#it keeps getting longer the story arc that was supposed 2 be done by ch 13 is now stretching into ch 15....

[rollercoasterwords]

in other news. wfrau has hit 100k words in my word doc...let's all clap & cheer together....

[radramblog]

Some thoughts on Deltarune Chapter 2

I’m going to try to avoid being effusively praising of this game…demo…chapter. I’m sure there’s plenty of people doing that already, and I am more than cognizant of the platform I am presenting this post on. That’s going to be tough, yeah, but I’ll make it work.

I’m also going to try to avoid spoiling the thing too hard, even though there are spoilers everywhere and certain supposed-to-be obscure things are widespread at this point. But, someone could still end up reading this before they play it, so I’m going to hold my tongue a fair bit as a result.

With that in mind: new chapter is obviously out, so how does it stack up?

…I think it might be better than the first one. In my opinion.

Undertale 22 over here is a continuation of the first chapter, released about 3 years ago, taking place literally the next day in-universe. Chapter 1 coming out was a Huge Deal, not in the least a result of how it was announced. Despite the distance since the release, the Undertale fandom was still simmering along, and with an announcement that appears tied to one of that game’s biggest mysteries, it was no wonder that it was going to make some waves.

Chapter 2’s release was a surprise for different reasons. I believe at the time of the first demo, Toby stated that the remaining chapters would release as one, but that it would take a long time on account of the game being so much more complex than Undertale and not playing as much to his strengths. Of course, a lot happens in 3 years, especially with the last couple being as they have been, so Chapter 2 got its own release about a week ago.

I suppose I should stop beating around the bush and explain why I think Ch.2 is better than Ch.1, huh? I think there’s three main factors that swayed me.

Prologues and introductions always have to do one thing, and that is to familiarise the audience with the setting and characters. Despite sharing many side characters with its pseudo-prequel, Deltarune Chapter 1’s main cast are all completely fresh, and those side characters are in an unfamiliar form, and so much of the game is spent establishing cast dynamics. We have to learn who Susie, Kris, and Lancer are, and how the dynamics between them will be working for the stories to come.

However, there is the slight difference that Deltarune Chapter 1 is kind of a complete story. It’s like the pilot to a tv series- you have to establish characters, yeah, but you still have to get the plot spinning, and those characters still need to have small arcs over the course of the story. Susie and Lancer are kind of the only ones to go through actual arcs across the first chapter, given Ralsei’s currently kind of static character and Kris being a blank slate entirely.

By contrast, Chapter 2 has these dynamics in play from the get-go, and we get to more deeply explore them as a result, making the character work overall stronger. And while there are new characters at play, two of the three (arguably four) new players are already established in Chapter 1, and so we don’t need to spend as much time getting to know them. Character interactions are at the core of many styles of storytelling, and with the quirky characters we have to work with, getting more time seeing them do that is great!

The second of why I like Chapter Two better is just the gameplay. A fair few little tweaks have been made to make the whole thing cleaner- enemies now have a parallel meter to their HP bar to show how close to sparable they are, so pacifistic players have a better idea of their progress in longer fights. For those players, actually having Susie and Ralsei get ACT options is great, seeing as it makes them substantially more useful (especially Susie). When I replayed Chapter 1 in preparation for playing Chapter 2, I found myself just Guarding with them over and over while Kris did most of the work.

And the creativity with the fights is ramped up a whole bunch. This is another Not Being The First Part thing, but now that the player is used to how fights in this game are going to go, the complexity gets to increase to match, and the characterisation of the bosses and even generic enemies can better be expressed in the gameplay. I remember being genuinely shocked at how much was going on with the Ambyu-Lance enemy’s highway bullet pattern, especially when combined with other enemies in the fray.

I very much enjoyed the secret boss. Oh come on, that’s not a spoiler, everyone knows about Jevil at this point, and you get hinted at it super early on! And it’s way easier to find than Jevil was!

Anyway. My final point is just that I do like the characters in Chapter 2 better- particularly the antagonists. As fun as Lancer is, the sort of annoying whacky child characters are never something I’m particularly fond is. Even though he’s written really well, it took a lot to sell me on him. As well, as sicknasty as the King’s boss fight was, as well as the scenes surrounding it being an excellent summation of the point of the game as a whole, he’s not an especially interesting character.

And while I suppose Queen isn’t particularly deep either, everything about her is so unbelievably fun. I was pretty much sold on her immediately, with that regal “ohohoho” laugh followed by just absolutely shitposting for the entire length of the game. Her presence makes so much of this game an utter blast. Her presence reminds me a lot of the characters in Undertale who were mostly just there for one area, Alphys in Hotland and the skeletons in Snowdin, constantly popping in to keep things moving, giving each area its own little arc, and generally be fun and amusing along the way. And since each chapter of Deltarune is a lot longer than one arc of Undertale, it’s for the best that Queen manages to make this much of a good impression about the whole thing.

