo had been missing you all his life, hadn’t he? 

Both figuratively and literally, always arriving after you left and vice versa, never really seeming to connect in person. Any emails were shrouded with a veil of professionalism that he couldn’t pierce through. Yet, there were things so irrevocably you that he knew to pick out now. The jovial note at the end of your emails, the unapologetically confident sharpness to your words, the extra mug you left for the next person that passed through the faculty lounge (that somehow always ended up being him on the days he was rushing to his next lecture). 

All these things, all these moments, and the fool had passed all of them by.

The restless energy humming under his skin through his entire being disappeared much quicker than it had come, its job done, leaving a gaping  void in its wake that was shockingly familiar. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time this had happened, where the curtains never raised on the beginning you two could’ve had. He took a shuddering, stabilizing breath (that didn’t work), too numb to feel the freshly brewed coffee scalding his tongue that he had hoped would pull him back to reality, hoped the sweet taste would wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and the splitting headache of years upon years of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Professor Takami had work to get done.

Keigo could mourn later.

Even as he convinced himself of that, he couldn’t even bring himself to brush the dead lotus petals off his work, the sight of the wilted centerpiece only bringing more pain. The cruel coincidence of the once bloomed flowers now dead in his hands didn’t go unnoticed, and Keigo desperately tried to bore the printed words laid in front of him into his mind. 

As if doing that would sear away the sudden onslaught of memories, dead lotus petals igniting a yearning for a long-demolished lotus garden and a pretty concubine who didn’t belong in the palace (or was it a small town and the life he could’ve had?) and the love that slipped through his fingers once more.

Did you go through this too? When he—

The half-graded essays lay untouched for the rest of the day, red ink disappearing in the crimson light cast by the setting sun.

【 ☀︎ 】

When did I…?

He blinked down at the concrete under his feet, stunned, before looking up to see an endless sea of trains passing in front of him. The incessant rushing of the trains around him had replaced the silence of the hotel room he was supposed to be sound asleep in, the too-rhythmic noise of the train tracks surrounding him in an almost ethereal white noise. 

I had just gone to bed… How did I end up at a train station?

He winced at the glare of the midday sun reflecting off of the last car of the train passing in front of him, before stopping short at the sight of someone standing on the other side of the tracks—alone—revealed by the passing train. His heart leapt into his throat and pushed a name he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember out of his lips. There was no way he knew her, the multi-layered kimono and elegant hairpins looked like something out of a millenia-old ukiyo-e print and wholly out of place in a modern train station. But... something deep in his soul knew that it was right, and it sang as he watched the woman turn around. 

“You’re dreaming right now, Keigo. Go back to sleep,”

“What…?” 

“It’s true,” The woman tilted her head with the soft smile that he’d missed so much (missed? Wasn’t this his first time seeing it?) and the ancient hairpieces jingled and swayed with the movement, his gaze locking on a familiar crimson gemstone catching the sunlight, “Don’t believe me? Try to count some numbers, then. One… two…”

Another train hurtled past, blocking his view once more as her painted lips moved soundlessly around the final number.

“Three.”

Keigo sat up with a gasp, staring at the soft shafts of light the sunrise painted on the walls.

It was the start of a new day, and he found himself mourning something lost that he couldn’t even remember.

Dawn finds Hawks, the number two hero, leaping out of his Tokyo hotel window, wind catching on vermilion wings to buffer his descent to the sidewalk.

He was far from home, his current mission dragging him all the way to Tokyo from his agency in Fukuoka. Sneakers touched concrete, and he started down the path where he was supposed to meet with the last person he wanted to see right now. Especially after that mess with the High-End Nomu. He shuddered, spreading his wings as if to remind himself that they were all there, recovered after that hellish fight.

Come to the location on foot, he’d been told, and don’t be conspicuous.

Weird request, and it was kind of hard to remain inconspicuous when he was the number two hero and had a pair of bright red wings announcing his identity to the world. Alas, he needed to cooperate or else he’d end up jeopardizing the entire mission, so Keigo settled for ditching his hero costume in favor of casual clothes and a cap to hide his identity. He pulled a mask over his nose and tucked his wings closer to further help conceal himself as he walked down the street, dipping into the first alley he saw.

His path through the grid of alleyways and side streets had already been mapped out the days before, so it was just a matter of making the short trek there. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t the best, and Keigo found himself slowed by sidestepping trash and the occasional bottle of liquor. The scent of stale alcohol only brought unpleasant fragments of memories, and he pushed them aside in favor of quickening his pace.

“My, not every day I see such a bigshot hero pass by.”

He almost tripped over another bottle, wings ruffling in surprise as he cursed himself for being caught off guard.

There was an old woman sitting there, a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she sat outside her quaint little storefront. 

A flower shop, in this secluded side street? 

“Ah, sorry, ma’am, you have the wrong person. I mean, me? The number 2 pro hero?” He was quick to deny her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. She merely hummed and took another sip of her tea.

“Do I? Well, this old woman’s eyes aren’t what they used to be after all.” She set down the cup and stepped out of her chair, shuffling over to the water feature on the other side of the doorway that served as an attraction. He could see why, the soft rush of the small waterfall and fragrant lotuses drawing his attention the more he stared.

Suddenly, the woman plucked one of the younger lotuses, patting the stem dry before handing it to him with a smile.

“Uh—”

“You saved my son that day, from the Nomu attack in Fukuoka. This is the least I could do.”

Against his better judgement—he really needed to get going to catch the train in time—he took the half-bloomed lotus in his hands and pulled down his mask to smile at her.

“Your eyes are… actually pretty sharp, ma’am. Thank you.”

She laughed, sitting back in her seat and sent him on his way. The rest of the walk went smoothly after that, and he soon found himself jogging up the stairs to the station, muttering under his breath as he checked his watch. 

Right on time.

【 ☀︎ 】

A strange sense of deja vu creeped into his chest as he stepped onto the platform in Minami-senju station. He’d been feeling off all day, and the weird sense of familiarity that had been tugging at the back of his mind didn’t help. Luckily, he’d managed to arrive in time to catch the noon train so the rest of his schedule should hopefully go smoothly from here. A departing train screeched into motion, and he winced at the rippling glare of sunlight that reflected into his eyes, the strange deja vu rearing its head again.

Keigo stared at the train passing in front of him as he idly twirled the lotus stem in between his fingers. The words left his lips before he could catch himself.

“One… two…” He cut himself off with a sigh, dropping his head and dragging a hand over his face.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Keigo.

His head shot up at the sound of his name, the world darkening under the shade of a passing cloud. Did he just imagine that? He had to. The train station was practically stranded, and there was no one even close enough to call his name without shouting across the station (if they even knew his name in the first place). Despite his better judgement, he wet his lips and shut his eyes, the strangely familiar words passing his lips once more as he desperately tried to recall the familiarity he longed for.

“One…”

I want to see you.

“Two…” 

I don’t even know who you are, but I miss you anyway.

“Three—”

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of the train tracks silenced and left him with the raging drum of his heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears as he stared at the person standing on the other side of the tracks. The emerging sun smiled upon him, casting the world in light once more as his voice locked around a familiar name he’d never spoken.

It started as a hushed whisper, and he swallowed the lump in his throat to call the name thrice ingrained into his soul.

“Y/N!”

The familiar smile that bloomed across your lips was answer enough as he pushed through the newly arrived train to the other side, to you. He reached out, clawing through the rush hour crowd (why were there so many people? Why were you so far? Closer, closer, closer—) and he nearly sobbed in relief as you fell into his arms, clinging to each other as your souls finally, finally, melded together as one. Now and forevermore.

The questions could come later, but now... he had a promise to fulfill.

He was home.

notes: minami-senju train station is located in very close proximity (a two-minute walk) from what is left of the kozukappara execution grounds, where a temple now stands in its place. he’s made quite the journey to come full circle, hasn’t he?

[damnredthing]

Today is a sad day for Star Trek

Aka Revenge of the 5th.

What was supposed to be a fantastic day we all were looking forward to, turned out to be a sad day for Star Trek and its fans.

The Star Trek community has strong values, some of the strongest are inclusion and bonding. Borders do not matter, languages do not matter. You are a Trekkie, you are in the family. There is no Them and Us. We are one community and have been for decades.

In a world in which two brotherly states are in a devastating war, in a world in which religions still cause conflicts, in a world in which in many countries fascism is on the rise and people think more and more in political camps to the point where families break apart, we need something in this world that can connect us.

Star Trek has had this power for decades.

But today is the day when a company driven by greed has actively thrown a wedge into this community.

Suddenly, there is a Them and Us. Them who are privileged to watch a new show. A show the fans all over the world have campaigned for. And Us who are shoved away as not important. Them who can talk about the new show week after week, and Us who - when we will finally get to watch the show sometime in the future - will not find anyone to talk about because it’s an old hat for Them privileged ones.

This is a very sad day for Star Trek, because this situation has been caused by the very same people who make this show possible. They could have prevented it. They chose not to. And now we have 2 camps.

Those who are left behind are actively excluded. Because now a lot of people who do not want to pirate and do not want to read spoilers, must unfollow their friends, tags, discord servers, Facebook groups and whatnot for months to come, they even must unfollow the actors in order to enjoy the show to the fullest when it will finally get released in their respective country.

This is done but the very same people who made this show possible. They are dividing the community.

And even worse, they cut into their own flesh.

Of course, people will not accept this and find other means to watch the show. And yes, this is because a greedy company CANNOT divide our family after all, no matter how hard they try. We do stick together and help each other out. Especially in situations like this.

What was a great opportunity to promote Paramount+ in new countries with an amazing new flagship show Strange New Worlds will end up in a marginalia. The P+ launch will fall flat on its nose. Nobody will care to subscribe for a show they’ve already seen by other means.

With low subscription numbers, the show will get a worse rating than it would in truth deserve. In the worst case, this could lead to a shortened run for the show.

I hope we will not get to that point ever, that this will damage the show. I want to see many seasons realized and I wish the creators and actors and writers the greatest success. Understand that this situation is not caused by pirating fans, it is caused by a greedy company who forces the fans to pirate.

Truth be told, in part we fans are to be blamed this time, too. I don’t know why, maybe people already gave up on P+, maybe people resigned, or maybe people don’t care anymore. But there was no shitstorm at all that would have made P+ change their mind.

What makes this day even more sad is that even Them who are privileged, have their excitement dampened. And this includes the creators and actors. Because in truth – as much as P+ tries to divide us – we are still one family. In a family you do not mock your family members. You feel with the ones who suffer, which in turn means the ones who do not suffer are withholding their excitement which they so much would like to show.

P+ has let the fans, the creators and the actors down.

With all this being said, I’d like to introduce my new forum and Twitter header because I am one of those unfortunate people who gets ignored by P+. But I am also one of those fortunate people who are in this family and who is being cared for.

But in all honesty, I do not know how I can run this blog now. This is a blog about Anson and Pike. But how can I tag my entries properly without objecting the unfortunate fans to spoilers?

I cannot add Anson’s or Pike’s tags anymore to any episode review or pictures. Which puts the purpose for this blog ad absurdum.

I am just so sad today, when I should have been the happiest person on earth.

This truly is the revenge of the 5th.

[thekisforkeats]

The Way You Say My Name

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set immediately post-MAG 22. Martin is trans and Jon is amab non-binary.

CWs: Guilt, self-recrimination, worms (mentioned), arguments, shouting, crying, lying (Martin lying about his CV still), transphobia (mentioned), misgendering (mentioned), child abuse (mention of Martin Blackwood's mother) 

Summary: Just after MAG 22, Jon apologizes for his treatment of Martin over the past few months. Or tries to, anyway. It's hard to apologize to someone when you don't understand exactly what it is you've done to upset them.

(Of course, once Jon's apologized and Martin's relaxing, well... that's when Jon will finally notice he actually likes Martin, isn't it? Not that he's going to admit to that, even to himself.)

Shoutout to the Martin Blackwood Lovers Discord Server, without whom I would not have written this up and posted it. ;) Jon’s dialogue was (mostly) written by @marianfuckinghawke.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Recording ends.”

Jon reached out and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. He sighed and looked at his phone. The message from Jane Prentiss was still glowing on the screen. He ran a hand through his short hair, aware he was mussing the grey-streaked black and deciding he didn’t care.

He had listened to Martin’s account of the encounter with Jane Prentiss with trepidation and worry. Now he could feel his face settling into something more drawn with concern. First, concern for his two assistants who were out of the Archive at the moment. Second, concern for Martin. The man had gotten himself into this mess because of Jon’s words. Due diligence. Was he really such a hardass that he had put one of his subordinates in harm’s way? How had he not realized that it might come to this?

Martin sat fidgeting, shifting in his seat, and Jon could feel the other man’s soft brown eyes on him. He had the look of a frightened, cornered animal and it cut Jon to the quick. He had done this. Jon was responsible for the man’s state, and he had to figure out how to make it better.

There was silence for a solid three minutes. Then Martin opened his mouth to say, “So if I’m going to be--”

Jon started speaking at exactly the same time. “So obviously you’re--” He blinked and said, “I’m sorry--”

“No, no, you go,” Martin said, raising his hands and waving them rapidly.

“No. It’s alright… go ahead,” Jon replied at the exact same time, then frowned.

Martin cleared his throat, then seemed to gather his courage. “Well. I was going to say. If I’m going to be staying here, I’ll need… things. Like, uhh, there’s a cot, but I’ll need, like… a toothbrush? I mean, you don’t have a stash of those sitting around, do you?” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner.

“No, I do not,” Jon replied. “Nor do you have a proper change of clothing… you can hardly wear the same outfit for however long this will take, and you won’t want to sleep in what you’re wearing.” He had a sudden mental image of Martin sleeping naked, and cleared his throat while he shoved it away. Hardly an appropriate thought about a co-worker, even if it wasn’t remotely sexual. “We will have to go out and get such things for you… perhaps after I brief Tim and Sasha on the situation.”

Martin nodded. “There’s a room that might be, umm… did you know one of the rooms that’s filled with boxes is supposed to be the break room?” He gave that self-deprecating laugh again. “‘Course you know that, stupid, what am I saying…” He glanced aside, cheeks flushing. “Umm. Anyway. Umm. It’s bigger than the room you’ve got the cot in? If… if… I’m going to be staying here… I could clean it out… make it livable, maybe, umm, get some snacks and tea and things in, and there’d be more room for extra cots… in case you need somewhere to stay late or… something…” A pause. “Or not! Or just. You know. I’ll just. Have lots of time, so. I can. Clean. The break room.”

Jon did not, in fact, know that they’d had a break room at all. It had been frustrating to have everyone going up to the Admin break room on the ground floor, and he’d said so more than once. No, wait… had someone told him, and had he just told them off about clearing the room out?

He was suddenly horribly aware of how many times he’d griped at Martin for going up there to make tea that he had then gone ahead and drunk. How had he been such a prick to this man?

When Jon had started as Head Archivist, he’d had all sorts of plans for team morale, bonding exercises, and the like. He’d always hated them personally but they were the sort of thing bosses were supposed to do. The trouble was that all of his “how best to run the Archives as a team” ideas had flown right out of his head once he’d gotten down there and found himself at a desk where a woman had maybe died, struggling to record statements, dealing with doggy messes, and that damned persistent feeling of being watched.

Well, now was as good a time as any to start acting the way he should have all along.

“Martin… we will clean the break room. Together. As a group.” He ran his hand through his hair again. He really was going to look a mess. “It is a communal space, it will be a communal job.” He added quickly, “Yes, I know you’ll be here more than the rest of us, but I want us all involved. We need…” He sighed. Time to apologize. “I have been… less supportive of you than I should. And…” He swallowed, aware of the flush rising on his cheeks. “I feel I must apologize. So… I am sorry. But we should do more together, especially given that circumstances have escalated.”

Martin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re… sorry. For… being less… supportive than you should have been.” There was a hard-to-read undercurrent in his tone.

“For being… rude to you… and for punishing you…” Jon replied. “Unjustly.” He gestured to the recorder. “All of this… happened because of your adherence to my instructions…” He frowned. “So. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Martin snapped, “at least you’re finally realizing that it was… unjust.” He glared at Jon, who suddenly felt pinned to the spot by eyes that were no longer soft but had gone hard as agates.

Jon blinked at Martin. “Are… are you alright?” He was apologizing! He couldn’t be messing that up this badly, could he?

Martin drew a long breath in through his nose. “Yeah,” he said, in a high-pitched, clipped tone. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He went to stand abruptly, pushing away from the desk, and in that same tone, “Well, you’d better get to… briefing people, then. I’ll just… go see how far my paycheck can stretch in Chelsea.” His tone was dripping with bitterness by the end.

Jon stood up. “Martin!” He was vaguely aware of saying it in the same irritated tone he always used for the man’s name, aware that Martin visibly flinched at the word, and tried to moderate his tone. “What is going on? I am apologizing! Is… am I missing something?” He moved around the desk to try to be sure Martin didn’t just leave without finishing the conversation.