As I’ve stated, I think most of the reasons why Deltarune Chapter 2 are a simple result of being a Chapter 2 rather than a Chapter 1, rather than being any fault of Chapter 1’s (and the last point is basically personal preference). Both are obviously still excellent, and I’m happy to wait patiently for the series to continue if it keeps up this level of quality. At the end of the day, like, this game is currently free. And it provides a better and longer experience than a lot of actually paid games I’ve played. Toby Fox has managed to be a big shot after literally releasing one and two sevenths of a game, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to be slowing down anytime soon. Here’s hoping that the assistance he’s apparently getting for future chapters works out such that it doesn’t end up sacrificing quality, but I don’t see this happening quite yet. I suppose only time will tell, but I’m optimistic. Filled with determination, as some would say.

no that’s cringy cut that one sheesh okay let me out of here im done

[valdarian]

Invader Zim-Infinite Pink ch.8

Summary: Selfish Arc, part 1

Past, present and future. A look into Zim and Theron's past. Someone doesn't have the best intentions for Zim. WARNING: This arc will deal with potentially triggering/uncomfortable topics. Please read with caution!

Notes:

DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! ============================1.) There will be things that will be covered, that could be highly uncomfortable or triggering to some. This fic is intended for a mature audience and will be covering some traumatic topics. The events in this story are entirely fictional and merely done for dramatic effect. However, they are not intended to poke fun or downplay the real-life seriousness of these issues. 2.) It will contain references and implied teacher/student relations and references and implied sexual and physical abuse/assault. Dubious consent. Abuse of power/coercion. Murder/attempted murder. If you or anyone you know is suffering from any kind of abuse or struggling with recovery, please do not be afraid to get help. There is more options than you may think. Contact your local authority or nearest shelter. Here are a few sites that may help you to Identify and Report Abuse or discover resources for recovery: thehotline.org, childhelp.org or victimconnect.org National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255 ================================

Author notes:

I apologize for the late update and want to again thank everyone who has read this story. You guys are great.

I had wanted this arc to be condensed into one chapter, so as to be easily skippable. However I felt that there was a lot more I wanted to add to the story, that unfortunately tied closely around this time period/event. As this does play a large role in the story in regards to the Tallest past and a certain character. Initially it resulted in me wanting to have this arc written out in its entirety before i uploaded as a result. Which is why it's taken me a bit longer to upload then usual. I have quite a bit of the rest of the work finished, but I know i'm bound to add more to it. However since it has been so long already, i said screw it and went ahead and posted this part now.

Because of that, I put warnings on Bid's sections instead. Incase anyone wishes to skip these parts. Bid was intentionally made to be the slimiest creep.

Please be advised.

Most of all, stay safe.

==(WARNING ON!)==

(Bid's office: Undetermined time. Bid's POV)

Bid rested his chin on one hand, tapping the desk with the other.

It turns out that Zim had only been cleaning the archive of his own volition. Bid had investigated nearly every nook and cranny with a feverish mania after Zim had left. There hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. Not a single camera or recording device.

It still left him on edge.

What if he had missed one?

He'd been so paranoid, he hadn't even got to finish the rest of his favorite sweet.

Someone had entered his secret domain. Bid frowned, he still wasn't too pleased that he might have to abandon his favorite spot.

It wasn't as if he cared if Zim came to the archive, now that he'd set his sights on the younger Irken. It would definitely make everything a lot easier...but, that other Irken could be trouble.

Perhaps he should plan around that.

It wasn't like it was that unheard of for students to have...accidents.

Oh, well! He let out a small laugh. It's not like it was his fault, maybe they just needed to be more careful.

He tapped the desk again. A sigh of longing left him.

What a pretty little Irken.

Even in the dark of the archive. Those large magenta eyes had shown brightly, drawing him right in. He'd barely been able to contain himself, still lingering with unspent arousal.

That ridiculous cleaning gear coming off, revealing such an Irken! It had been like a present being unwrapped. Just for him! Zim must have known, maybe that's the real reason the smaller Irken had been down there. Zim had purposely been teasing him, trying to entice him! Bid was sure of it now.

He had been so consumed by thoughts of the other since then.

What else lay hidden beneath the rest of those clothes?

His pants suddenly felt too tight for comfort. He'd been holding back from his sweets since then.

He'd been too careful to slip up now.

Even the control brains hadn't caught onto him. So much time spent subtlety disconnecting the information charge pods(1) on his level. Keeping a careful eye on his selective sweets. Getting rid of any hiccups.

Days passed, then weeks. No one came for him.

He was being ridiculous! Bid had nothing to fear, but of course, why should he? The laws were stupid anyhow. They were all pent up. How was keeping them strict and stiff helping anyone? Obviously, anyone in his position would do the same. Why should he force himself to hold back? They all wanted this too. Bid was sure of it. They just didn't have the backbone to take it.

His hand traveled down to help alleviate his 'problem'. A moan left him.

How sweetly would those magenta eyes look drowned in ecstasy? A few strokes.

How would Zim's skin feel? Would it be as soft as it looked under his touch? His hand moved faster.

How would Zim's voice sound, begging him for more? He was so close!

If it hadn't been for that other Irken...

His eyes narrowed. Mood suddenly ruined.

He could feel himself deflate, after a moment he tucked himself back into his pants with an angry sigh.

Just another thing that other Irken ruined for him!

Zim still hadn't returned to the archive yet.

Bid was becoming impatient.

What of that other Irken? What was their relationship with Zim? What if they already had a taste of what was his? What if they were doing it right now!

One of his hands turned into a fist. He was wasting precious time!

How Zim had flown under his rader was beyond the instructor. It didn't even matter if Zim was apart of another class. He wasn't going to let the smaller Irken out of his sight now.

All it did, was make Zim into a far sweeter, forbidden fruit!

Bid couldn't wait any longer.

A knock to his office door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly made himself presentable.

"Enter."

A young, pretty eyed Irken came into view.

Just his type.

"What did you find out?"

The smaller Irken shifted in nervousness as they approached him, handing over a tablet. Bid couldn't help but grin.

"He has a very small group of friends. Although they seem to only interact during class or lunch periods. An Irken named Skoodge is the only one he seems to regularly hang out with. Which makes sense since their partners and al-" Bid's unimpressed looked had them quickly continuing their report. "Skoodge is a fairly popular Irken and in the top twenty combatants in the academy."

Skoodge? That name sounded familiar. Voot had probably boasted about the Irken at some point. A frown tugged at his lips. Was this that other Irken in the archive? He was popular? That could pose a problem. He'd think about that later though.

Bid swiped through the tablet as pictures of the robust irken appeared. An unimpressed scoff left him.

Top twenty combatants? When had the Academies standards gotten so low?

However, this wasn't the other Irken in the archive. Bid hadn't gotten a good look at them as he watched behind a bookshelf. He only knew that they were a good head or two taller than Zim. This...Skoodge was far too short, only a inch or two taller than Zim.

He made a motion for the younger Irken to continue.

"Recently however, he had been spending more time with one of his other classmates..."

Bid supposed an Irken as pretty as Zim would be the center of attention.

However, that just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all.

He needed to cut any unnecessary ties that stood between them. Zim would understand. He would make him understand.

"Who else?"

They hesitated for a moment. This didn't go unnoticed by the older Irken.

"Who?" His patience was thin.

"V-Voel, He is the current highes-"

His fist slammed onto the desk.

Voel! He knew that name. Just another Voot in the making! Voot made it well known his class had the best talents, rubbing it in Bid's face any time he could.

Where did that old qrooza even get off!

Even though he, Bid had been the top of his own year when he had graduated. He nearly made it into the elites for Irk's sake! Before he was so wrongfully snubbed a better position. Forced to waste away teaching ungrateful smeets. He was too good for this!

'You need to learn some humility.' 'You're too reckless.' His old commander had said. 'It'll do you some good.' 'You should be honored." His commander had said.

What a load of Srull shit!

If he ever saw them again!

Why did he need to learn such things? Enemies didn't care about humility! So what if he was a little reckless! He always ended up the victor regardless.

All that mattered in life, was how much stronger you were than those beneath you. Power was everything and he deserved it all.

That's why he had contested Voot at one point in the past. Voot was always mocking him. He was sure of it. He'd never been good enough for the older Irken. Not as a cadet and not as a fellow instructor.

He'd show him! The need to wipe that smug grin off the older Irken's face was all too much. There's no reason for him to lose. Bid was younger and obviously a far better fighter than that that decrepit Irken!

Yet, he'd been humiliated.

Now the old coot had recently been asking him for another rematch. Voot really took him for a fool!

It not like it was even his fault! His students were just terrible. While the control brains gave him plenty of sweets. The rest were all duds. They weren't worth their weight in snacks!

Why did he have to suffer such mistreatment?

"Anyone else" He growled.

The smaller Irken stuttered. "N-No. Z-Zim is not a very social Irken. In Fact, I haven't seen him with Vo-" Bid's eyes narrowed. "...Uh, um with that Irken for a while now."

Bid let out a small hum. That was good then. His sweet was doing their job well. Maybe he was just worrying over nothing.

"What does he do when not interacting with his...friends?" Bid said, an edge still to his voice.

"He often spends most of his time studying. Zim is among the top three in educational academics in the entire academy." They continued.

Putting the issue of Voot's prized student aside, Bid focused in on that.

So, Zim was highly intelligent? It definitely put more legitimacy to the young Irken's story. Yet, it also posed its own problem. It might not be as easy as he thought to engage the younger Irken. Zim might be too smart for his own good.