“No,” Martin said, stopping while facing the door, tone still a good two octaves above normal. “No, it’s fine. You’re apologizing, and that’s good.” His whole frame was stiff, though, and his tone practically screamed “lying.”

Jon couldn’t read people all that well, but even he could read the signs Martin was giving off. “While your words are clear, your body language says quite otherwise.” He tried to moderate his tone again, but he couldn’t help sounding mildly irritated. He didn’t like being lied to, especially concerning his own actions, and he wasn’t sure what he had done incorrectly in this situation. “Now will you stop and talk to me?”

Martin turned away from the door, faced Jon, jaw set firmly. “What do you want me to say, Jon? Do you want me to… to forgive you? To say ‘oh, sure, you’re sorry, so that makes up for the last six months where you’ve made me want to quit my job every day?’ Am I supposed to… to… just… oh, well, there’s danger, so now you’ve realized I’m an actual person, now you’re going to stop kicking me around, now you’re going to pitch in to help around here as I’m not already the one spending all his time trying to clean up the mess while Tim and Sasha run out to research things so you don’t have to send anyone to double-check my work? Never mind that I’ve been trapped for two weeks, I could’ve been dead and none of you bothered to check on me!”

Martin was all but shouting by the end of the diatribe, every line of him stiff and furious, and Jon was suddenly very aware of the fact that Martin was taller and bigger than he was. He cringed away from Martin, took a step back. “I… I…” He turned away to his desk, grabbed his phone. “Here…” he said, handing it to Martin. “Look!” The phone would solve the problem, if Martin could just see… “There… I… just… please…”

The moment Jon had cringed away Martin had hunched his shoulders, deliberately making himself smaller. Now he was taking long, deep breaths, his expression ashamed. He reached out to take the phone from Jon.

The display was still on the screen of Jon’s message history with Martin. Before the last message from Jane Prentiss was a long list of messages from Jon--numerous messages inquiring about Martin’s health, worried and concerned. He had linked articles about foods to eat when feeling ill, then when he’d realized some of those might be hard for Martin to make alone, found new links that had easier recipes.

There were also, Jon knew, greyed-out deleted messages.

Martin, know that your presence is missed here at the Archives. I am wishing you a quick recovery.

I know it’s sudden, but I find myself missing you. Just thought you should know.

And others, so many others, as Jon had tried to figure out how to pierce the wall built by the texts he’d been getting back from what he now knew was Jane Prentiss, asking to be left alone.

As Jon watched Martin reading the messages he nervously bounced in place, one arm folded over his chest to hold the other. He could feel his skin glowing from embarrassment and he wasn’t even sure why. The blush faded, however, as he watched Martin. Watched the anger fade, and realized what lay underneath. The pain that had been underlying that anger, the way it lifted as Martin read through the message history--it was like a revelation. Martin must have walked in here convinced nobody at his place of employment really cared about him, and Jon realized that that was, indeed, what he must usually think, if something as simple as text messages was making something like hope bloom on his face.

It occurred to Jon, suddenly, that nobody had checked on Martin. For two weeks. No friends, no family. Nobody had even noticed the man was gone.

Jon had to fix this. Somehow. And not by wrapping Martin up in a fierce hug like he very much wanted to; that would not be appreciated from the man’s asshole boss. Even if Martin looked like he really, really needed a hug.

By the time Martin handed the phone back to Jon, his breathing was shaky and unsteady. He dropped back into the chair, like his legs suddenly weren’t working. “S-sorry,” he managed in the barest of whispers. “Sorry.”

“That’s… my line,” Jon said. “I am sorry. I should have said more to make it clear… you are a valued member of this team.” He shook his head, wincing at how… canned that line sounded, but pushed on. “I should have said it at least once. And… I never did. I held you at arm’s length and ostracized you. And… I understand how you felt all that time now…” He sighed. “And… yes, it may have taken this incident to make me realize how terrible a person I’ve been to you since… since you started working here.”

Martin stared down at his hands; Jon could see he was crying, but silently, without sniffling or sobbing. “Why?” he finally managed. He looked up at Jon. “Why? What did I… do? I mean… there was the whole ‘dog’ business at the beginning… what, do you hate dogs that much?” There was a kind of desperation in his tone.”

“No… I mean, sure I’m more of a cat person, but… no… I don’t hate dogs.” Jon frowned. “I… I’ve given that a lot of thought these past two weeks and I think I figured it out.” He sighed. “It wasn’t you I was angry with.” He took a breath. “I was angry at Elias. I like to have a sense of who I work with, to get to know them before I get into anything serious.” Oh, no, wait, that sounded… he hadn’t meant it like… work. He’d meant work! No, he was overthinking that; Martin knew he meant work. He stammered for a moment, though. “It’s… part of who I am… as a person.

Jon took a breath, to steady himself. Focus on the apology. “When Elias… placed you here without telling or consulting me about the selection process, it… felt like a betrayal. I felt that agency over my department had been taken out of my hands. And yes… I know he runs the Institute, but he should have at least consulted me about who is in my department.”

He dropped his head and reached to take a box of tissues from the side of the desk, to slide them towards Martin. An olive branch. “I took out that anger and frustration on you. And that was wrong, I know that now.”

“Not like I wanted to be here either,” Martin mumbled, reaching out for a tissue and wiping at his eyes. It didn’t do much to stop the tears. “I mean, I didn’t even want the damn library job, I j-just…” He stumbled, stammering, “It’s… it’s harder to get a position with a degree in parapsychology than you might think.” He sniffled. “B-but… even on top of that… you and Tim and Sasha, you’re all friends already, you requested them. Even if Tim and Sasha and I get along they don’t really know me, and you… well…” He sighed. “When Elias said I was going to work for Jonathan Sims I just about freaked out. You’ve got a… reputation, you know? I just… I knew it’d be… lonely down here, and it really has been.” There was a furrow between his brows now as he looked at Jon.

Jon frowned. He’d known he had a reputation around the Institute, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. He took a deep breath; this wasn’t about him right now. “Then let us work on fixing that. Starting now. Like I said, we need to be working together more, improve the… office atmosphere. I… have come to admire your dedication to your work. ‘Due diligence,’ as you put it.”

Martin regarded him quietly for a moment. Then he said, “The thing that really bothers me… I don’t… I don’t think you’d understand.”

Jon frowned. Then, finally, softly, “Try me. You might be surprised.”

Martin swallowed. “I… I’m trans,” he blurted. “Like, I was… I had a girl’s name, when I was younger. Figured out I was a guy when I was a teenager, started hormones, and… well…” He took a deep breath. “My mum’s never approved, you know? She’s always been… difficult, she’s… sometimes she’ll… well, I mean, you know how parents will… say your name, right? Like, when you’ve… disappointed them.”

Jon’s frown deepened. He did not, in fact, know how parents said one’s name, but he could remember his grandmother saying Jonathan in tones of deepest disapproval when he’d come back from wandering off. So he nodded; he understood the feeling, at least.

Martin wiped at his eyes again. “The way she said my name… it made me hate my name. My deadname, I mean. But it… helped me realize I was trans, because when I thought about something else I’d want to be called, I came up with ‘Martin.’ And… and I’m kind of glad sometimes, that she… misgenders me, and refuses to call me Martin, because it means she’ll never, ever say it in that… disappointed tone. I have never regretted that choice, not once, until…”

Martin took in a long, shuddering breath, then straightened himself, looking Jon right in the eye. Like he knew what he was going to say wouldn’t go over well, but he had to say it. “The way you say my name, when you snap at me? It’s exactly like my mother says my deadname. And nobody has ever made me regret that choice. Not… ever.” He swallowed. “Until I met you.”

Jon stared at Martin for a long moment, horrified. He was non-binary himself, and yet he’d never changed his name, never even asked people to call him by different pronouns although he might have preferred it; he’d never had the courage to do so. He’d always been terrified of what people might think of him. Yet here was Martin, strong enough to change himself outwardly despite his mother’s disapproval, strong enough to keep coming in every day to deal with a boss who made him regret the name he’d chosen for himself.

In that moment, Jon felt very much like he did not deserve Martin Blackwood. That the Institute did not deserve Martin Blackwood. They would have to do better, somehow.

Finally he managed, “I’m… I didn’t know. I--” He curled his mouth in disgust. How did one respond to that? Do better? That was only a marginally acceptable platitude. “I will endeavor to change my tone.” He didn’t like that any better, but it was the best he could do.

Jon really, really wanted to offer Martin a hug. The man looked like he needed one. Tim would have offered a hug, workplace hugs could be acceptable… but, no, Jon was Martin’s boss, and Martin had just said how much he hated Jon--because if Jon reminded Martin of the mother who deliberately misgendered him, then he had to hate Jon--and who would want a hug from someone they hated?

There was something he could do to help, though. To pay Martin back, as it were. So he, too, straightened, and said, “Well. You were talking about how far your paycheck will stretch in Chelsea, but I think that will be quite unnecessary. Given that you encountered Jane Prentiss while in the line of duty, as it were, I think we can expense your essentials to the Institute without too much trouble.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “W-wait… won’t that… I mean… won’t Mr. Bouchard be… upset about that?”

Jon actually smirked. “Don’t you worry about Elias; I fully intend to take out my irritation about his habits as a supervisor on him instead of you from here on out.” Not directly, of course, but Elias would be irritated by the entire setup, and some petty part of Jon enjoyed that thought.

Martin was staring at Jon now. “I… I wouldn’t want you to… get in trouble…”

Jon waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood. “Let’s get to the shops for toiletries before they close and then we can see about getting some clothing delivered. And, ahh, do you have any… prescriptions you’ll need…?” He was thinking about hormones. “I suppose I could send Tim ‘round to your flat, but I wouldn’t want to put him in danger either…”

Martin stood, hesitating. “I’ll… figure all that out. It’s alright. Really.”

Jon came around the desk to grasp Martin by the arms and look up at him, intently. It was the closest thing to a hug he’d let himself get to. “Martin,” he said, as gently as he could manage, with as much respect as he could manage, “you put yourself in danger because of the way your superiors at this Institute have treated you. Let me at least begin to partly repay that debt. Please.”

Martin was blinking down at him. “Uh… umm… aren’t we having… Mr. Bouchard repay the debt…?”

Jon smiled up at Martin as he dropped his arms. "Ahh, but we’re not going to ask Elias to come help clear out the breakroom. Can you imagine him moving boxes?” He could feel the smile edging into a grin. “His arms would break just from trying to pick one up.”

Martin had started to smile, hesitantly. That was what Jon had been going for; he hadn’t realized how much he actually liked Martin’s smile until he hadn’t been around for two weeks. “I-I mean… you’re not the biggest guy yourself… you might have the same problem.”

“Mmm, fair,” Jon replied, “but I am willing to scrub a floor if I must.”

Martin’s smile widened. “Y-yeah, I can’t imagine… Elias… scrubbing a floor.” He giggled, suddenly. “He probably pays people to do that stuff. He… he’d probably have been hopeless stuck in his flat for two weeks.”

Jon laughed at the mental image of Elias Bouchard stuck in a flat, living off canned meals, a laugh so full he actually threw his head back a bit. “Good lord, Elias, having to live off tinned peaches? Can... you... imagine?”

“H-he’d… probably… start shouting for Rosie.” Martin was giggling so hard he could barely get the words out. He put on a bad posh accent and said, “‘Rosie, why do we have all these tinned peaches? I did not approve this budget!’”

They both dissolved into helpless laughter, both reaching out to the other to hold themselves up. There was a moment, as the laughter waned, that their eyes met, and Jon felt something swoop and flutter in his gut. Martin had such a nice smile, and such a pleasant laugh, and it would be wonderful to have both around more often, and it was making him a little dizzy if he was being honest. When was the last time he’d felt that swoop and flutter? Georgie? Briefly, with Tim?

No, no, that was the laughter and the proximity. That was all. They were bonding over dislike of Elias. That was all.

At least he’d managed to clear the air.

Jon straightened, and kept smiling as he turned toward the door. “Come along, then, Martin,” he said, and again deliberately infused the word with as much respect as he could muster. “Let’s get to the shops.”

Martin nodded. “Thanks for this, Jon,” he said, and oh dear there was another swoop at the way Martin said his name. Had he always said it like that? Had Jon just not noticed? “Really. Thank you.”

Jon turned away to school his expression. This would not do. He was not going to let himself feel any more… swoops for a subordinate. It just wouldn’t do. No matter how nice of a smile he had. He did not have a crush on Martin, because he could not have a crush on Martin, and that was that.

Feeling a little better--it was always a relief, sorting out his emotions--Jon headed out to help Martin get settled into the Archives.

[magma-cjay]

I made some La Squadra headcanons... hope you enjoy :^)

Risotto Nero

Age: 28

Ethnicity: Sicilian/Egyptian (born in Sicily)

Sexuality: Gay (more closeted/probably doesn't realise)

General headcanons:

- He has Autism, fidgets with smaller objects he keeps in his pockets like pens or keys to help calm him down. When fidgeting with a pen on his desk he can take it apart and put it back together again.

- Social interaction? How do you do that? (Is mostly more talkative around the people he's close to, aka his team. Though usually performs better when it's only atleast 3 or less of them in the same room with him).

- Him and Formaggio are the closest in the group. BFF's! They'd go out and try and find some cats in the alley ways. Ghiaccio is his second closest next to Melone

- He likes animals, alot. Will protect or rescue one if he sees them around or on a mission

- The father figure for La Squadra, and if he sees one of his members in distress he'll do anything he can to help calm them down/soothe them.

- Doesn't get drunk. Period. I think we know why.

- Enjoys the sun, is able to stand in it longer than Illuso or Ghiaccio due to him more able to tan than get sunburnt.

- When he isn't showing off his torso, he prefers warm snuggly jumpers or hoodies. Makes him feel safe and has the same affect as receiving a hug for him.

- Has a few plushies, small bean filled cats and probably a moderately huggable sized bear. Holds it at night while he sleeps

- He'd eat spicy stuff without a blink of an eye. His mama used to make him alot of Mediterranean/Eastern foods like Indian and Egyptian. So he has a hefty tolerance to spice

- Will bite into a lemon. With 0 hesitation. And just eat it as if it were a regular not acidy fruit.

- Doesn't cry much, but when he does he's an ugly crier. Snot and tears running down that man's face, probably clenches his fist or punches something to. Depends on the situation of course.

- Enjoys the bitter taste of Dark chocolate, will eat a whole block of the kitchen made stuff with ease.

- Can lift everyone but Pesci and Illuso as if they were as light as a feather. Pesci and Illuso are a tad more heavier.

- His linguistic skills outside of Sicilian and mainland Italian suck. He's got horrendous English compared to the rest of the group. Relies on Ghiaccio to translate whatever they are saying.

Ghiaccio

Age: 20

Ethnicity: Venezian

Sexuality: Gay/Ace

General headcanons:

- Has ADHD. No doubt.

- Sees Risotto as a father figure, looks up to him for guidance and listens to him the most.

- Got his curly blue hair from his stand awakening! It was a slow process. Risotto checks on it every so often because the more blue and curly it gets, the more powerful his stand becomes.

- Other than Risotto, the closest member in his squad is Melone! They get along the best in the group. They have similar intellect and both like to learn about eachothers passions! (Without it getting sexual of course)

- His insults? No rapper could ever compare to the zany things this gremlin comes up with! He'll slaughter you with his words and his stand!

- Can speak multiple languages! The best at English other than Melone, Formaggio and Pesci in the group! Hates it when people pronounce things wrong (wow, that was obvious) and also hates slang. It gets on his gears when Formaggio uses it.

- Loves cats! They calm him down! He doesn't want to hurt the little critters! Unfortunetly too shy to go out and actively find them, but will promptly beat the ever loving fuck out of you if you hurt a cat in his vision.

- Doesn't let anyone but Melone, Pesci and Risotto touch his curls. You will be frozen if you aren't them.

- Enjoys crunching on Ice cubes, the sound is satisfying and he finds the taste nice.

- Hates asparagus and avoids it like the plague, same with Coriander. It tastes like soap! Ew!

- Has warm showers to balance out his stand that makes him colder than the average person. Won't turn it up too high otherwise he burns.

- Burns easy in the sun, wears alot of sunscreen.

- The lightest member of La Squadra after Melone! Will scream if you pick him up.

- He has muscular thighs and has a light 4 pack! Skating does alot for you!

Melone

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Naples

Sexuality: Pansexual

General headcanons:

- Has sleep paralysis.

- Got a degree in human genetics & Biology!

- Is a maternal figure to his Juniors and would definetly be capable of caring for a baby.

- Will drape himself over Risotto, the man doesn't care how. As long as he isn't doing any weird shit. And Melone will gladly go with those terms.

- Calls Risotto "Rizzy babe/baby" and it drives Ghiaccio and Prosciutto into the wall. Be professional damnit Mel!

- Him and Prosciutto are fairly close, they get along well with only a few minor differences in views. He and Illuso have a stronger bond however.