However, what game was fun without a little challenge?

"He likes to study? Where does he spend most of this time?" Zim hadn't stepped foot back into the archive as far as he knew. There had to be someplace else the smaller Irken went then.

"His room, I think." They wrung their hands.

"You think..."

Void! Voot's dorms were both on the other side and on another level of the academy. It would be difficult to explain why he was wandering another instructor's dormitories and if Voot caught him...

Bid sighed. He needed to find another way to get to Zim.

"Where does he place on combat abilities?"

He needed to at least know how to handle the younger Irken. Just incase Zim decided to be...difficult.

"I-I don't know." They stuttered.

"You don't know." Bid's eyes narrowed.

They wrung their hands together again. Oh, Irk! They were upsetting him. What if he punished them?

"No one I asked seemed to really know. Zim usually avoids fighting. He was in the infirmary recently. For a long time too, I heard." They rushed out.

Bid tapped his fingers. He'd heard about some student's PAK going haywire a few months back. Had that been Zim?

How could he use this?

"...and Instructor Voot has not allowed him to participate in any fights recently as well." They added nervously.

Bid made noise. That didn't seem like Voot. The older Irken had always been an unmoving hardass. Who's entire philosophy seemed to revolve around a sink or swim mentality. Did the older Irken have a soft spot?

Oh, this could be fun!

An idea suddenly comes to him.

As it stood, Zim was out of his reach. Yet, Voot himself had given Bid an opportunity.

What was a tiny loss if he was able to gain something greater?

"Good work my sweet."

They smiled timidly.

Ah, his sweets were so cute!

...and soon he'd have the sweetest.

"Come here, I think you deserve a reward." Bid smirked.

He wasn't going to deny himself any longer.

==(WARNING OFF!)==

============================

(Planet Irk: First timeline. Capital city: Emperor's palace, Tallest chambers)

Theron hunched over a tablet on the edge of a bed. Purple eyes narrowed as they scrolled through it.

"What do you even hope to find?" Voel asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against a column.

"Something, anything! Ugh!" Theron threw the tablet onto the bed out of frustration. Before throwing himself backwards onto it too, arms stretched out. He let out a huff.

Voel walked over to pick it up.

"There is still so much I don't remember!

"I Know." Voel agreed, scrolling through the device. There was patchs he could recall, then blank spaces in between, far too many, it felt like.

He could understand Theron's frustration.

"The control Brains don't know anything either!"

"You actually asked the control Brains!?" Voel pauses his search in shock.

Was Theron insane! What if the control brains thought they were defective?

Yet, they were still here...then maybe...

"Did they say anything?"

"No!" Theron scowled. "They said they had no record of ever tampering with any of our memories."

Red eyes narrowed.

Theron made a mocking mechanical voice. "It would be highly illogical, for us to reset the rulers of Irk."

"Reset?" Voel's brow scrunched.

"Yeah. I guess..uh..previous memories could be moved to a 'storage', allowing new memories to be made. While the old ones could be kept safe and sound within the core(2)."

Voel nodded, he knew about the importance of their cores. If their organic bodies were merely transportation for a PAK, then the PAK was equally the same for their cores.

Many believed it to be the center of their software. As a PAK's hardware could be replaced, as long as the core remained intact. Others thought it was the true cardiac-spooch of the Irken, the entirety of everything they were. Their soul as some liked to say.

"It's supposed to prevent this exact kind of thing from happening. Vengeful Irken's and corruption and all that, ya know. Unless the core was destroyed, everything would always remain. Apparently it had been some sort of fail safe by the creator."

"Wait, what? Creator?" Voel shook his head in disbelief. "The PAK had a creator? Like, an Irken creator? An actual fleshy Irken? I just thought the control brains had made our PAKs."

Theron waved a hand lazily, he didn't know anything more. The control brains hadn't elaborated. Quickly moving on to a new topic. He'd been too preoccupied with his quest for memories to pay attention to it at the time.

Voel rubbed his chin in thought, other arm crossed below it, still holding the tablet. "Did they say anything else?"

"They just said it would be illegal for anyone other than them to do so." Theron frowned.

Voel frowned as well.

"But, they did say, that our memories had been tampered with....heh" The purple eyed Irken let out an un-amused laugh. "However, since we know that the perpetrator is already dead..." Theron spit out the last part.

"I see..." Voel sighed, tossing the tablet back down. "...so does that mean they knew this entire time?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Theron said softly. "They seemed just as confused as I was about our memory loss. Well, as much as a machine can sound confused." Theron's brow scrunch together.

The Brains had scanned his PAK, searching for these missing memories. A jolt of electric shock had ran through him.

It had hurt.

It had been terrifying.

It had felt...violating.

Had they really put Zim through something like this?

Those bulbous lights of the machines had seemed to glow brighter with each passing second.