- Isn't as sexually driven as he seems. Tells Ghiaccio alot of 'apparently' devious things he's done but in all honesty? He isn't that bad. The only thing that's relatively "disgusting" is him being into legs and feet. Other than that? He just knows too much and puts on a persona to see how creeped out other people get.

- Knows everyone's star signs, blood types, DNA and allergies! Puts all the information down on BabyFace.

- BabyFace is basically his own personal laptop, he can play games and hack into servers when he pleases!

- Created most of La Squadra's furniture... with BabyFace. Risotto, Ghiaccio and Illuso are the only three that know that he created it with BabyFace. Ris and Mel are the only ones who knows what people are what furniture. Melone occasionally says hi to them when the others aren't around.

- Melone also has a weird amount of knowledge on dogs. He'll tell you almost everything about a breeds behaviours and traits, to even what is best to give them from toys to food!

- Likes eating Formaggios bags of chips when he isn't looking. He just finds those fatty crispy potatoes in a bag so utterly irresistible!

Prosciutto

Age: 35

Ethnicity: Milan

Sexuality: Bisexual

General headcanons;

- Trans! F-M

- Him and his mother look very similar to eachother. Even more when he was pre transition!

- Smokes cigars.

- Takes like 20 minutes doing up his hair.

- Buys fine wine, won't take the cheap shit.

- He spends daddy's money. But the team doesn't have to know that.

- Enjoys sitting in the sun with a nice glass of wine with olives, hates it when he's disturbed.

- Has some toxic masculinity, doesn't want to look 'weak' infront of the team, or at all.

- Nutures Pesci, the two are very very close. Not brothers, but close. You will not enjoy the wrath of Prosciutto if Pesci is hurt.

- Does the face rubbing with everyone. Wants to make sure everyone can succeed at their task!

- Him and Illuso are, close? They tease eachother in a friendly way, love finding ways to make the other flustered or embarresed. It's a very fun game to them.

- Is probably the 2nd best at using a gun. No one can top the sniper that is Gelato however. But he is learning from him.

- Do not. Mess with his suits. The minute he finds out someone has wrinkled or spilled his suits you will be turned into an old hag. Most of the team knows this. But there's still the oddballs who don't learn...

- Reacts like a normal person to unusual bizarre situations. Who put this inflatable pool into the base? GET IT OUT! STOP SWIMMING IN IT!

- Doesn't like cats, they get hair all over his clothes and vomits up cat treats on his bed. But Illuso and Melone can tell that he himself acts somewhat similar to a cat. Just exclude the puking.

Pesci

Age: 20

Ethnicity: Sardegna

Sexuality: Straight

General Headcanons;

- Him, Gelato and Sorbet? Good friends. BFF's even.

- Is shy, doesn't do well in social situations. But you can tell alot more easier than you could with Risotto

- Enjoys fishing in the coastal waters. Will occasionally go out with Formaggio and Illuso to fish with them.

- The others have tried to show him new drinks, but he'll always stick to milk. It's what his momma gave him when he was younger, a habit he has yet to break.

- His momma was very over protective, unfortunetly causing him to be very anxious and paranoid about many things. It's a surprise he even managed to join the Mafia.

- Likes dogs! Him and Mel can talk about dogs for hours! Even visit some at shelters. Only wishing they could adopt only to remember they're professions..

- Does pedicures with Sorbet and Gelato every weekend. He makes sure to keep his nails in good condition for them! And they do the same! Sometimes they do makeovers with eachother, he likes looking fabulous on the next mission!

- Likes kids but is terrified to go up to them. But whenever it's him and Risotto, he has a little more confidence. The two wouldn't mind ever giving the homeless children some food or a piggy back ride.

- Is allergic to walnuts. He found that out from a pie Melone made him. Thankfully he came out okay thanks to BabyFace.

- He does indeed hide behind the couch whenever they watch a horror movie. Thankfully Risotto is there with him whenever they do watch them, the man apparently doesn't really enjoy them either. He isn't scared, but he just prefers other genres.

- Is only good at some English due to all the tourists! He felt like he had to learn some so he'd be able to talk to them or help them out with directions.

Illuso

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Spainish

Sexuality: Bisexual

General Headcanons;

- Pillow princess!

- Don't disturb him when he's in the tub, just don't.

- He can sing! He's very loud! But usually sings when no one Is home. Prosciutto and Melone are the only two that have heard his singing voice.

- Teases members of the team constantly, he's just alot meaner with Formaggio.

- Made his outfit! Formaggio and Sorbet absolutely hate it! But he doesn't care about the haters

- He has full control of his pigtails, no one knows how he is able to make them magically float. But that makes it even more fun! They usually start to squirm when he's excited, flustered or scared.

- Is always in his mirrors. Likes the quiet inside, but sometimes he'll get lonely and pop out or ask some of the others to join him inside.

- He's relatively good at cooking, mainly Spanish cuisine. But is learning with Melone how to make baked goods!

- Him and Mel watch TV together, they love making fun of the characters and getting deeply invested into the plot. They binge alot.

- Isn't a snacker, he will only eat snacks if he's watching TV or if he's in the tub. Those are usually grapes.

- He doesn't hate Formaggio. They are quite close! Just thinks some of the things he does and says are absolutely stupid.

- Knows almost everything history wise with his teammates. But still can't find much on Risotto.. one day he will... one day... only knows some of his info from Melones BabyFace. But that's not enough!

- Invades his teammates privacy, he'll pop through the mirrors in they're rooms. No he doesn't care (atleast most of the time)

Formaggio

Age: 27

Ethnicity: Boston

Sexuality: Bicurious

General Headcanons;

- He has a pet name for everyone, most of them don't mind. Gelato and Ghiaccio absolutely hate theirs however.

- Of course as we know in canon, he's the brother of the group. Tries to cheer them up after a particularly glum mission, or if they are just having a bad day.

- Loves cats. Ain't good at taking care of them. Risotto gets annoyed whenever he leaves cats in containers.

- He snacks, alot. Like alot alot. Thankfully he exercises with Sorbet so he maintains his frame.

- Loves pissing off Illuso with the way he eats Spanish food. A disgrace for eating Doritos with Guacamole! But man it's fun to see his face go red! And it tastes good.

- Has the strangest ideas for how to defeat targets. Goes into Risotto's office constantly and babbles on about ideas. Most of the time they are surprisingly accepted. And they work!

- Happily drinks cheap booze, it disgusts Prosciutto. But he doesn't care. Unfortunetly gets drunk after 5 bottles. Doesn't drink infront of Risotto though (atleast not on purpose).

- He loves the beach! Hot babes (and bros?) walking around, it's a paradise for this cheese man! Has to be taken away from the beach by force when they have to go home though.

- Usually wears very loose clothing. He gets too hot easy! Gotta wear something he can breathe in.

- Likes orange chocolate, some of the others judge him for it. But him and Sorbet can snack on that stuff for hours.

- Likes listening to the game on the radio in Ghiaccios car since Illuso and Melone take up the tv too often.

- Is from Boston, so of course he knows English. Sometimes swears in it, but he mainly speaks in Italian now. Knows some Sicilian thanks to Risotto!

[shepard-ram]

Here are three moments from the god isekai from two characters that we've seen before and one new person.

Wilbur was having the time of his life at first he did have a bit of a headache once he realised you were here but then he had an epiphany you weren't his problem anymore. He could kick back relax and watch Dream and his cronies run around like head less chickens heck he could imagine in Dreams house there would be a bunch of signs with strings attached as he tried to piece together information about you. Unfortunately for Dream as he had found out over the course of months the more he found out about you the more he would wish he hadn't as you broke reality.

Ramboo could honestly say he didn't see his day going this way, he had left home memory book in hand to explore the far reaches of the smp he hadn't expected a winged enderman hybrid to swoop down in front of him looking up at him in amazement (Dream hadn't told him that there was another End hybrid on the server but then again the tour was abandoned once George rushed over yelling about a new lead) and asking a million questions a minute before introducing himself as Talos. The hybrid child continued to visit him every time he was far from the central smp though on this latest few visits Talos kept inviting him to his home (he wanted his parent to meet the person who looked like him the person who could pass as his big brother).

Dreamxd knew that his intentions towards you and your child was selfish. He already had a family in Drista he knew very few gods had family but she was spending more and more time asleep for years at a time a common trend nowadays for gods when they didn't just decide to fade away into nothingness or as Foolish had done incarnat as a mortal in exchange for their memories and the vast majority of their power. He knew that Drista was contemplating the latter option the prospect of a short but truly free life much more appealing than an eternal life shacked by her duty as a goddess of chaos. But from what he had gathered from Tommy you didn't sleep nor did your child, you never shrunk away from the prospect of eternity with your only company being the child you created, he wanted that the knowledge that no matter what you would still be there that at least one bond, one attachment wouldn't end in up with him being alone, maybe in another world Dream would look and see the god he was named for desperately trying to keep it together trying to not lose himself in his loneliness and knowledge that he would always be left behind and maybe that would start his own thoughts about attachments and how if they could do that to a god what would they do to him if he kept them? But thankfully this is not that world anymore. He knew he was being selfish wanting to insert himself in your family but now that he knew that the prospect of a family that he where be left behind, of the prospect of a son and spouse that he wouldn't see age and die within a blink of an eye as he remained now that he knew of such a thing he couldn't, wouldn't let it slip through his fingers.

Ender-anon

So yea that's Dreamxd motivations at least for my take on it he's a little yandere but I suppose spending thousands of years watching those he loved age and die watching everything he's ever loved turn to dust while he still remains, wouldn't you grasp the chance of something to love that you won't outlive someone who can understand the burden immortality is on his heart.

Wilbur being so thrilled once he realizes that your not his problem anymore is just great. Damn do I love talos seeing Ranboo and going "big brother".

And yandere dreamxd- yes. God's like you two have so much to fight with. If people don't worship you in some way you go dormant, or you give or immortality for a "normal" life. But if you do have a long life you see so much, lose so many people. Who could blame his for falling in love with another God so quickly. Someone who's so sweet that one of their first acts of power was to make a son. Someone who he would never have to deal with losing as fast as a mortal love interest. Who could blame him?

[buckybeardreams]

Chapters: 1/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James “Bucky” Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark’s Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn’t want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he’s determined to stay away from him. 

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Words: 1622

The bar where Tony worked wasn’t exactly high end, but it wasn’t awful. He kinda liked his job, even if his boss was an asshole. His coworkers were great and he got free food on his break, so it wasn’t all bad. Tony was a server, Clint worked at the bar making drinks, and Bucky worked in the kitchen. It was a small place so it was usually just the three of them. 

Realistically, there should have been more employees. Obie was just cheap and refused to hire any more people than was strictly necessary to keep the place running, even if it would run much smoother with a bigger staff. They did have three part timers, twins that attended the local college and Thor, an older Norwegian guy who was always in good spirits, that filled in the gaps in the schedule. Tony was wiping up a table when Brock walked in and Clint whistled, calling Tony’s attention to him before pointing to the door.

“You’ve got a visitor, pretty boy.”

Tony glanced over at Brock and broke out into a grin. Brock smirked when the petite Omega ran up and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Tony accused, but he giggled when Brock scooped him off his feet and set him up on the bar.

Clint rolled his eyes at them.

“Get your ass off my bar,” Clint snapped. “Only paying customers are allowed to get all handsy on the bar.”

Brock rolled his eyes and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and slammed it down on the bar.

“Why don’t you grab me a beer while you’re at it, baby?” Brock smirked at Clint who just smirked back, not nearly as annoyed as he pretended he was.

Brock asked Tony how his shift’s been going and Tony proceeded to tell him about the asshole customer that kept trying to feel him up and how Clint had just about jumped the counter to chase him out of here. Bucky had beat him to it, leaving the kitchen to yell at them for being creeps and throw them out. Even with only one arm their cook could be downright terrifying when he wanted to be.

Tony cut off his recounting of how Bucky defended his honor and then Tony got all upset, because he could totally handle himself and he did not need an Alpha to swoop in and save him, when Clint set down Brock’s beer and pulled him in for a kiss. Brock didn’t stop him immediately, but he pulled back with a groan after a few moments.

“Sorry, angel, but I’m taken,” Brock said regretfully, pulling down his collar to show off a mark that definitely had not existed when he went out last night.

Tony’s eyes widened comically and Brock was too busy snickering at his expression to notice the flash of pain that flickered in Clint’s eyes. Clint swallowed and busied himself behind the bar, so he wouldn’t have to think about what that meant for him and Brock, or about the mark on his own neck that still haunted him when he saw it in the mirror.

“What?” Tony squawked. “I thought we were going to be bachelors forever.”

“Yeah, well, I guess forever has come to an end.”

“We made a pact!” Tony whined.

Brock rolled his eyes.

“We were eighteen, barely more than pups when we made that pact. Besides, you’d feel differently about it, too, if you met your soulmate. I saw him and I knew just like that that we were made for each other. So I dragged him into the bathroom and sucked him off and then I let him take me home. It sounds totally skanky, but I swear it was more romantic than it sounds.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Tony scoffed.

“You’re gonna love him, Tony.”

Tony huffed.

He definitely would not love whatever asshole Alpha had brainwashed his best friend, turning him into a knot loving, Alpha pleasing houseOmega.

“Whatever, just tell me how long I have to find a new roommate,” Tony grumbled, feeling bitter about the whole thing.

He knew that Brock being mated now would mean he would move in with his Alpha. That’s just how it worked. Brock gave him a guilty look.

“He’s coming over to help me move my stuff in the morning,” Brock admitted. “Don’t worry though. I’ll pay rent as many months as it takes until you find someone new. It’s just, well, you know how it is with soulmates. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep without him.”

“No, I don’t know, actually,” Tony snapped.

Of course he did know, and of course he didn’t really blame Brock for finding his soulmate. Tony couldn’t help but feel slighted though. This was a lot to take in and Tony was kinda offended that Brock would just show up and drop something like this on him. He knew that when it came to soulmates everything was sudden, but that didn’t make it easier on Tony.

“Tony, please, don’t be like that. I know you didn’t want this. I didn’t either. You know how much I hated Alphas, but then I met Sam and I don’t know… he’s amazing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know how it goes. You saw him and felt compelled to drop to your knees and present for him and the moment he knotted and claimed you, you felt whole, like the piece inside of you that was missing suddenly was filled by your Alpha’s presence and bite and his knot and let’s not forget his life giving cum,” Tony said sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ve heard the stories.”

“It’s not like that Tony.”

“So he didn’t knot you and now you’re obsessed with him?”

Brock groaned.

“No, he did, but it’s not as bad as you make it sound. I’m  happy about this. Can’t you just be happy for me?” Brock pleaded.

Tony glared at the ground stubbornly.

“I have a table to wipe down.”

Brock looked hurt when Tony walked away and Clint gave him a sympathetic look.

“Don’t worry. He’ll come around. Just give him some time.”

Tony was upset when he got home and the light in their apartment was off. Sure, it was so late that it was practically morning, but he knew that wasn’t why the lights were off. This time he knew it was because his roommate, his  best friend , who had returned home from the war and came to live with him, wasn’t here.

Tony felt like crying.

He dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes and let his coat fall to the ground. He didn’t care enough to pick them up and put them away. He didn’t care about anything. He just felt numb. Well, he felt hurt and betrayed and jealous, even though he’d never admit it out loud, but he also sort of felt numb, like he was feeling so many emotions that he just couldn’t process any of them.

He headed straight for the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter, not even bothering to grab a glass, choosing to just drink straight out of the bottle instead. He plopped down on the couch and proceeded to drink his pain away, but ironically found himself just wallowing in his misery.

Tony always said that he hated Alphas and never wanted one, but the truth was that he hated how much he wanted one. Tony didn’t want to be controlled and have his independence stolen from him. He was terrified that he’d find his soulmate and they’d turn out to be some sort of asshole Alpha that wanted him to drop his whole life and be some damn houseOmega.

So yeah, Tony was glad that he didn’t have an Alpha, but secretly he hoped he had a soulmate out there. He hoped that his mate hadn’t died before they met and that they wanted him just as much as Tony wanted them. He hoped that they would have a fairytale ending, like in the stories that he heard as a kid about the kind and gentle Alphas that saved the day and rescued their Omegas. He hoped they’d meet and fall in love at first sight the way soulmates were supposed to and rush off to mate, because they just couldn’t go another second without each other.

Tony wanted all of those things, but he also cringed just thinking about it. He was not a damsel in distress. He did not need some Alpha to come and save him. Tony was just fine on his own. He’d survived this long without an Alpha, though he had to admit he would miss snuggling up to Brock, and Clint on the few occasions that Brock dragged him home and fell into bed with him.

Tony hadn’t fucked either of them, but he had no qualms snuggling up to them while they were sweaty and cum was still leaking out of Clint. He also had no qualms with sleeping on the other side of the bed while they fucked, just so he wouldn’t have to be alone at night. As much as Tony wanted to be fine on his own, he really hated being alone. 