One minute had passed, then another.

What were they seeing?

Suddenly he was hoisted higher in the air. A part of him had thought, that this was it! He was going to go out the same way as Zim had.

He'd messed up! He shouldn't have asked them!

"EXPLAIN."

Eventually, they had let him go. Thank the old gods for his silver tongue!

"Isn't there a way to have them just...get our memories back? Like, they still exist, they're just buried, right?"

"I asked that." Theron threw a arm over his eyes.

A minute of silence stretched between them.

"Well?" Voel asked after a moment, a note of annoyance in his tone.

Theron moved to sit up, leaning back on his elbows. "They said..." Another huff. "They said if they reprogrammed us, it might be too much for our PAK's to handle. There was a chance it could work. However, the sudden influx could also just overload the PAK. At best, drive us insane or worse, just kill us. It's happened before. It sounded graphic." Theron shivered from the brains retelling.

"Void." Voel plopped down next to the purple eyed Irken.

Theron nodded, an ever deepening frown taking over his face. "We either have to let the memories return naturally...or we could-"

Theron went silent.

"Could what?" Voel asked confused.

"A solution." Theron got up, ignoring Voel's questioning stare.

"A solution? Theron, what's the solution?" Voel watched his fellow Tallest rummage through a wardrobe. Eventually pulling out a ball of purple fabric.

Voel's head tilting to the side uin confusion. He'd seen Theron bring that back onto the massive after a trip to Judgementia, robes oddly torned. He'd still been too upset to ask about it at the time.

Theron walked back over, slowly unraveling the cloth. A small tremor in his hand as he did so.

Red eyes widened in realization.

"Theron...What in the void. Where did you get that!?" Voel jumped from the bed, attempting to snatch the PAK from the other. Theron quickly moved it out of the other's reach.

"Theron." Voel's voice was hard.

"We had spent the most time with him, if what our memories suggest is true. It might jog the rest of them. His data was removed from the collective, but the memory core remains."

"Are you insane? 40 Schmillion errors Theron! Even the control Brains had barely been able to handle it! Why would they even let you have it in the first place?" Voel questioned.

Purple refused to meet red. Theron scratched his cheek.

"They didn't, did they."

"It was just sitting there! They weren't doing anything with it. It was probably just going to be tossed into the trash anyhow."

"You stole it! Theron have you lost your mind!" Voel yelled, taking a step towards his partner who backed away.

"I-I didn't steal it, I just...borrowed it! Besides, we don't have to hook it up to us! We can hook it up to the screen." Theron pointed to a television on the far wall. "It's not like we're trying to reprogram it or anything. We're just looking. It should be fine."

Voel's antenna pressed down in aprehension. Red eyes flicked between the screen, PAK, and Theron's own nervous face. "This is a bad idea."

"If anything goes wrong, we can just disconnect it. The palace is on it's own grid. It'll be fine!" Theron nervously reassured.

A few minutes passed.

There was so much he didn't know. This could be the answer to everything, but was the risk worth taking?

"Fine." Voel finally said, letting out a breath of uneasiness. This was a REALLY bad idea.

Theron's antenna perked and quickly got to setting it up.

"No more secrets."

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

(Academy Grounds: A few days later from the confrontation in the terrace.)

Magenta eyes peaked around a corner.

It appeared the coast was clear.

He had so much on his mind lately, that newest memory kept replaying.

What did he even do with this information?

Would anyone even believe him? Even, if they did. The control brains probably wouldn't want it to be spread.

It would throw the Empire into chaos. Everything they knew would be turned upside down.

He, Zim had created the control brains! ...Well, one of them anyway.

Perhaps it had been a prototype? He wondered if it still existed somewhere.

Why had he created a control brain in the first place?

Zim recalls how weak his body had felt in that memory. Even the action of lifting his arms, had seemed far too much at times. The neverending itch in his lungs and burning of his throat. As yet another bodily cough had shaken his frame.

It had felt just like his trial all over. He had been dying. Yet, he hadn't stopped, he had kept moving forward regardless of how much it wore on him. Zim can still taste blood on his tongue.

Why had he gone to such lengths?

The quiet whirl of fans reaches him. He peaked over his shoulder at his PAK. Were they related? It couldn't be...could it?

A dark cloud suddenly overtakes him.

What had been the purpose he had given to that brain? Had he made them to control the Empire? Then why not make himself it's ruler? Had he been betrayed?

Again.

Did all the control brains know that he was their creator? Their parental-unit?

Did they know that, when they had killed him?

What had he done to them to deserve that! Was it revenge for the overload days or maybe something in a prior life? All those PAK errors. Were those the control Brains doing? Had they knowing let him suffer all those cycles?

Too many questions and not enough answers!

Maybe his silent suffering had been their retaliation or maybe, they just didn't care at all. He supposed they were nothing but machines at the end of the day.