He didn’t  need  an Alpha, but he kinda wanted one. Wanted someone to hold onto, someone to cuddle with and be close to when the night fell and the darkness of his mind crept in like the shadows that surrounded them. Tony wished there was somebody there to pull him out of his mind as he spiraled, laying on the couch, an empty bottle on the ground. He was numb and yet he hurt so much. How was that even possible?

Ch 2

[phoenixyfriend]

The MILFnevka AU

Once again something that was brainstormed en masse on the GG fanworks server.

I was... very much spearheading this one, but I dragged in @professorsparklepants for a lot, because Anevka, as well as input from @fenerismoon, @purronronner, @gelpenss​, and @whirlibird. The original conversation took place mid-September of 2019.

AU where Tarvek's side of the family squeezed in an extra generation or so.

Aaronev was still Lu's generation, but he had Anevka young, and she was an only child who was already an adult by the time Lu disappeared. As a result, Aaronev let her married before she ended up in the machine (because he wasn’t desperate yet), and he couldn't risk drawing the attention by the time Agatha’s gen is being born.

So instead of being Tarvek's SISTER, she's his MOM.

Anevka formed her own faction, separate from the Aaronev and vaguely aligned with Terabithia’s.

She insisted Martellus and his branch hang out with Tarvek because being an only child is lonely, and also it keeps Tarvek out of his grandfather's sights and vague plans of body-hopping.

She is a Protective Momma who is a little TOO down with murdering anyone who threatens her child.

Agatha: you're just going to listen to your evil mom? Because no offense but that's worked out really bad for me so far. Tarvek: She's not EVIL, just... Valois... anyway the Baron knows what she's like and mostly he just rolls his eyes and tries to keep her away from Queen DuPree.

Anevka is definitely the mom that uses her position as mother of the king/heir to stockpile as much power as possible and control everything behind the scenes. Tarvek is currently trying to undermine this and wrestle back control as secretly as possible.

Wine mom with eighty hidden stabbing implements.

When Agatha is discovered, Anevka still kills her dad, but it's not like she can steal Agatha's voice in this AU, so she just settles for aggressively matchmaking her with Tarvek.

Anevka's managed to rein her dad in, mostly, because she's a powerful spark with an Undefined Husband who nonetheless has enough good connections to cause a ruckus if he finds out about the Summoning Throne, and he's too sparky to wasp.

This did lead to his early death and no siblings for Tarvek, but not before Anevka managed to fight her dad down to ONLY trying to throne the girls who were legitimately likely to be Agatha.

And then Agatha's in Sturmhalten and Anevka's just like. Well. Time for plan A. And kills her dad.

Regarding Gil...  She kinda wants to pat him on the head and tell him to try harder.

I'm not wholly convinced Tarvek got kicked off of Castle Wulfenbach, depending on how Anevka married and decided to approach things. She might have warned Tarvek to AVOID stealing information, even, if she was worried about Aaronev trying to do something.

Less "do whatever you can to help us gain power" and more "do whatever you can to stay out of Sturmhalten."

Tarvek: My mom is a bitch and I love her so much

Klaus hates it when Anevka comes to CW because she acts like some unholy cross between Lucrezia, Terabithia, and Zantabraxus and she keeps hitting on his top enforcers but with knives and pretty dresses.

Unstoppable Divorce energies

Anevka: Do you like my new dress? Klaus: Your bodice is far too low cut, please stop visiting me dressed like my ex. I'm the same age as your father. Anevka: I know, it's really fun to watch you suffer as you fail to resist the urge to tell me to put on a sweater.

Tarvek: MOTHER YOU'RE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF ALL MY FRIENDS PLEASE STOP HITTING ON THE BARON AURGH. Anevka: I'm not HITTING on him, I'm trying to make his face turn puce. Anevka: I am, however, hitting on Von Pinn. She looks like she knows how to have fun. Tarvek: MOTHER.

Tarvek, to Gil: the baron can't be your dad, he's old enough to be your grandfather. Gil: He’s at a solid age for both.

Anevka and Klaus have zero actual attraction to each other but there's definitely A Dynamic that's eerily reminiscent of his relationship with Bang, with slightly less "I did a violence, be proud of me" and slightly more "I did a sexy and/or politics, be proud of me."

Tarvek: I have a problem. Gil: What's up? Tarvek: All of our friends want to fuck my mom. Zulenna: I don't. Tarvek: That's because she used to put you in time-out when we were five.

Anevka is prime Dangerous Widow material. She didn't actually kill her husband but a hell of a lot of people think she did.

Seffie thinks her Auntie 'Nevka is the COOLEST

Anevka having an intermittent fling with that "darlingly stupid young hero, Tryggvassen" makes me laugh way too hard and also dips into my nonsense love of Otharnevka.

At one point we did sidle over into “what if Single Father KB tho”

Like they met at some point on vacation while the kids were still kids, which does lose us the “Anevka aggressively ships her kid with Agatha” thing, so I’m not sticking with this but there’s some hella fun tidbits.

Anevka: Guess what. Klaus, very tired: What. Anevka: I'm getting married. Klaus: Again? Good for you. I hope this one lives longer. Anevka: He has the same name as you. Klaus: Get out of my house.

KB isn't a widower, things are just complicated and everyone blames Lu. There's time travel involved, of course.

"So your daughter--" "Sister." "...how--" "Just... just blame my mother."

He's LEGALLY Agatha's dad, maybe? Their dynamic is parent-child. Just, you know, as far as blood goes...

Anevka wants KB to help her bag Othar again. KB thinks she means finally killing him. Anevka: I might. Haven't decided yet.

Overall, though, including KB is too complicated without undermining the entire premise I want. Which is mostly canon but Anevka is Tarvek's embarrassing, mysterious, prone-to-assassination mother.

Seriously though, the entire attraction here is Anevka having the Dangerous Widow Whom No Man Can Tie Down vibe

She's a solo act. Some flings, sure, but overall? Chaos. Refined, elegant chaos.

Anevka as Bang’s sugar mom was suggested. We were obviously all on board.

Bang doesn’t need a sugar mom, but it makes the vein in Klaus's forehead throb, and that's very important.

Bang absolutely tries to get Tarvek to call her “mom” while she’s ‘dating’ Anevka. One time he does call her that and it throws her for SUCH A LOOP because no wrong.

Anevka occasionally daydreams of a world where she could have both Othar and Bang at the same time without them IMMEDIATELY trying to kill each other. Only occasionally, though, she has evidence to plant and blood to spill.

BACK TO ANEVKA SHIPPING HER KID WITH HIS POLITICALLY-APPROPRIATE CRUSH.

Anevka: Oh look, my future daughter-in-law. Tarvek, tired: Mother, she doesn't like me. Anevka: Whyever not? You're clever, handsome, politically apt, charming, sensitive, heir to a throne, you are EVERYTHING a maiden could wish for. Tarvek: You just think that because you're my mom. Agatha: No, no, she's not wrong. You're just not someone I trust. At all. Especially since you say you've been a honeypot before. Anevka: See? A simple hurdle, dear, I'm sure you could whip him into shape in no time. I could even loan you the whip. And the harness, perh-- Tarvek: MOTHER.

Anevka sends Tarvek out with Othar for “field trips.”

It’s great!! Multi-purpose! Absolutely helps boost Tarvek’s image if he’s associated with Known Hero, gets Othar out of her hair for a little bit, sometimes he can be pointed in a direction that’s useful to her.

Othar refers to this outings as “stepfather-stepson bonding times.” Tarvek absolutely hates it. Detests it, really.

Somehow something goes wrong and like 50% of the time and he ends up getting accused of murder, probably.

It’s so unfair. Especially since of the two of them, Othar is more likely to murder than him. (It’s because everyone knows what those Valois types are like, and Othar is a hero.)

Gil: What's so embarrassing about your mom? Your mom's nice. (To me.)

She gives him head pats and lollipops. His own dad certainly never gives him head pats OR lollipops.

Anevka: Well I WAS going to push him towards dear little Seffie, but he seems to be quite enamored with YOU, darling. Tarvek: Mother, PLEASE stop getting invested in my love life.

Anevka’s job is to meddle, he’s lucky she isn’t drawing up contracts and going Full Arrangement.

I also love the idea of Anevka having one of those "sunshine embodied anime mom" smiles as she says "Oh Tarvek, dear, look at all your little friends!"

She's genuinely enthused but Klaus is heavily disturbed by Anevka smiling like that.

"Is she going to sacrifice them?" "Uh, no, it isn't Sunday."

Human sacrifice is actually garish and passe these days, haven’t you heard?

Just imagining one of those Stately Child and Parent portraits with Anevka and Tarvek here.

When Tarvek was born, Anevka has an "I've only had my son for an hour and a half" moment... and then just shrugged and rolled with it.

Anevka "Hot Mom" Sturmvoraus is one of the MANY banes of Klaus's existence, but she's definitely one of the friendliest on the list... as much as he may resent that, at times.

Anevka: Is the Baron in? Boris: Actually... [Crashing noise] Boris: He just left. Anevka, pulling on the rocket boots she stole from Othar and heading towards the broken window leading to the outside of the ship: That's alright, I'll catch up.

(I love how Anevka's name just lends itself so well to AU portmanteaus.)

Anevka definitely susses out Gil's identity but she doesn't actually DO anything about it other than angling for Useful Connections.

She's always telling Tarvek to bring his friend along, and Klaus doesn't want Gil anywhere near that family but he doesn't want it to look like he has any particular interest in Gil.

Imagine Klaus actually encouraging Gil to persue Agatha with the idea that it will put some distance between Gil and "that damn woman and her spawn." Anevka for her part is pushing Agatha towards Tarvek. Meanwhile the three of them are working it out between themselves.

She just has This Energy, folks:

Tarvek: Oh no. Theo: Whats the matter? That's your mom, right? Tarvek: Oh NO, she's wearing her 'NEWLY WIDOWED BUT OUT ON THE PROWL' OUTFIT Theo: ????? She hasn’t been widowed- Tarvek: SHES AFTER THE BARON AND I'M GOING TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT, THEO

The one thing here is that Anevka's not into Klaus and he's not into her but by GOD is she going to fuck with his head about it.

She’s just doing this for the Big Dick Energy of trying to Get Baron Wulfenbach.

Embarrassing mom of the deadliest degree.

Tarvek: YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN MY LIFE. Anevka: Don't be so dramatic, let your mother have a bit of fun. Besides, he's not expelling you anymore, is he? Tarvek: I almost wish he was-

Also Gil and Tarvek reconciling early on due to the immense power of being Embarrassed By Your Parents.

Anevka and Klaus getting increasingly bitchy at each other at dinner, and Tarvek and Gil are just. Bright red and glowering at them.

They’re DESTROYING their COOL TEEN CRED.

Tarvek doesn't ever wants to marry a woman who has been married before, not because of some weird distaste of so-called "sloppy seconds," but rather that he's just scared that they're going to be like his mom, and planning to kill him for his money.

Tarvek, waking up in the middle of the night: What if they really do get married and I have to have Gil as a stepbrother. Tarvek: (screams internally for a few hours)

Anevka is also that Sailor J contouring video

While Otharnevka is... this thing

Some more relevant Vibes: Divorce Court Half-Mourning Upper East Side Widow

Everyone always assumed she had murdered her husband. It was a natural assumption, but ultimately wrong. She had had plans in place to kill him if the need arose, but in the end she hadn’t needed them.

Most people grossly underestimated how complicated it was to arrange for someone to be t-boned by a semi carrying flammable chemicals.

Othar as Anevka's second trophy husband and Tarvek's annoying stepdad has a very specific energy.

That energy is at least 20% "the lovebirds take anniversary honeymoons every year" and 60% "Tarvek hates being in the room with them because they're gross and embarrassing."

This is partly fun because Othar being Tarvek’s stepdad is... a lot.

But honestly, I'm also just enjoying cougar Anevka with Trophy Husband Othar. They're actually in love!!! BUT. Cougar with a trophy husband.

Anevka makes sly comments about Othar and Klaus having sexual tension.

Also I have headcanons about NB Tarvek and like

I think she'd be supportive up until the point of "you want to be Storm King, don't you?"

Less "this isn't natural and you shouldn't be this way" and more "this is going to cause you trouble due to social norms."

"Keep it under wraps until your throne is secure, then you can come out in a blaze of glory." No dresses in public until you're king, then do whatever you want. After all, “Your Majesty” is gender neutral.

Anevka caught Tarvek playing dressup in her closet one time and just criticized the color relationships.

And you must try to avoid wearing that particular shade at all, my dear, it really doesn't look imperial.

[unioncolours]

A 2nd Majsasaurus Year!

Today, 22nd of September 2021, it’s been two years since I officially joined the magical world of fandom. 22.9.2019 I uploaded the first chapter to my fic Shadows and Sand, and the rest is history.

I did a deep dive into my first year as a fic writer and active member of fandom last year, when it was my first anniversary. You can read it here!

In that meta discussion about my membership of fandom, I presented it as if walking on clouds. I was so, so happy and talked during all the discussion about my happiness in fandom.

Since that post was written, my life and also my perception of the fandom I am part of has changed. Change isn’t always bad, as I really had a honeymoon phase with fandom over a year ago, and the low after hit hard.

But let’s see what I’ve been up to and what I’ve been writing! The following year provided much change and fun things! Please keep reading 💜⬇

The first fic I wrote since 22.9.2020 was a Sakura x Ino fic. I had for a longer while been interested in writing a woman-loves-woman ship, which I had never done before, and as a wlw-person myself the urge to explore that part led to Promise me this is just a kiss. The pairing itself was chosen on rather random, it had to be two women and I like Ino, so I chose the most popular Ino-wlw ship for this for convenience.

I really liked writing the fic and it was well-received! It was the first time I had written a fic that was entirely centred around exploring feelings and having sex.

After this I jumped directly onto the next idea that had been boiling inside me for a longer while. Up to this point, all I had written, except the wlw-fic, had been set in the Naruto canonverse and I was itching to try to work with a multi-chaptered modern au! The pairing was of course my beloved Shikadai x Inojin.

It was during the creation of this fic I began to struggle. This was a new genre, as this was romance only and all my other works had been action and fantasy based, except the sex fic of course. I was maybe over critical and stressed, which resulted in me having a hard time writing it. But I made it. Was the sky always this beautiful? ended up being 35k long, and in hindsight, I freaking love, love, love how it turned out in the end and what it represented. I am very proud of this fic.

I “upgraded” as a fan by the end of October when I bought myself a digital drawing tablet. I began drawing fanart of Shikadai and Inojin and preferably them two together, haha! I still draw a few days a month and find it extremely fun as a side hobby beside the writing.

We are now in November 2020. By this time, I had completely finished my zine fic, Under the Scorching Sun, which I had written during September and October, for the Shikatema zine I was kindly accepted to. I was proud of what I had created and was eager for the rest of the contributors to wrap up theirs, so we’d have a wonderful zine for sale in 2021. It was lovely to write ShikaTema again. As the zine fic was about to be released in months from when I had at first finished it, I wanted of course to write something fans and friends could immediately take part of on the internet. I had hyped myself up to a state where I wanted to write a third and final story in my series To love and never let go, my epic series about Shikadai and Inojin.

Now, I should maybe have waited another month, but I was worried the readers would give up on me if I didn’t write it right away. In December, I began writing To find hope in the Universe, with my usual speed and love for the art.

What I by then didn’t realise or even recognise was that I was very slowly turning burned out. I ignored all the signs.

In December I wrote simultaneously as Hope in the Universe a fic that was part of the Shikatema server’s Secret Santa event. The fic’s name was The Ghost Stories of our Hearts, and it was ShikaTema, as the event’s name suggests. It was fun to write and despite the final big fic, Hope in the Universe, pressing down on me, I finished The Ghost Stories of our Hearts and was very happy with the result. Sadly, at this point the burnout began taking control over me, and I never managed to reply to the comments.

The 15th of January, I began uploading To find hope in the Universe. It was a lovely experience, even if it was tainted by negative feelings coming from my decreasing happiness and the fact that it didn’t do as well as To dance above the Stars, the second fic in the series. To deal with two very contradiction emotions, loving my work, the characters, how I have painted an entire world around the characters and how I knew some people honestly loved my hard work, and then the negative feelings coming from not feeling good enough and depressed, was a difficult thing to navigate and still is when I think back to that time. It didn’t help that during the process of uploading the fic I went through grief, and I chose distraction as my coping method. I kept writing and working, the only thing I ever knew.

Our pre-order of the Shikatema zine was in full motion by this time and it was a nerve-wracking time! Mostly because of excitement but also worry. I’m super happy for my friends who were part of the zine, with whom I could share all the excitement and nervousness with. The zine ended up making good sales, which made me happy among the uploading of the long fic.

To find hope in the Universe was completed 31st of March 2021. When I uploaded the final chapter, I felt nothing. It was so weird, so spooky, to have finished a long fic and a series on top of that and not feel anything. But deep down, beneath the layer of depression, I felt great pride.

That was the emotion that broke free once the burnout left me. Pride.

I had created this empire of Shikajin, a whole alternative timeline, an alternative canon from my own head and to this day, that is my internet legacy. I love Trial of the Heart, which I wrote in 2020, but if I have to choose between ToH and this series, I will choose To love and never let go in a heartbeat.

So, even if it felt depressing and hopeless in the moment, I look now back with pride and happiness. Never forget that. Never forget that I made that.

April was a curious time. I swore to not write anything, because I had by now recognised that I was burned out and needed to rest, yet managed to scrape together three smaller fics.

The first one was another wlw-smut fic, TemaSaku this time called Another Light. I wanted to explore that part once again. I wrote it in canonverse and honestly think the fic ended up extremely nice. Perfect amount of feels and sex. It didn’t feel hard to write at all, because the setting, characters and emotions were so different from the fics I had written the last five months.

Now more interesting things lay on the horizon! A new zine, the Ino-Shika-Cho zine called Beyond a Bond had an interest check during the spring, and later the contributor application. I urged in the interest check to please give us the next gen kids, Shikadai, Inojin and Chocho – my kids and babies, and when it turned out they were going to feature, I had to apply as a writer. For this application I wrote a one shot, called It’s just hair, and I loved this spunky little story featuring the best babies that I created.

I also edited one of my tumblr fics, And then I kissed him, into a longer, better version that I later in May uploaded onto AO3. It was once again a Shikajin, a sequel of Trial of the Heart, and it was a fun little project.

Now May came and I sent in the application for the zine early, which I now am relieved I did. I am happy that I did the work for the application in April instead of May, because in May I had a few breakdowns and another grieving period, which lead to complete creative paralysis. I didn’t write a single word during May, only uploaded the two one shots I had prepared in April.

What I did do in May was to read through the Shikatema zine I had contributed to! It arrived in the mail! I was so nervous; my whole body was shaking when I opened the package right outside the post office. The zine now resides on the parade place in my little zine shrine in the bookshelf. Thank you to the mods who made this a reality!

To my great happiness my zine adventures continued as I was accepted to the Ino-Shika-Cho zine as a writer and was assigned to write my favourite characters. I felt so relieved and overjoyed, mind blown by the sheer talent among the contributors.

On the other fandom front, June didn’t continue any brighter, with stress and mental pain still having a strong grip around me, despite the very happy news that I am still so grateful for. I wrote a Yamanaka family fic which to this day hasn’t seen the light of AO3, because of negative emotions surrounding it. I turned into a complete wreck compared to me in June 2020. In June 2020 I was flourishing, I loved what I did, I loved fandom and I loved the friends I had made through Discord servers. Now I could find myself crying my eyes out over a wip not going the way I wished it would. What had happened to Bex 2021?

I was so incredibly frustrated with myself, groaning in defeat when my hands just couldn’t write. I managed to push through 6k of what I called my “emo au” – more of that later – and finish the Yamanaka fic which is still buried, and on top of that I had the zine and another fandom event, The Naruto Photo Album, to create content for. Why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I find happiness in something that once was my reason for happiness?

In the end, I managed to write 15k in June. My former monthly word count used to be 30k. One could think this would turn into the end of my fic writing career, or the beginning of a longer hiatus, but I am stubborn and want to meet the expectations of the people who love my content, so I didn’t want to give up. I wanted to try. I wanted to be whoever I was before.

Funnily enough, the healing came in the shape of the most self-indulgent fic I have ever, ever written, a fic I like possessed began writing July the 1st 2021. It was nothing less than a freaking fairy tale AU, namely a Shikadai x Inojin Peter Pan AU. I can hear you laugh at the silliness of it, but this whimsical AU gave me back my love for writing. I hyper-fixated on this story quite a bit and stopped writing on everything else, something I almost never do.

Only happy boys fly ended up being 21 000 words long! I knew it was a niched story, and true to my guesses, the story has to this day very low stats. Today, two months after it was published, it has just above 100 hits and 10 kudos, so for all I know, only ten people read and liked it. I try to not care too much, since I love the story and in some way, that story saved me from going batshit insane over my emotions about writing.

At this point I had begun writing my fic from the Ino-Shika-Cho zine, finding joy in silly scenes with my favourite characters and trying to heal. The writing process was frustratingly slow, but one word at a time I got forward and as of today, the draft is done. The pre-orders are in December. At the side of the zine fic I wrote a short fluffy Shikajin story, CLEAR, a story with almost no plot, because I knew how much self-indulgence could help me.

And then, I finally began writing for real on my emo au, A gang of fallen stars, which has the first few chapters up right now! I have for the first time in six months a longer fic (if we don’t count the Peter Pan story) and it feels… good. This fic is once again a modern au, but in darker tones than my other modern au from November 2020. I honestly like what I have so far, even if I during June and July almost planned to never finish it. I am so relieved I managed to begin the upload. In September the Photo Album was released and I could show my two fics I wrote for it.

It sounds like this year has been nothing but misery, and at times it felt like it. However, there are a few fandom friends who brought light to my life when I couldn’t see it. The first ones to mention are of course my partners in crime, @notquitejiraiya and @thespookymoth. Together we created a server dedicated to Ino-Shika-Cho during the spring and it has been tons of fun with the members there! Thank you two for listening to me and for being my friends during 2021.

I also have to mention Soverel, who carefully begun taking contact through comments and likes on my twitter, and later through direct messages, and it has been a fun ride ever since. We’ve had lovely discussions which are very dear to me and your support means a lot to me. Thank you for being you and for drawing so many wonderful artworks you’ve shared with me. Haha, and for making me play Genshin Impact, even though I do it like twice a month!

Another person who has made my days so much brighter is @sugarriene. Thank you for sending me that one dm that made us chat regularly, thank you for popping up and sharing panels and your wonderful drawings with me, and for vibing head canons with me. You are a lovely person, and you make me happy.

Finally, I want to give a shout out to @yoboseyokyu for listening to me when I had to yell into the void and for making me happy with your cute posts on both twitter and tumblr.

Since September 2020, I’ve written around 195 000 words and drawn close to 35 illustrations, most of them of Shikadai and Inojin. Almost 200 000 words of Majsasaurus. I’ve created a Discord server and I’ve been part of two zines as a writer, plus a free PDF-project.

It has been a wild year. A year filled with passion for my favourite characters and ship, with the excitement that came with being part of projects and hyping them. It was a year where I learned to draw digitally, and heck what fun it was.

This also a year where I learned people can be mean to me because of what I ship and that fandom friends won’t necessarily always stay to be your friend anymore and how much it can hurt. I also learned what my limits are, and what punishment I get if I don’t listen to my own mind and rest when I have to.

It was a year, guys.

Now, onto the third Majsasaurus Year. Cheers!

And those of you, who supported me when I needed it – thank you and I love you.

[echo-bleu]

carve our names with fire

Clary gave Alec a wedding gift before losing her memories and her runes. Alec does with it what he does best: change the world to right an injustice (and become a BAMF immortal warlock along the way).

Alec & Clary Brotp with a side of Immortal Husbands, Angst and Fluff and Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Betaed by Bsgoddess (SorryTheUsernamesTaken). Takes off after Alec and Magnus announced their wedding, but the show happened over 3-ish years and the wedding is about a week after they come back from Edom, not the next day (because Timeline). The last part was loosely inspired by prompts on the Malec Discord Server, though it grew more world-building than I expected.

Read on AO3.

“You two will make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork, realizing that he’s been unconsciously twirling his ring while reading. He didn’t hear Clary come into his office, but she’s leaning against the door frame, a small smile on her face.

They haven’t had time to talk properly since the announcement of Alec and Magnus’ wedding, with Jonathan wreaking havoc all over the world. But Jonathan is dead now, thanks to Clary.

“Thank you,” he grins at her sincerely. “I know it’s a little rushed, but with everything that’s happened, we decided we didn’t want to wait for the next catastrophe. At this pace, we’ll never find time to plan a proper wedding.”

“That’s fair,” Clary snorts. “We never seem to get a break.”

They’re still reeling from the deaths of several hundred Shadowhunters, just days ago. Alec has done his best to go to as many Rites of Mourning as he could, especially for people he knew, but even he couldn’t make it to every one of them. After being surrounded by so much grief, he’s more than ready for a slice of happiness. Magnus is in a frenzy preparing everything for the wedding tomorrow, and Alec can’t wait.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Clary continues, walking into the office fully. She closes the door behind her, and Alec frowns. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” Alec gestures for her to sit on the couch, while he stands up and comes around his desk. He sits down beside her. “What is it?”

Clary looks down at her lap, biting her lip, and Alec feels dread pooling his stomach. She’s so uncharacteristically quiet that it can only mean bad news.

“I haven’t told anyone else yet,” she starts. “I don’t want to ask you to keep it a secret, but I can’t carry it on my own anymore.”

Alec places a hesitant hand on her arm. They rarely touch, but it seems appropriate. “Clary, what’s wrong?”

“I saw my mom the other day,” Clary breathes out.

Alec stares in shock. He lets go of Clary’s arm and glances down at his hand, the same hand that once ripped Jocelyn Fairchild’s heart out of her chest. Even now, almost two years later, he doesn’t feel clean of that. He can still feel the blood, see her face in his nightmares, Clary’s face accusing him. He has plenty of newer traumas to dream about, and it’s started to fade, but it’s not gone.

“What?” he croaks out. Is Clary having the same nightmares? Is she seeing things? It doesn’t match the way she said it, with that intense conviction in her eyes.

Clary’s eyes widen like she just realized how that sounded. “Not like… She was a...ghost, maybe? I don’t know. She felt real. She said she was sent by the Angels to give me a message.”

“A message,” Alec repeats slowly.

“I know how it sounds, but I think that’s the truth,” Clary says. “Because what she told me would happen...it’s started.”

“Clary, I don’t understand.”

She closes her eyes, her face screwed up in anguish. “She said that my rune ability was against the wish of the Angels and that if I kept using it, they’d take it away. They’d take everything away. Everything that makes me a Shadowhunter.”

Alec blinks for a moment, trying to make sense of it. “When was that?” he asks.

“The day after we got back from Edom.”

“You used a rune to kill Jonathan,” Alec breathes.

Clary looks up at his face then and nods minutely. She rolls up her sleeve, showing off unmarred skin where Alec saw a Silent Brother draw the angelic rune just a year ago. “It’s already started,” she murmurs. “They’re fading. One by one.”

“So you’re being...deruned? No,” Alec realizes. It’s different. Deruning is a Nephilim punishment, a human one. It strips them of their runes, but not of their identity, of their blood. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I think…” Clary hesitates, tears falling down her cheeks. “I think when it’s over, I’m going to be mundane. Fully. Without the Sight, and any memories of the Shadow World.”

“Fuck, Clary,” Alec mutters. “There must be something we can do—”

“I don’t think we can go against the Angels’ wish, Alec.”

Alec closes his eyes, his mind desperately running through possibilities and scenarios. He doesn’t see a solution. She’s right, the Angels’ wish is untouchable, they all know that. There’s no army to fight, no law to circumvent, no obstacle to overcome.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and feels the knot in his throat grow until it’s nearly choking him. He’s not ready to lose another friend, not now. And Jace… Fuck. Jace will be devastated. Izzy, too. None of them can take another disaster.

He takes in Clary’s red and puffy eyes, the way she’s looking at him like a lifeline. She’s become a friend, over the years. They didn’t start that way, but they’ve grown close. She’s the person closest to Alec outside of his family and Magnus. He blinks back tears.

“You’ll still be alive,” he murmurs. “But—”

“I’ll forget you. All of this,” she gestures around them. “Everything. I’m scared, Alec.”

Alec holds out his hand, and she grips it tightly in hers. He covers them with his other hand. “How long?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I only have two runes left, so not long. Tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

Alec closes his eyes. She might not even make it to the wedding. “Fuck,” he repeats.

“I don’t want to forget,” Clary murmurs, sobbing.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alec says softly. Neither of them believes it.

At least she’ll be okay, most likely. If she forgets everything, loses her angel blood, she’ll be just another mundane. She’ll be safe. Alec tries hard to hang onto that and not on the pain to come.

Because if he even lets himself imagine it, he’ll crumble.

“Why tell me first?” he asks.

Clary hesitates, biting her lip. Her sobs have receded, though tears are still running down her cheeks. She sniffles. “You’re in charge of the Institute, so you need to know. For, you know, patrols and stuff. I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise.”

Alec swallows, touched by her foresight. It’s hard to remember sometimes that she’s the same girl who once trampled on every rule without care. She still doesn’t follow orders blindly, but she’s come to care about the Institute and its Shadowhunters like they’re her family.

And in a few days, none of that growth will matter anymore. She’ll be gone. Alec wants to retch at the injustice of it all. She’s come so far, and this punishment is truly unfair.

But then, why should the Angels be fairer than the Nephilim? Alec once sat in this same office waiting for his sister to be convicted of treason and deruned. He watched his mother be stripped of her runes and her identity. Clary herself was sentenced to death for bringing Jace back to life.

They both know all too well that life isn’t fair.

“There’s another reason,” Clary says after a moment of silence. “I wanted to give you something. It’s a wedding gift, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold on until then, so I wanted to give it to you now.”

She pulls back her hands and takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Alec carefully unfolds it, expecting some kind of drawing, but what jumps out at him is a rune, carefully inked onto the thick paper. One he doesn’t recognize.

“I can still create runes, even if I don’t dare activate them,” Clary explains. “It will work, I know it.”

“What is it?” Alec asks. It has similar elements to the Alliance rune, Clary’s most beautiful invention to date, but it’s also different, rounder, and more complex.

“I didn’t give it a name,” Clary says. “You can name it if you want. Or keep it to yourself and never use it. It’s your choice.”

“You’re rambling,” Alec says, almost amused despite the gravity of the moment.

“Sorry. It works kind of like the Alliance rune, but it requires a strong emotional bond. There are elements of the Wedding rune and the Parabatai rune in it.”

Alec tilts his head, and he can recognize it now, the familiar runes almost intertwined with each other.

“Shared between two people,” Clary says slowly, “it should bind souls and bodies together. You’d share blood, powers, emotions. And it’s permanent.”

Alec’s eyes widen as he takes in the implications of that. “Sharing powers…”

“Yes. If you do it with Magnus, you should be able to share his eternal youth.”

“Clary, this is—” Alec breathes, unable to formulate his overwhelming gratitude. “It’s an incredible gift.”

Clary swallows. “I wanted you to have it before—” she gestures vaguely. “I didn’t talk about it earlier because I wasn’t sure I could make a rune that powerful, but I know this one will work.”

Alec closes his eyes briefly to clear them of tears and pulls her into a hug. She melts into his chest, sobbing. “I want you to know that I’m incredibly grateful for everything you did for us,” he says over her shoulder. “We owe you so much.”

“Even if I didn’t obey the rules?” she hiccups. “I caused you a lot of trouble.”

“But you saved us over and over too,” Alec says. “You brought Jace back to life. You’re the reason we got Magnus back. You’ve been through so much in the past few years, but you’re still here coming up with the most incredible gift for my wedding, even when you’re running out of time…”

“I can’t tell Jace and Izzy,” Clary sobs into his shoulder. “Izzy just asked me to be her parabatai. And Jace… I can’t say goodbye. It’s too hard.”

Alec hugs her tighter. “It’s okay. I’ll tell them for you if you want. Anything you need.”

“I love them. I love you. I love you all so much. To think that I won’t remember anything…”

Alec runs a hand through her hair, gently. “We’ll make sure that you’re alright. And… I’ll keep looking. Maybe there’s something we can do to make the Angels let you come back. If not, maybe we can figure out how to bring you back ourselves. I won’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Clary murmurs. “Take care of Jace for me. He’ll need you.”

“I will. I promise.”

They hold each other until Clary’s sobs subside, and she’s able to compose herself. Alec keeps a tight grip on his own emotions, even though they threaten to spill over. He’s long learned to compartmentalize, and he can’t afford to break down in the middle of a workday. But before he goes back home to Magnus that night, he takes out the folded sheet of paper again and studies it until his sight goes blurry and he has tears running down his cheeks. He goes to the roof with his bow, working his anger into the arrows he sends out in the sky, and he runs to Magnus’ loft without a speed run, his lungs burning.

When Magnus asks him what’s wrong, he can only shake his head and hug him tight.

 *

 He’s dancing with Magnus when Clary leaves. He’s tried to keep an eye on her most of the night, once the ceremony was done, but he misses her running out and only realizes she’s gone when Jace starts to look for her.

The party is coming to an end. Alec excuses himself to Magnus for a while and he tracks Clary down, two blocks away, where he finds her looking around her in confusion.

“Who are you?” she asks when he calls her name. “Don’t come any closer!”

Alec sighs, the knot in his throat threatening to explode, and he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t mean any harm,” he says. “You just seemed lost.”

“I’m—” She looks around again, frantically. “I don’t know where I am.”