He grips the corner of the wall tightly.

That couldn't be true though! Even his base's computer had seemed to have it's own personality. It couldn't have been just wires and circuits! And Gir! His poor, sweet, slightly insane Gir. His pseudo-smeet was far more than just nuts and bolts!

There had to be more to it...there just had to be.

A sad noise leaves him.

Should he really be surprised though? How many of inventions and creations had turned against him in the past?

Perhaps that was just his fate.

Maybe...He thinks. It would be better if he just kept this to himself. He was sure the control brains must know, but probably assumed his memories were still dormant and thus, wasn't a threat to their authority. He feels, that it would be best to keep it that way then. No need to be called crazy by his fellow Irkens or for his oldest creations, to label him defective in order to silence him.

Even if it made his cardiac-spooch hurt.

If he created the brains, then wasn't it also his fault they were forced to live in such a strict society. To be labeled a deviant was a high offense. Sometimes, even resulting in a death sentence.

Why, oh why did he create such machines!

It was a miracle he had managed to hide such a thing in the past.

Voel had been piloting a ship on another mission at the time.

Their recon team had been exploring uncharted space for potential expansion, when they had been surprised by pirates. Their small crew had ultimately won, but suffered heavily under the sudden onslaught. Their spacecraft had barely been able to hold together after entering the atmosphere. Resulting in a crash landing on some deserted, primal planet. They could only hope their distress beacon had survived somewhere.

Bruised and battered but alive. Theron and him had wound up as the only survivors of their crew. A third, Pim he thinks her name was, had survived the crash as well. However she was an Irken with low healing capabilities(3) and had succumbed to her wounds not long after. Despite Theron's desperate attempts to keep her alive.

He remembers the look of failure in purple eyes. They had both been eternally grateful for having such high regeneration abilities.

They had made a base out of the remains of their ship. Burying Pim and keeping her PAK tucked safe within it, as they waiting for rescue.

One cycle had passed, the another and another. No help was coming. They had been abandoned, left to waste away.

Alone with just the two of them. It had been an especially cold night, the planet was in the midst of its winter. They had sat as close as they dared, around a small fire. A mixture of desperation and curiosity had taken hold.

No superiors.

No control Brains.

No rules.

Who would even punish them? What consequences did they need to fear? They wouldn't be connecting to any information station anytime soon. There was no one but them. No one to label them deviants or defective.

All of this had been their silent thoughts.

To one another, it had merely been an excuse for survival. They couldn't have let one another freeze to death.

There had been nothing said, no sweet words or confessions.

Only raw, passionate urges.

The heat of the other against his own, had been enough for him.

To their surprise...and horror. A nearby ship had gotten their distress call not long after.

A promise of mutual destruction had sealed their lips, not even Voel had known.

Theron and Voel had been selected for Tallest candacy not even half a cycle later. 'Don't worry! We'll be back before you know it. Promise.' The taller Irkens had never looked at him with the same eyes after that.

He'd been abandoned. The well of shame and paranoia within him had grown even deeper. Always wondering; Would this be the day he was found out? Everytime he connected to the collective, would the control brains discover his indignity at last?

The fear he had felt on the day of the trial. Horror at his crimes being played out for everyone to see. Terror at the idea that all of Irk would witness his crime. It had been a secret he was forever grateful, he had taken to the grave.

He'd made a mistake.

Let his desperation turn him into a fool.

That was the reason he was hiding behind every corner he could. Ever since Theron had found Voel and him in the terrace.

A part of him knew he was being foolish. They hadn't been doing anything illegal! It had just been friends doing perfectly, normal, totally platonic hand holding!

It wasn't nearly as shameless as Theron and he had once done.

Yet, he hadn't talked to Theron. Too terrified of the prospect.

What if the taller Irken held this against him? Used it to blackmailed him?

No. No. He shook his head.

Theron wasn't that type of Irken.

Thoughts about his 'mission' to Urth sprung to the forefront of his mind. Tallest Purple had been vindictive or cruel to him nearly every time they interactive.

...or maybe he was.

They weren't bound by the same secretive promise anymore.

Theron wasn't his. Theron didn't know him, he wasn't sure he even knew the taller Irken anymore. If he ever did in the first place.

Who knows what this...stranger would do.

What if the purple eyed Irken let it slip?

Even if he managed to talk some sense into the taller Irken. What would happen if someone overheard them?

Rumors spread fast.

Zim had been avoiding Voel as well. If rumors did get out, it'd be easier to dispel them if they weren't seen together.

Voel would understand...he hoped.

He thumped his head against the wall. Zim tried to reason to himself. Maybe he was just being foolish for nothing!

Voel must've already talked to Theron. They were the best of friends, smeetmates! They would one day rule the Empire together, like they had done in the past.

Surely whatever tension he had seen, had been his ima-

"You're so annoying!"