“I’ll call you a cab, okay?” Alec offers. He falters, realizing that Clary doesn’t have a home to go to anymore. Jocelyn’s dead, and Clary will have to suffer the loss of her mother all over again. “Is there anyone you can call? A friend?”

“Yeah,” Clary says. She pats her dress. “I’ve...I think I lost my phone.”

“I’ll lend you mine,” Alec says. “I’m Alec, by the way.”

“Clary.”

Alec forces the pain away and attempts a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

 *

 “I told you you’d make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork in surprise, and he’s overtaken by a strong sense of deja-vu. It isn’t the same office or even the same city, but the way Clary is leaning against the door frame reminds him exactly of the day before she left. She seems aware of the parallel, grinning at him conspiratorially.

“You did,” he smiles. “Welcome back, Clary.”

She looks different, and yet the same. Her skin is free of runes, and she has a new haircut that makes her look older, but there’s the same light in her eyes. It’s been a year. A year of Jace moping around the Institute, his pain a constant tug on the parabatai bond. A year of missing her, more than Alec never thought he would.

“Thank you.”

Jace called Alec just hours after Clary recognized him at her show, three weeks ago, but Alec hasn’t been able to join them in New York yet. She regained her memories quickly, in only a few days, once it started. Jace and Izzy have been keeping him updated.

“So that’s where it went,” Clary says, staring at the large abstract painting on the wall. “I thought it was you and Magnus, but I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to reconcile those memories together.”

Alec looks up at it, at the signature that looks suspiciously like a rune in the shape of a C and F in the bottom right corner. “It was us,” he confirms. They’ve been to every single one of her school’s shows, buying multiple paintings while having to pretend they didn’t know her. “We have more of them at home. Magnus felt it was a way to keep you with us. He’s missed you a lot.”

“I know,” Clary says. “We had lunch a couple of days ago. He didn’t tell you?”

Alec laughs. “He did. He recounted every minute of it. He was excited.”

Clary tilts her head playfully. “Is he the only one who missed me?”

“I’m pretty sure Jace thought of you once or twice. Izzy, too,” Alec smirks. “Of course we all missed you. Come here,” he stands up and opens his arms.

She bounces up to him and hugs him tight around the middle, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Alec laughs and leans into the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

“I’d say I’ve missed you too, but—” Clary shrugs, pulling away to look up at him. “I felt like something was missing, the whole time. And ugh, I didn’t remember you were so tall.”

Alec raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t remember me at all,” he deadpans. “More seriously, I meant to come to see you, but things have been hectic over here.”

“I heard you made Inquisitor. That’s amazing, Alec!”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, very recent,” Alec blushes. He still hasn’t learned to take a compliment, but his promotion is something he can take pride in. It’s an incredible testimony of how far the Clave has come in just a couple of years. Not so long ago, a Shadowhunter who chose to marry a Downworlder would have been cast out or at least kept carefully out of any politically significant position. And now he’s here, barely turned twenty-five, in the second highest Clave office. “Magnus is the High Warlock of Alicante now,” he adds. Because of that, the Clave asking his husband to help Downworlders move back into Idris after centuries of fleeing the Shadowhunters’ increasing restrictions, is something Alec will never not be proud of.

“You haven’t changed,” Clary observes, smiling. “I was worried you’d turned into a high and mighty prick, now that you’re such a big name.”

Alec rolls his eyes and snorts. “I’m not Jace,” he reminds her. “Come on, let’s sit down. Do you have some time? I can take my lunch break, there’s a restaurant around the corner.”

“Sure,” Clary nods. “I have an appointment with the Silent Brothers to determine if my body’s ready to take runes again, but I came early to see you.”

“Great. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 *

 “Did you use it? The rune?” Clary leans in over her dessert in curiosity. They’ve been catching up for the past hour in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and it almost feels like they saw each other yesterday, for how comfortable and easy it is to get back into their banter. Alec has missed this.

He leans back in his seat, his stomach full. “Yeah,” he says, placing a hand over his heart where the rune is located. “We exchanged them two months ago.”

“Does it work?” Clary asks with a spark in her eyes.

Alec turns his hand palm up over the table and focuses. It doesn’t come easily to him, not yet. He’s been training with Magnus, but magic is much harder than it looks, so they’ve been focusing on controlling his random outbursts whenever he’s stressed more than developing his active magic.

Blue strands of light encircle his hand briefly, leaving in their wake a yellow rose. He hands it to Clary, who gives him a wide smile and turns it in her hands to observe it. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Yer a wizard, Alec.”

Alec bites on his finger to contain his laughter. He’s learned far too many mundane cultural references through osmosis with Simon and weekly movie nights at the loft, while Clary was gone.

“We had my blood and magic analyzed by the researchers at the Spiral Labyrinth, and they say I’m immortal too,” he says. “Or more exactly, tied to Magnus’ immortality. But since he’s tied to my life force too, it makes us functionally invincible. Someone would have to kill us both at the same time for it to stick.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary breathes. “More than I even thought of when I made the rune.”

“We have a lot to thank you for,” Alec reaches out to pat her hand. “More than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“This rune allowed us to make huge strides in magical theory, and specifically angelic magic. It’s part of the reason why I’ve been so busy because I’m also working with our researchers on several projects.” Alec pauses, realizing he’s getting ahead of himself and Clary can’t follow. “Okay, so when you gave me the rune, I told Magnus about it right after our wedding. He was blown away that you would give us such a gift, by the way. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you himself.”

Clary smiles. “He’ll have plenty of time for that, now that I’m back for good,” she says.

Alec nods. “Since you said it was permanent, we took our time to make the decision. Immortality is not something to be taken lightly. For me, it wasn’t even really a question, but Magnus wanted me to be sure that it was what I wanted.”

“That makes sense,” Clary nods.

“We also wanted to make sure that the rune would work the way you said it did, that it wouldn’t have any…unforeseen side effects.”

Clary frowns. “I never had a problem with my runes.”

“Honestly, Clary, you used them mostly in emergencies, with no regard for safety. Maybe it was warranted then, but this time we weren’t willing to gamble both of your lives on it. Especially when it came to using a rune on a warlock.”

“Of course,” Clary says sheepishly. “Ugh, I was rather impulsive, wasn’t I?”

“You could say that,” Alec grumbles, remembering all the times her hasty decisions landed him in hot water with his parents or the Clave. “Anyway, we researched the hell out of it. Every text we could find on rune creations, on the wedding rune and its variations, we even looked into warlock archives that hadn’t been opened for centuries. And that’s how I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“How you created runes. And why the Angels hated it.”

 *

 “This is what we’re working on,” Alec says, letting Clary into the lab. “It’s all confidential, but since you’re the one who started it all, I figured you deserve to know. And I’m the one who decides who is read in on it anyway.”

Clary looks around in wonder. The room has some of the equipment she’d expect in a lab and some she doesn’t recognize, but what attracts her gaze is the large corkboard in the middle, covered with sheets of paper.

On each of them is a rune. A rune she’s never seen before.

“They’re all new runes?” she asks.

“Yes,” Alec answers, leaning his back against the wall. “What clued me in was how you used elements of several existing runes to create a new one. I copied down every rune from the Gray Book and all of your runes and I started looking for patterns. We’ve always known that some basic elemental runes existed, but not that they could be combined. It took me a few months, but I came up with this.” He points at a rune at the top left of the board, which Clary can see is based on the Deflect rune, with two additional strikes going through it.

“Of course you would,” she mutters. “That’s some kind of armor rune, isn’t it?”

Alec smiles. “As it turns out, everyone can create runes, at least in theory. It’s very hard and requires a strong theoretical background unless you’re named Clary Fairchild and you have additional angel blood. Or maybe just an amazing instinct, I don’t know. Yes, this one imitates armored plates around your body. It’s more effective at stopping blows than the regular Deflect rune, but it doesn’t stop people from tracking you.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary says.

“As soon as I saw it work, I told Magnus and we worked on it together. It’s the biggest discovery about angelic magic that we’ve made in centuries.”

“Why did no one find it before?”

Alec pushes away from the wall to face her fully. “Soon after I used this rune for the first time, I started experiencing the same thing you did: push back from the Angels. Even drawing normal runes became harder. We got scared that I might be deruned like you were, so Magnus and I decided to go ahead with your rune, bind ourselves together. If I had magic, the Angels couldn’t take away my Sight or my memories.”

“That sounds like a plan me or Jace would have come up with, not you,” Clary quips.

“Yeah, well, things were evolving quickly. I could barely hold a stele at that point,” Alec says, frowning.

Clary blinks. “Wow, the Angels really were angry.”

“The bond fixed it. I’m out of reach now, they can’t do anything to me. And now that I knew what I was looking for, I found accounts of other people to whom it happened, who lost their Nephilim blood because of this. You have to read between the lines because it became taboo to even talk about it, but it looks like the Angels don’t want us to have this ability. Jonathan Shadowhunter probably had it, he had more pure Angel blood than you and he’s the one who created all the original runes, but since then, no Shadowhunter has been able to create new runes. Until you.”

“But I got punished for it,” Clary says, wringing her hands. Her memories of the last few days before she was stripped of her runes don’t feel fresh like the events happened yesterday, but they also don’t feel like they’re a year old. She can still see her mother’s ghost, or whatever it was, telling her what would happen if she kept using new runes.

It’s been a year, but without her memories, she hasn’t had a chance to process all the trauma, all the emotions.

“Yeah,” Alec sighs. “You certainly didn’t deserve it, but you were.”

Clary shakes her head, trying to get rid of the darker thoughts. “Obviously you didn’t stop there,” she says, gesturing at the board. “So what did you do?”

“Well, since my warlock blood protects me, I started thinking about who else might be protected. I reached out to Helen Blackthorn, you remember her?”

“Oh, she’s half-Seelie, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She and her brother. They were both willing to try working with us, especially since Magnus and I were fairly sure we could stop the process if we were wrong and the Angels were able to harm them. As it turns out, they did fine. So I found more Shadowhunters with Downworlder blood. At this point, we have eight people creating new runes, including me.”

“That’s incredible,” Clary says. She looks closer at the runes on the board. She can instinctively tell their purpose, which is proof that her ability hasn’t gone away. Alec lets her observe them for a while in silence, and she thinks she can discern a pattern in there like the runes have a signature. “That’s yours,” she points at a rune in the middle of the board, once she’s fairly sure she’s understanding her instincts right. “And this one.”

“You’re right,” Alec says, sounding impressed.

“You have a...tell,” Clary smirks, looking at him over her shoulder. “They feel distinctively you. I can probably find Magnus’ too, but I’d need a place to start since I’ve never seen him draw a rune.”

“Here,” Alec points to one on the right side of the board. “Can you tell because of your rune ability, or because you’re an artist?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Clary shrugs. “I’m not sure. I should have known this was Magnus’,” she laughs when she looks at the rune. The flourish and artistic strokes look exactly like something Magnus would go for.

“We definitely need you in our group,” Alec mutters, jotting down a note on a pad on the desk beside him.

“I don’t know,” Clary says, taking a step back away from the board. “I don’t want to tempt fate. I don’t think I could stand to lose my memories again.”

“No, of course,” Alec says. “But I don’t think it would happen.”

“Why?”

“Magnus’ theory is that if enough Shadowhunters start creating runes, the Angels will just have to accept it since they can’t cast us out. Since our wedding, there are more and more mixed Nephilim and Downworlder couples, so there will probably be a whole generation of people with mixed blood. They’ll be able to create runes.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Clary asks.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that the Angels chose to give you your memories back now. The breakthroughs that we’ve made aren’t going away. I think it’s their way of telling us that they won’t fight us anymore.”

Clary blinks at him, trying to process that idea. She remembers asking Maryse, at the wedding, if the Angels could forgive. The picture of the Angels that Alec paints is cold and calculating, matching with what Clary saw of Raziel — and to some extent, even Ithuriel. What if she wasn’t forgiven, but instead simply reinstated in her rightful place? What if Alec managed the unthinkable, and made the Angels themselves change their minds?

“Is that possible? I mean — wow.”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs.

Clary has a sudden flashback of the Alec she first met, over four years ago, who was terrified of coming out and upsetting the order of things, who was killing himself trying to meet his parents’ expectations. The man standing in front of her now has grown so much, just like Clary has, that they’re barely recognizable. To hear him talking so casually about changing the world-changing immutable laws such as those of the Angels?

But then, they’ve changed so much already, haven’t they? They participated in the destruction of Edom. They defeated the Mother of Demons. They explored and even created whole new sections of magic. Alec and Magnus’ marriage and their careers changed the laws of the Clave and opened the way for so much more.

They’ve already changed the world. So why not a little more, indeed?

Clary jumps at Alec’s neck, making him grunt in surprise. “This is amazing,” she says. “You’re amazing. And I’m so glad I’m back.”

“Me too,” Alec laughs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Welcome home, Clary.”

[cobradoesmcyt]

Hey @mysticalfriendlyintrovert here’s some infected au angst: What if all the Resistance members got turned back. Except for Grian.

(Some TW before I start: Death, abandonment (not really but still on the track of it) angst, like heavy Griangst)

Now at first this doesn’t sound so bad, but then think about how the members might distance themselves from mycelium, leaving the person who had come to see them as his own children all alone and abandoned. No one really wants to associate with mycelium, but Grian is still part mycelium and is therefore naturally drawn to the blacks and fungi. Now just imagine him leaving the comfort of the mycelium and going out into the world, he wants to see his kitlings after all! And for them he’d do anything.

But when he gets to them they barely even acknowledge him, some even look at him with caution, and he breaks. Because in his mind these are all his children, beings he loved and cared for with all his heart, and they won’t even look at him.

So Grian disappears down back underground, to the resistance base, and wails and cries. He’s mourning like a parent who’s lost their child, because that’s what’s happened - he’s lost his children.

After that he never leaves, he’s grow used to the mycelium so he’s not mad about staying. He expected at least one visit, one person who still cared about the bond they had shared. But nobody ever came. Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s pushed further and further back into people’s minds. It’s barely that they remember him before the work hop. So they go looking for him and eventually go back to the HQ. Its so different from how they left it, white walls overrun by purple mycelium, and into the walls scratched in draws are all over. It’s all just the same thing, drawn over and over: 7 figures, one bigger than the rest. It’s the mycelium resistance, all together. They go deeper, now all highly put off, and a faint light of a glow stone lead them into a room that was once the valut.

Grian sits inside. He’s thin as a stick and sickly looking, but he’s just resting there like a sunbathing cat. Looking up as they enter he says his only words to them, “This is a room for treasure.” His eyes glaze over, “and my treasure left me”

Naturally hermits being as nice as they are offere to help him, get him back to his old self, and they invit him to come with them to the new world. But he declines it all, showing off how he was stuck to the chest with white tendrils. “A home is better then nothing. I stay home. With my family”

“But we’re your family!” The Hermits it’s argue, “We are family!”

But grian just shakes his head, and after a while of useless arguing they leave, telling x to keep the world up in case they ever thought the would be able to help heal Grian.

Months later and there’s a new hermit on the server and they find a portal to the old world. They enter a works of mycelium, the block having taken over everything. Going to what was barely distinguished as the town hall they walk up and are met with Grian, who was handing a very dirty piece of paper in his hands. The new hermits asked if they could look at it, and when their allowed to they notice it’s a drawing of the former resistance members all as they had looked. Unprompted Grian starts talking “my kitlings. So cute are they?”

“They are! Why don’t you see them face to face.”

“My kitlings are not my kitlings anymore, my kitlings are dead.”

“Then why stay?” The new hermits (NH) asks, genuinely curious

Grian smiles sadly up at them, “I wish to die happy. This place makes me happy.” He hands the drawing to them, “love them. They might have left, but still deep down they are my kitlings” and for one last time Grian falls asleep, at peace with his mycelium.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

While I’m here... I’ve finally updated My Past Became Our Future! :D

Taglist: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @stardustlv (I can’t remember if anyone else was on the taglist for this one... Let me know!)

Read it here! 

Chapter 10: How Did It Come To This?

‘The world’s got a funny way of turnin’ around on you.’

As the video call cut out, Thomas couldn’t even raise his head. The way Virgil’s voice trembled as he called out their names, the pain in his voice stabbed him right in the heart. He glanced over and saw tears welling Nico’s eyes. They never thought it would come to this. As Patton smiled at them with a new level of malevolence, it was clear that he had lied to them all along, he made it seem like he only wanted to keep Virgil safe. In all the years they’ve been part of The Family. This was the first time both of them have become consumed by emotion when it comes to a job.

Thomas remembered the first time they met at that restaurant. The first night in months where they could just be themselves and they weren’t assassins. Virgil and Logan walked in so apprehensive, so nervous about how people would view them. Thomas should have guessed that Virgil was one of them from the way he looked around the room for threats, the brief glimmer of a dagger just poking out of his pocket, but he just didn’t think of it at the time. That’s why Thomas felt so happy when they were sat next to them, a normal couple. A small slice of a normal life that Thomas and Nico couldn’t have. It was clear that tonight was their first real date, which was why Thomas decided to call out to them, to get rid of some of those nerves. Nico glared at him, but when they all got talking, it was the best decision he could have made. They were wonderful and despite their job, they were determined to make these two lovebirds their best friends. The four of them talked and talked through the evening until it was closing time. Nico ran across the restaurant to get their poor server to take a picture for them. His phone pinged with a message from Patton, but he shut it down ready to take the photo. It was one of their most treasure photos, it’s even the wallpaper on their phones. As they parted ways, they both took out of their phones looking at the text from the boss.

‘Hey kiddos! I’ve got a new mark for you to keep an eye on. We go waaaay back. He used to be a part of The Family believe it or not! I received word that there’s a threat on his life, I don’t want anything to happen to him… So can you keep an eye on him and report back to me whenever you see him? The photo of him is attached. Bye kiddos!’

“You know, I really wish he would stop calling us that… I mean, I think we’re older than him and we’re married.” Nico sighed as he opened the photo as Thomas chuckled and did the same on his phone. They both fell silent and stared at the image.

“Virgil?” The shock was palpable between the two, they looked at each other and both had the exact same thought. They would protect him with every fiber of their being.

Their game plan was simple. Meet with Virgil and Logan on a regular basis but keep it in one place to watch out for any unusual characters. Their weapons would be tucked away in their bags just in case they were needed. There was no way they were letting anything happen to their new best friends, if Virgil was in danger- then Logan could be too. Every time, they would give Patton a detailed amount of information which he was grateful for… almost too grateful for in hindsight.  As time went on however, they started to become more and more slack on information. They even began to lie about seeing them. Virgil was no longer a mark, someone to monitor. He was their friend and each time they reported to Patton, there was a guilt that they couldn’t shake.

Thomas’ biggest regret is that it was him that told Patton about the engagement and consequent wedding. In his defence, he thought he was it would be handy to have them all there as a protection team. After all, him and Nico still thought Virgil was in danger. They put all of their effort into planning the dream wedding, one they couldn’t have. They wanted their best friends to have a perfect day together, damn the consequences. It happened when they were out one day buying wedding supplies.

“Have we lost track of the mission?” Nico asked while they were looking at flowers for the wedding one day. “I mean, we were supposed to be monitoring and reporting back every time. I know I’ve been slacking, I haven’t wanted to report anything, but… are we… getting too close? I think we’re letting our emotions cloud our judgement.” He wasn’t talking in a harsh way. It was almost as if he wanted reassurance that what they were doing was okay.

“You know what? If we have… who cares? I care about Virgil, and Logan. We might not be reporting back as frequently as normal, but we’re doing our best to look out for threats and we’re protecting the two other people that we care about.” He took Nico’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. They continued to pick flowers, Nico went to buy the ones that they had picked and to order more. Thomas checked to see if he was out of sight before taking out his phone and texting Patton. He told him everything, the engagement, the wedding preparations as well as the date and location of the wedding.

The wedding was beautiful and the gratitude from Virgil and Logan was staggering. They’ve never been loved by other people before, but having these two in their lives made their roles as assassins more worthwhile. Both of them saw The Family walk in and sit at the back, but they made sure to ignore them. There was no reason to raise suspicions. Nico looked confused as to why they were here, and Thomas shrugged back in response. However, when he saw the colour drain from Virgil’s face at the sight of them, he knew that he had probably made a costly mistake. He pushed that thought aside and linked hands with Nico as they watched the two exchange vows. Nico leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“You know, maybe one day we could renew our vows. Have a proper wedding.” He smiled and softly kissed Nico in response. They were the first ones to stand up, clap and cheer when they were officially declared as married. When they both briefly turned around, they saw a gleam in Patton’s eye. He was definitely going to try and get Virgil on his own.

Nico ran up to the two newly-weds and hugged them tightly, then Thomas followed suit. Logan told everyone how to get to the party in the garden, then Nico and Thomas guided everyone through. They knew The Family would have already gone to find somewhere to wait for Virgil, and it was no surprise when Virgil had disappeared, but they couldn’t help but panic when Logan was nowhere to be seen. They searched the whole party and then every room in the building. As they heard voices, it was clear where The Family were… but they weren’t expecting Logan to be standing outside watching everything. Thomas went to walk over but Nico grabbed his wrist and shook his head. When they saw Janus’ crook wrap around Logan, they knew that they would eventually give him the memory repressor and there was nothing they could do about it. Time seemed to slow and when The Family finally came out of the room, the look of anger on all of their faces showed that the meeting didn’t go according to plan. Patton stormed up to them and even they had to admit they were pretty scared.

“Get that mess cleared up.” His voice was filled with pure rage as he pointed to the room behind them. “And trust me, kiddos. We’ll be having words soon.” He then smiled and waved them off as the others followed behind. Thomas took Nico’s hand and they both walked down the corridor playing dumb. They pretended to believe Virgil’s lie about Logan falling over and they all carried on with the evening like nothing had ever happened. Everyone in the party had been drinking too much to realise that the two guests of honour were not there that whole time.

Ever since the wedding, they both agreed that they wouldn’t report back to Patton with any form of frequency. They also stopped giving information like their location, that would stay just between them. They still had their fortnightly meet ups with the boys and the bond they built was the strongest thing ever. The boys came to them for everything; good news, help with arguments, dealing with bad days, just to meet up to get away from the everything. They appreciated the time to be normal. That all changed when Patton called them in not too long ago. They went to the house and entered the dark, desolate room in the house hand in hand, both of them unsure what was going to happen. Remus entered first and growled at them to sit down. Then Patton strolled in with a neutral expression on his face.

“You’ve got too close boys… but don’t worry. I have the perfect way to fix that.”

Thomas never forgot the smile that Patton gave them as he left and put the call with Virgil on loudspeaker. Him and Nico stared at each other in shock when they heard Patton’s ultimatum. Then when Remus pushed them into the room, they both realised they were going to be used to enforce Patton’s threats against Virgil if he refused to make a choice.

Nico looked over at Thomas, and Thomas nodded as a response.

“Don’t let me down, kiddos.” He walked over and handed them the files with all the details, even though they knew everything already. Patton grabbed both of their wrists menancingly.

“Or I’ll make sure you live to regret ever joining me in the first place.” He smiled and left them too it.

Thomas wrapped Nico in a firm embrace after he saw his husband shaking from that last remark. Nico gave him a tight squeeze and removed himself from the hug. They looked at each other, then nodded.

They were going to go and save their friends.

Whatever the consequences may be.

[batfam-rewrites]

Batfam During Quarantine: 27 Minutes

Dick: Good morning adopted dad!

Bruce: *grunts*

Tim: Bruce is so stressed out. Yesterday I watched him stare at a page load for 1 second and he screamed his head off. He almost destroyed the computer.

Jason: I literally saw him counting grey hairs the other day. Whatever it is it must be Tim’s fault.

Tim: Don’t you blame this on me....

Dick: *speaks over Tim* Okay so anyway, here’s the challenge, *speaks a bit lower* first person to make Bruce smile gets to drive the Batmobile on their next patrol.

Cassandra: Awesome, how do we decide who.......

Jason: *walks over to Bruce*

Cassandra: Never mind.

Jason: Hey Bruuuuuce.

Bruce: *glares at Jason while slurping coffee*

Jason: Want some breakfast? *turns on stove* How about some eggs!

Bruce: What do you want?

Jason: Nothing! Just to see my *pauses a bit* old man smile.

Bruce: I will shank you.

Jason: Loving this new color on you? You should be pissed off all the time.

Bruce: Go away.

Jason: Okay......d.....d...da...

Alfred: Don’t burst a blood vessel Jason.

Jason: No, I can do this. Da......d.a....dad *sighs and puts his hand on the stove* AHHH, FUCKER!

Bruce: Jason, are you okay!

Jason: GET AWAY FROM ME, I CAN DO THIS BY MYSELF BRUCE! *quickly runs to the bathroom to run cold water over his hand*

Duke: Well that was entertaining!

Cassandra: *lays head on Bruce’s shoulder and hugs him*

Bruce: *hugs Cassandra back but no smile*

Damian: Father, I brought you a gift. *pulls out a picture of the entire batfamily together*

Bruce: *Bruce smiles* Thanks Damian, that’s really thoughtful of you.

Damian: *turns towards everyone and points* YES SUCK IT LOSERS!

Daily Briefing

Dick: Okay, so we have reached a low point of criminal activity for Gotham City which is a good thing.

Cassandra: A bit funny how it took a pandemic to make Gotham a bit peaceful.

Dick: Exactly my point. Now, with that said, we will still be doing patrols starting at 11. Tim, this is your week on sanitation duty. Throughout the day we will train a bit harder than normal. There will be scheduled times and you will each have partners. Try to train no less than two and a half hours a day. Training should include sparing, cardio, strength, and tumbling. Try to spar with someone new every week.

Dick: Also Jason, you remember when you said you wish you could fall like me.

Jason: I was being sarcastic.

Dick: I will finally be teaching you how to do pommel horse 1 hour a week like you asked.

Jason: I will kill you.

Duke: Being honest, I’d like to try high bar and floor. I feel it will be very beneficial for me in the long run.

Dick: Awesome! You got it. Now everyone has until tomorrow to pick their partner, I know my partner will be Jason. 

Jason: Fuck you.

Dick: Also, last thing before I make the training schedules and routines, I need to address something. There are quite a lot of people in Gotham City still refusing to wear mask. During the day lets try to hand out mask with our own designs on them to everyone who we come across during the day. I already ordered them and they should be here by Saturday, so that is something we will be doing starting next week. 

*alarm sounds off in the batcave*

Alfred: It would seem there is a fire at Wayne Tower on the thirty-second floor.

Dick: Alright, Duke, Jason, and I will go to check it out. Everyone else do what you would normally do.

Tim and Bruce

Tim: Hey Bruce, I brought you some coffee!

Bruce: How many cups have you had?

Tim: Three large cups.

Bruce: After......

Tim: *mumbles* The five cups I had with breakfast.

Bruce: There we go.

Tim: Okay so what are we doing?

Bruce: Someone is trying to hack into my server. If they do so they will have unlimited knowledge of the companies upcoming projects, along with the identities of our persona’s.

Tim: How long do we have?

Bruce: 27 minutes. Try to locate the hackers location.

Nightwing, Red Hood, and The Signal

They all rushed to the thirtieth floor to help out and find that the firemen are ready to head to the floor. The three heroes turned on their oxygen tanks and they charged in with the firefighters. Half of the entire floor was covered in flames. They noticed a conference room with a few people inside and Jason rushed to the door, pulling out his guns. He shot the door several times before kicking it down and escorting the people out. After that there wasn’t much left for them to do so they went back down. 

Fire Officer: Nightbird, that is the dumbest thing I have ever seen anyone do.

Jason: *laughs*

Dick: Thanks.

Fire Officer: Lets get you all checked.

Jason: The mask stay on though.

Alfred and Julia

Alfred: What are we watching

Julia: Well, I thought that with both of us being former spies, I thought we could watch an American film franchise called Mission Impossible.

Alfred: And tear it apart by it’s inaccuracies!

Julia: Yes!

Alfred: Sounds wonderful!

Nightwing, Red Hood, and The Signal

Time- 19:37

Medic: They seem fine, no way of telling for sure though without their mask off.

Duke: So we’re good to go, awesome!

Fire Officer: The fire upstairs has been put out.

Dick: Good.

Tim: Dick, are you still at Wayne Tower?

Dick: Yes, what’s up?

Tim: We’re dealing with a hacker trying to get into the server at Wayne Inc. The hacker is inside the building. We have 16 minutes and 55 seconds......

Dick: Say no more! We’re on it!

Fire Officer: There’s been another fire across town. Lets move out!

Dick: Duke, investigate the fire upstairs. If I’m not mistaken, it should be arson.

Duke: Got it.

Dick: Jason, stay here there is a hacker inside the building, You have 16 minutes to find the person or else Batman is doomed.

Jason: I guess I’ll look. 

Dick: GO! NOW!

Jason: Got it Nightbird!

Nightwing

Dick follows the fire fighters down to the floor and tells the guard to let no one in or out of the building. He rides his motor cycle, tailing the fire trucks to the scene of the next fire. He runs into the apartment complex, turning the oxygen tank on. He notices the first floor is clear so he rushes up the stairs to notice the flames stretched out across it. He dives through them and hears pounding on one of the doors. He sees the other residents and grabs two children, takes out his grappling hook, and shoots it towards the ceiling. He leads them down and has them run out of the building. He gets back up to the scond floor and takes the parents and lets them run out as well. When he saw them leave, he jumped back up to the second floor and ran into the door 3 times before finally breaking it down. The flames were now getting closer. He get back up and saw Barbara giving him a hand up.

Barbara: Need some help?

The Signal

Duke: What do you smell?

Fire Marshall: Alcohol.

Duke: Exactly.

Fire Marshall: So.... why did you ask?

Duke: Just wanted to check. Red Hood, Red Robin, Nightwing. Our hunch was right. We have an arsonist inside the building. Some witnesses have said they saw a maintenance worker carrying bottles of vodka in his cart. If I had to assume, both fires are a distraction from finding the hacker meaning there is an accomplice to whoever is in the building.

Jason: Good, now I’m pretty sure I speak for Nightbird when I say this, start helping me search for this bastard.

Duke: On it.

Tim and Bruce

Time- 10:17

Harper: I came as fast as I could.

Bruce: Good, set up your computer.

Harper: Why isn’t Alfred helping?

Bruce: Shut up and get to work.

Harper and Bruce try to fight off the hacker as well as they could. 

Harper: Awesome!

Bruce: Not good enough though.

Tim: What’s up?

Harper: We bought ourselves a few extra minutes.

Tim: Nice.

Time- 13:38

Nightwing and Batgirl

Dick: Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes!

Barbara: Come on! We have one more floor!

The two rush to get the last residents out of the building. The flames were starting to be extinguished by the fire fighters outside of the building. Parts of the ceiling began to collapse as they made it to the top floor. Grabbing the residents they set them down on the floor and rushed to the exit, only to find it blocked by parts of the ceiling.

Dick: Stand back! Batgirl, help me clear the exit.

The two move the rubble out of the way and the residents flee the building. Both ask the authorities if they needed help, but were turned down. When the fire was put out, both walked in, and under the heavy smell of smoke, was also the scent of alcohol.

Red Hood and The Signal

Time- 8:47

Jason was on the twentieth floor, searching, when he got the announcement.

Tim: THE HACKER IS ON THE FORTY-FOURTH FLOOR!!!

Jason: Signal, where are you?

Duke: Fortieth!

Jason: I’ll see you on the forty-four! 

Jason rushed up the stairway and ran up to the forty-fourth floor to see Duke there taking on three men. Jason then pulled out his pistols and shot all three with non-lethal rounds. 

Duke: Had to take away my fun, didn’t you?

Jason: Yes! 

Tim: Did you guys get them?

Duke: All hostiles are taken down.

Tim: Awesome!

Alfred, Julia, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Selina

Alfred: Why would he choose the safe house. If this were reality Ethan would have already been arrested.

Stephanie: Alfred, we love you to death, but your ruining an amazing movie.

Julia: The movie ruined itself by it’s inaccuracies. Plus this is our bonding time, you guys weren’t even invited!

Selina: Yeah, but you guys took the only copy and once we saw you watching it, we just really wanted to watch it, too.

Harper: Oh, cool! Mind if I join?

Alfred: *sighs* The more the merrier.

Nightwing and Batgirl

Dick: Alright, our guy lives in apartment 22 on 1807 Zics Street. Let’s head there now and see if we can find him.

Barbara: Lets head there. Want to get something to eat after?

Dick: Definitely.

Dick and Barbara get on their motorcycles and drove to the apartment where they found the arsonist. They tied him to a lamppost and Barbara informed the GCPD the location of the arsonist.

 Dick: So, how has your dad been doing?

Barbara: Not too bad. He’s been a bit under pressure but he’s doing fine. How is it being a dad at the mansion?

Dick: Ohhh god. I had the thought once and decided to leave that duty to Alfred. 

Barbara: *Barbara laughs*

Dick: I help him a bit. It’s been so difficult acting like a grown up. I had to seriously step in when Alfred called Jason “Master Todd”

Barbara: Please explain further?

Dick: Well, because Jason is, well, Jason, he lost his shit because he’s “not a snooty ass rich motherfucker, Alfred!”

Barbara: Damn, I could so see that.

Dick: Yeah, and it doesn’t help that Bruce totally lost the ability to interact with other people. The other day Damian was acting up and Bruce picked him up and shouted “WHERE’S THE OFF BUTTON!”

Barbara: *laughs harder*

Dick: *laughs himself* You should have been there, it was funnier in person.

The two stare at the sky for a bit as they watch the sun set. Barbara leans her head on Dick’s shoulder and they both relax. 

Dick: I love you Babs.

Barbara: I love you too, Dick.