"So are you!"

Zim ducked further around the corner in order to avoid the spectacle that had appeared down an adjacent corridor.

They had been like this the last few days. It had been getting progressively worse as time went on.

He had tried to ignore it. Surely it was just his mind playing tricks! Overthinking things as usual. This was just a little spat. Friends could have arguments.

Magenta eyes flinched at a crash and the shouts of encouragement from gathering bystanders.

This was his fault wasn't it? He had gotten in the way of their friendship. Theron probably hated him and was taking it out on Voel.

Irk! What should he do?

"That's enough! Break it up! Break it up!" Instructor Voot's voice boomed. "Voel! Theron! You're both on cleaning duty for the next month!"

Zim stayed rooted to his spot, clenching the edge of his tunic tightly. He chanced a peak around the corner. Catching glimpse of matching bruised faces. A grimace appeared, he ducked back before he could be seen.

Voel was a vicious fighter, yet Theron didn't hold his punches either.

Eventually, the commotion grew distant.

His squeedlyspooch twisted uncomfortably.

He didn't like seeing them fight. Not now, not then, not ever. It just wasn't right.

"Are you Zim?"

He was grateful he managed to hide his shock.

Magenta eyes turned to a meek looking Irken about his height with bright ruby eyes. How long had they been there?

Zim had memorized all the names of his classmates. He had thought they deserved that much respect from him at the very least. However, he can't recall this Irken's name. Were they from another class? What could they want with him?

His fingers twisted his tunic tighter in terror.

Was it about Voel and him? Had Theron told!

He lets go his tunic, smoothing it out before putting his hands behind him to hide his tremor.

"I am." He says with as much confidence as he can muster. Face not portraying the storm of emotions underneath.

If they brought up his supposed relationship, he would just play dumb. They couldn't prove anything! Just a bunch of hearsay!

"Hi! I'm Rig! Umm...I was wondering..."

His eyes narrowed.

Here it was!

Deny! Deny! Deny!

Rig must have seen his scepticism. The red eyed Irken immediately rushed out his request.

"I-It's just that I heard you're the best in the academy! I am not very good with tests. I was...just hoping you would be willing to teach me. But...if you don't want to...I understand." A sad sigh left Rig.

The other Irken looked pitiful. Voice growing softer with each word. It tugged at Zim's cardiac-spooch strings.

So that's what this was about. Rig just needed help...

A weight started to lift from his shoulders.

...and he had came to Zim!

He'd be lying if he said it didn't stroke his dead ego a little.

"You need a mentor?" He asked.

It was like a lightswitch. "Oh! You'll do it! That's fantastic!" Rig said excitedly. Getting a little too close for his personal comfort.

Zim was in too much of shock to properly rebuff the happy Irken.

Although he supposed it did give him a proper excuse to avoid those two now.

======================= (Planet Irk: First timeline. Capital city: Emperor's palace, Tallest chambers)

Theron ducked behind a sofa. "You're overreacting!"

"I'll show you overreacting you little blasnit! Smeet of a glazzo! Qrooza!"

Theron poked up. "Wow, that's harsh Voel, even for you. I'm hurt." He said with a nervous smile, trying to diffuse the situation. "What if the servants here you? What kind of example are you sho-Argh!" The purple tallest quickly ducked back down to avoid a laser shot.

======================= (Academy dormatries: Voel and Theron's Dorm, Theron's POV)

He poked at a particularly nasty bruise. "Stupid Voel!" Theron hissed over the sound of water. At Least it was already starting to heal.

"That idiot just won't listen to reason." He whispered to himself, shutting the sink off. Theron huffed as he stepped out of the cleansing room. Purple eyes scanned their dorm.

Voel hadn't returned yet. Probably at one of the training room, blowing off steam.

Another huff left him. They were on cleaning duty for the next month. He hated cleaning!

He didn't want to deal with this. If Voel would just listen to him for one second! "Ugh!" His hands turned to claws.

Constant fighting day in, day out. He knew Voel was stubborn, but this younger one made him want to rip his antenna out.

Why couldn't Voel just understand! Theron wanted to move forward too, but they had to be careful. One wrong move and they'd just wind up back on the same track as before. He refused to let that happen again.

This chance was worth too much to get ruined by recklessness.

They were getting closer to danger with every cycle. Graduation was so close. It wouldn't be long after that...they would meet them for the first time. Theron couldn't let any of them go through that again. He might even need to do the unthinkable...

His partner was becoming far too transparent with his feelings.

What if the control brains noticed?

What if someone else had been the ones to catch Voel and Zim that day?

If they figured it out again- No! He didn't even want to think of that.

Both of them had been so careful in the past to keep it hidden. He had thought they had been anyway. Until Theron had slipped up, letting his selfish desires take over.

At Least Zim was doing a good job at keeping his distance. Although he wasn't sure if he should be greatful or not.