Dick

They both left the rooftop they were sitting on at around 8:30. Dick had missed Barbara so much and was glad to have been able to see her. He didn’t care he broke one of Bruce’s rules. It wasn’t like Bruce was going to remember anything from the first week anyway. He got into the batcave and began creating workouts for everyone. He then went to the bathroom and took a shower in the batcave, and then went upstairs. He walked into the media room to see Alfred and Julia spending time as a family.

Dick: Aw, isn’t this sweet!

Julia: Get the fuck out Dick!

Dick: Damn, okay.

Dick then walked into the kitchen to see everyone in there.

Tim: Someone took long getting back to the mansion.

Stephanie: What happened.

Dick: I met up with Babs.

Everyone: WHAT!!!!

Damian: No fair. If I knew I could have been with Jon this entire time I would have!

Selina: You’re not able to Damian, and you knew you weren’t suppose to interact with anyone outside of the mansion.

Dick: Chill. Everything is fine. We’re more likely to get sick on patrol then by hanging out with each other. What’s up with Alfred and Julia?

Jason: They got tired of everyone ruining their family bonding time so they kicked us out.

Dick: That makes sense.

There was a knock at the door, so Dick goes to open it.

Dick: Helloooo...............

Helena: Hey Dick, you look great!

Dick slams the door shut and covers the door.

Jason: *shoves Dick to the side and opens the door* Hey, Helena! It is so awesome to see you! What are you doing here?

Helena: I’m here to stay and help. Where should I put my bags?

Jason: You could put them in Dick’s room for right now! You remember where that is, right?

Helena: Yep!

Dick: coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. *starts falling to the floor*

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter:   Tony’s attempt at matchmaking goes awry. Alexis meets the man that goes bump in the vents and makes some poor decisions.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis tugged at her dress. Even though she was still early in the pregnancy, her clothes were already fitting differently. She could see the beginnings of a bump in the mirror. Loki’s clothes fit him like a glove. Like a perfectly tailored, bespoke “look at me I am so fucking handsome” glove, Alexis groused to herself, tugging again at the neckline.

“Do you always fidget so much?” Loki questioned as they walked towards the entrance of the restaurant Tony made reservations at for them.

“No. None of my clothes aren’t fitting right. My bump is starting to show.”

“Have JARVIS order you some new ones.” Loki commented back. He held the door open for her. He didn’t think the dress was fitting Alexis poorly. Quite the contrary, as the low neckline highlighted her breasts in a manner Loki found rather stimulating. He particularly enjoyed the tiny stomach bump developing on her.

“Two, under the name Stark.” Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis’s waist as the bartender smiled at them from across the entrance. His grip tightened as a spark of jealousy hit him.

The maitre’d nodded and led them to a cozy table off to the side, and thankfully for Loki, out of the eyeline of the bar.

The server came by and asked for drink orders.

“Scotch neat.”

Alexis’s face dropped. “Just water, please.” A glass of wine sounded tempting right now.

The server nodded and moved away, but Loki grabbed his arm. “On second thought, water and Diet Coke for me.”

The server changed the order and stepped away. Alexis squirmed in her seat. “You didn’t need to do that on my account. I’m an adult and so are you. You can drink if you want.”

The server returned with the drinks and left to give them more time with the menus. Loki pushed the Diet Coke in front of Alexis. “A peace offering. If you can try, so can I.”

Alexis took a long draw of the soda and hummed. “Thank you, Loki.”

“My pleasure.” The server returned, ready to take their order.

“What would you recommend?” she asked.

“The tuna tartare is popular.” The server gestured to the menu. Loki coughed and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t like anything raw.” Alexis lied. Sushi was one of her favorites. “Anything else?”

She settled on a seasonal risotto while Loki ordered a steak, medium rare. Once the server left, the two of them carried on a polite conversation until their bread service and entrees arrived. Alexis noticed as she ate, a blonde woman sneaking glances at their table.

“Loki, do you know her?”

He turned around to glance and shrugged his shoulders. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall. I’ve met many people in my last year here.”

“LOKI!” The woman was now at their table. Alexis wasn’t entirely sure what was preventing the woman’s boobs from slipping out of her dress.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Hello, um…”

“Ashlyn! You silly.” She slapped Loki’s shoulder. “You would think a god would have a better memory?”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Alexis leaned forward on her hands, mocking Ashlyn.

Ashlyn turned to Loki, oblivious to Alexis, although Loki glared at her across the table. “I am so sorry, Ashlyn. I shall endeavor to do better.” He flashed her a smile.

“I can’t believe you never called me after our last date, and now I find you here out with another woman!”

“Oh, we aren’t dating!” Loki and Alexis responded simultaneously.

“She’s a friend.” Loki added.

“From work.” Alexis chimed in.

“Well then,” Ashlyn reached across and grabbed a spare cocktail napkin, she scribbled on it, leaning over the table to ensure Loki receive an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “Call me sometime.” Ashlyn tucked the napkin into Loki’s shirt pocket before walking off.

Alexis’s gaze followed Ashlyn until the blonde sat back down at her table.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag her into the bathroom right in front of me.” Alexis sniped.

Loki scowled at her. “I am not that crass. And if I recall, you pulled me into that bathroom.”

Alexis sneered as she pushed her half eaten risotto away, no longer hungry. Loki frowned. “You need to eat.”

“My stomach doesn’t feel so good. I’m not feeling well.” Sure as shit, she wasn’t feeling well. She realized they weren’t beholden’d to each other and hell she even gave him permission to date. But Alexis never imagined it would sting this much.

“Then we should return home at once.” Loki signaled for the check, oblivious to the true reasons for Alexis’s upset stomach.

Tony was waiting for them in the common room, clearly wanting all the juicy gossip. Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis as they walked through.

“Look at the two of you!” Tony called out, scaring the shit out of Alexis.

“Does everyone around here just lurk in corners?” She clasped her hand on her chest.

“Not now, Stark. Alexis isn’t feeling well.” Loki snapped, not stopping.

Tony shuffled to follow them, cutting them off at the hallway entrance. “Just answer one question, was there a love connection?”

“Oh, there definitely was.” Alexis grumbled. Tony did a little fist pump. “Loki snagged a date with Ashlyn, the real life blow-up doll.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki’s head at her and he removed his arm.

“Come on! She practically shoved her tits in your face, Loki. With me sitting there.”

“I’m going to bed.” Tony muttered and hightailed it out of the line of fire.

“You said you didn’t care.” Loki countered.

“And I don’t!” Alexis moaned, lying to herself and to Loki. She was getting a headache. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t need it happening right in front of me, okay?”

Loki shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Apologies. I hadn’t considered…”

“Spare the apologies, Loki.” She moved away from him. “I’m going to bed.” She walked away at a brisk pace.

When Loki got there, he peeked into her room, but she was already under the covers, eyes closed.

-

Loki avoided Alexis for the next week. They exchanged little more than pleasantries in the morning and evening. Alexis spent more of her evenings in her office on the 5th floor rather in the apartment with Loki. She didn’t go anywhere. Loki insisted it wasn’t safe, now that she was showing. The walls were closing in and Alexis was going stir crazy.

One evening, Alexis was lying on the couch watching TV when Loki came out of his room dressed in a black suit.

“Going on your date?” Her tone sharp and words pointed. “Give Blow Up Barbie my best.”

“You said you didn’t want to know. But yes, I am meeting Ashlynn tonight.” He tightened his tie. He didn’t really want to go, but Ashlynn didn’t stop calling until he gave a firm date.

“I don’t. Just curious whether to make an entire pot of coffee in the morning or not? Should I expect you home tonight?”

“I wouldn’t bother.” Loki adjusted his cufflinks. “Enjoy your show.”

“Use protection!” She yelled after him.

Loki smiled as he shut the door behind him. Alexis tried to focus on her show, but couldn’t. She couldn’t pinpoint why this date bothered her so much. Alexis harbored no romantic feelings for Loki. She barely got through a conversation without insulting him.

“Fuck it.” She grabbed her phone. “And fuck him.”

“Hannah? Yeah. Can you come pick me up at Avengers Tower?”

“Warden letting you out on good behavior?” Hannah giggled. She enjoyed joking about Alexis being held captive.

“More like a prison break.”

“Did you want to grab dinner or something?”

“How about dancing? Somewhere loud and slightly crazy.” Alexis stood and went to her closet, selecting a skintight electric blue dress. It would highlight her newfound curves.

“Are you sure? What about Loki?” Hannah questioned.

“When the cat’s away… He is out. On a date. Get me back here before morning and he will never know.”

“Devious. I’m in.”

“Twenty minutes, Hannah. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She dressed and fixed her hair before slipping on a pair of high heels. A quick glance down the hallway and Alexis slinked towards the elevator.

“Loki takes the service elevator when he skulks out at night.” Clint stepped out of the shadows. “I see he didn’t share his trade secrets with you.”

Alexis jumped a bit but regained her composure. “Jesus Christ. Between you and Tony… I’m not skulking. Just meeting a friend.”

“Fancy dress for a friend.”

“Nosy question for a man who crawls through the vents.” Alexis narrowed her eyes at Clint.

“Just an observation. Have a good evening.” Clint nodded and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Hannah was waiting outside when she made her way outside.

“I worried you got caught.”

“Just a bird in the vents distracting me. Have faith in me. Now… let’s party.”

Hannah hooked her arm with Alexis and they took off down the sidewalk.

-

Loki’s mind wandered as Ashlynn droned on about her number of Instagram followers. Social media did not interest Loki. Not even a bit. He remembered why he “forgot” to call Ashlyn back the first time. While she may be nice to look at, it was all style and no substance. Blow Up Barbie was an apt name, Loki mused. He chuckled at Alexis’s joke as he replayed it in his mind.

“What so funny, Loki?” Ashlyn questioned as they walked out of the restaurant.

“What?” He turned to her in shock. “Oh, just something someone told me earlier.” He brushed it off.

“A joke?” Ashlyn perked up. She hopped and her boobs bounced in a way boobs shouldn’t. Loki had said little that night. “Tell me.”

“You won’t enjoy it.” Loki deflected. “It is rather offensive.” He smiled again, thinking about many of Alexis’s off-color jokes. He often found it hard to not laugh.

“Fine.” Ashlyn pouted. “Let’s go back to my place.” She tugged him in the opposite direction of the Tower.

Loki sighed. “I think I should head home.” He feigned a yawn. “I am tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

Ashlyn frowned at him. “On a Sunday?”

Loki coughed. “An Avenger never has a day off.” He was failing at ending this date. Loki wondered if Alexis would still be up.

“Really, because you always said—” Ashlyn’s comment interrupted by Loki’s cell phone.

He frowned when he saw Alexis’s number on the screen. He answered the call.

“I told you not to wait—” He snapped into the phone, even though moments ago he was ready to call it a night.

“It’s Alexis’s friend, Hannah. You don’t know me, but—”

“What happened? Where are you? Where’s Alexis?” Loki snapped. Ashlyn leaned in to listen to the conversation. Loki turned his back to her.

“We’re at the police station. Can you come bail her out?”

Loki paled. “Give me the address.”

[doublegrinch]

Charmed! 2021 con log

takes out a chair and sets it down, sits on it backwards

Alright, shouting void, we need to talk.

So...last weekend, I attended Charmed!. Me, a tenured lurker who only a few short months ago was struggling to say one (1) thing in a Discord.

I can't tell you what that means to me.

(I mean, um. I'm gonna try. This is a con log.)

Now, obviously I can't name names, because of the private nature of the event; I'm gonna err on the side of caution on that one, as I understand one is meant to do. Some people reading this* might recognize themselves – and if you do, hi! You're awesome! – but I'll keep all the non-public details vague enough.

Thursday!

No, actually, things started the night before for me.

Wednesday!

As the server opened, people were posting intros, and after obsessing over mine for mumble I posted one. I'm sure glad I did, because a wonderful person decided to reach out to me.

Like...what? Someone wanted to talk to me? Just like that? I had gone into this thinking "oh these social rooms are so intimidating, welp guess it's wallflower time" but then this person just ups and talks to me. And we totally clicked! We'd end up chatting all through the weekend and beyond.

Like...what?! It's not even day one and I'm already making friends?

What?!

Thursday (for real this time)

Came right out of work – which was not a productive day, lemme tell you; somehow I was distracted – and into the 101. Four hours of intense learning goodness, and a perfect introduction to the wonderfulness that was that weekend.

I stayed engaged throughout – a testament to the skills of the presenters! – but socially crashed right after. That would become a running theme of the weekend; turns out even after being deprived of social contact for a whole-ass year, I am very much still an introvert.

Friday

Started the day off right with a class on consent. Not only was this very useful info and a great class, it was smaller and much more chill than the previous one, which was a perfect start for the day.

Then, I went to the coolest class on behavior and conditioning. Seriously, it was so informative. And funny! I kinda know the presenter too, and it was their first class, so I was all like "get it!!!" I came out of it with two main takeaways:

A whole new lens through which to view behavior and how it's influenced. Like, all behavior

A powerful need to buy a particular pen

Then the class on Imposter Syndrome. This was honestly just a balm on a lot of old fears. Not really about kink, because I'm so new I'm "pre-imposter", so to speak; but about writing, and work, and life in general.

I expected to come out with a better understanding of my feelings; I actually came out with not only that, but also some actionable techniques I could use to help with some of my nastier brain goblins. Seriously, if that class's presenter ever reads this : thank you, sincerely.

(Also, seeing some actual living legends attending that class drew in sharp relief what I always suspected to be true : we're all like this sometimes. We're all in this together.)

And then – are you exhausted reading this? Cause I sure was living it! – I went to my fourth class that day, and watched two presenters with such obvious chemistry demonstrate clearly how to Do Things and how Not To Do Things. It was funny, it was instructive, it was lovely. There was a cat at one point.

(Seriously, how is everybody at this con so nice?)

Then in the evening, I was the only one who showed up to a card game (I think everyone else was just exhausted). Only instead of having an Awkward Social Moment I ended up having a lovely chat with someone I'd seen in passing on the Discords but never really talked to before. I dunno what it is about the con atmosphere that just allows these connections to be made; just the tiny push you need to go out and meet people. It's great.

And then I went to bed EXHAUSTED, but so happy.

Saturday!

My brain woke me up at 6 am that morning. Which, since I live in the same timezone as the con, and had planned to skip the first round of classes, it did NOT need to do. Thanks, brain.

Classes!

Since I was up, I went to a class on safety. Good info, cause safety's important, yo.

I went to the Ace and Kinky roundtable! This was such a moment for me. Just sitting around and sharing experiences with people. Just...wow. As I said at the time : I am experiencing validation. Still processing what it means to me actually.

A class about how different dom styles are all valid! As someone who's very insecure in their toppiness, that's a wonderful help

And then, in the evening, the actual card game. Like any good Cards Against Humanity game, this had

Lots of people saying "oh no"

Being kind of skittish about being really awful, then getting a round so horrible you go "oh wow, people came to PLAY huh?"

"That one's too real"

Saying stuff aloud you really wish the neighbors don't hear

A whole bunch of quotes that #overhead-at-charmed was mercifully spared from

Laughter

Human bonding. From my end, at least

Then after we gave the winner the Shame Crown, I went to bed with an even bigger smile on my face. I mean come on! I'm supposed to be Double Grinch, no fair making me all happy and shit.

SuNdAy!

(Can you hear the exhaustion in that title?)

Started the day off with a writing class. Y'ever sit in on a panel of your favorite hypno-smut authors, some of whom have had a direct hand in your own work finally getting read after years of anxious avoidance, and watch them talk about a whole bunch of stuff that makes you go "they're just like me" among other wisdoms? Cause it's a weird, wonderful feeling

Also of note is I was "chatting in the back of the class" a lot of the time on Discord. Which was the best, most belonging-est feeling. And since it wasn't IRL, it didn't bother the presenters!

Weird non-convention pocket of time

So I was torn between which class to attend on the next block, or whether I should take it easy cause I was so tired you guys, oh my god, but then that choice was made for me when a friend from real life – remember real life? – called me to chat. I had A Real Time™ booting my brain in normal human mode for the duration of the call.

That call lasted until five minutes before the block after that one – I talk a lot. You're shocked, I know.

End weird non-convention pocket of time

Aaaand we're back in con space! Last class of the con was...intense, to say the least. Like not even in a bad way, necessarily, but with the exhaustion and all eventually the demo got to be Too Much and I had to bail. It was still good and informative and I took down lots of notes, but yeah, weird feeling.

And then, just like that, it was over! Just like my social meter.

When I went in to this, I had two goals:

Learn things

Be social

That's absolutely a check and check. Gotta think of some more ambitious goals for the next one. But keep those, too.

So, shouting void, what have we learned?

We've learned that I Can Go To Cons™. And that they can be wonderful, intense, magical, intense, spectacular, intense moments filled with learning and human connection.

And to the community builders out there. You know who you are. You folks made the spaces that felt safe enough for this aging fool to dust off an old dream. Thank you.

* except nobody reads this, right? Right.