It made his squeedlyspooch twist.

Theron had glimpsed the smaller Irken peeking around corners. Always being the first to rush out of whatever room they walked into. Magenta eyes once again filling with panic when they met. Whatever trust Voel had built up was now ruined for both of them.

They were right back to square one.

Zim was afraid of him, that much was obvious.

It hurt.

Voel wasn't pleased about it either. Furthering the divide between them. The red eyed Irken's resolve only seemed to grow stronger.

A small part of him was jealous. Voel could always hold his head up so high, unlike him. Theron could never say what was lay within his cardiac-spooch.

Just like he couldn't in the past.

Voel on the other hand was so unafraid. Quick to rush into whatever danger lay ahead without hesitation.

Maybe that's why Zim liked Voel more than him. But, Theron had always been selfish. Waiting until the time was right, for him to make a move.

He'd been among the cosmos once.

If only he had said something then. Would it have made a difference? What would Voel have done?

If hadn't been for them...if they could've stayed right where they were at...maybe Zim could have been...

He sighed.

It doesn't matter anymore. He has a goal, he intends to see through. Even they won't be able to stand above him.

Voel and him had been the tallest rulers in nearly 10,000 cycles. He would change the rules this time.

He could've changed the rules.

If they hadn't messed with-

Theron took a deep breath to calm himself.

His body suddenly felt heavy.

The weight of exhaustion was finally catching up to him. Constant paranoia and fighting was doing a number on him.

He hadn't been eating like normal either. It was taking a toll. A nap sounded good right about now.

He scrubbed at one eye.

Why couldn't things just go back to normal?

He just wanted to be friends with Voel again...and Zim too.

A yawn threatened to leave him.

Sure it was a bit early, but class was over and most were enjoying leisure activities right now. It would be the perfect time to enjoy the peace. Before Voel came back and they invetably got into another fight.

He flopped onto his bed without care. Hissing in pain as something poked him sharply in the side side.

Theron shifted enough to pull it out. "Oh right." He flipped the book over.

He hadn't yet returned Zim's book.

A finger ran over the lettering of the book.

He'd read it cover to back. It was pretty boring, but it interested Zim. He had thought he had known everything about the magenta eyed Irken.

Maybe he didn't know anything about Zim at all.

The differences had been jarring when he had come to. It still felt unbelievable. Anyday here, he would wake up. Back on the massive. Back before he'd been...

He rubbed at his eye from phantom pain. ---------

As a future medic, he had been able to go to the med-ward for training. Only patients were allowed to enter. All other access had been limited or outright denied. It was like it was on lock-down. Not that it was his business. He was still learning the ropes. Maybe this was just normal procedure.

There was only one thing he wanted to really know anyway.

Theron didn't know why he cared so much. Sure Zim was probably the prettiest Irken he'd ever seen, with deep magenta eyes that looked light pink when the light hit them just right and an infectious laugh and-

He leaned over an Irken trying to focus on the task at hand.

It was just the nature of Zim's injury. That's why he was worried. It was normal for a future medic to care. It's not that he was worried if Zim had di-

Don't think about it Theron. Focus!

"Now Theron, to perform a dressing, clean the wound with the Ns-3400 and gauze, apply the med-gel 9000 and secu- Yes, just like that. You're getting the hang of it already!” Mill congratulated.

"Does this mean I can leave now?" A smaller irken asked. Inspecting their new bandages on their forearm.

"Make sure to check out with Kit at the front desk."

The smaller Irken nodded as they jumped down from the examination chair and skipped away.

Theron watched them go before he turned to the head medic. "Medic Mill-"

"Just Mill is fine." Theron bit his tongue, there was no way he could call a superior by just their name!

He needed to know.

"Umm...Zim...is he okay?" Nobody had heard anything since that day.

Mill's smile twitched.

His antenna flattened. "So it's true-"

"No! No." A heavy sigh left her as a pained expression appeared. "Zim is...alive."

"He is! Then can I see him! We're..uh...classmates." He quickly added.

Mill held up her hands. "It would be best if you didn't. Zim is in a...delicate condition right now. For his recovery its best if he isn't overwhelmed."

"Delicate? His PAK, how bad was it?" Irken's that had been disconnected with their PAK for more then ten minutes would die. Zim's had not only come off, but had severely injured him as well.

"You needn't worry! The control Brains themselves have called a PAK technician from the Capital." Mill tried to comfort.

He blinked at the explanation. The control Brains were helping! "Then Zim will be fine. Do you know wh-"

"MILL! Were going to need your help here!" Gig ran into the training room. A few distant screams could be heard.

"What happened?"

"Smeets and mines." Was Gig's only explanation.

Theron followed after the two veteran medics towards the entrance of the reception room. A group of smallers awaited them. All in various states of disaster.

Kit was already dressing the wounds of some. Gig quickly joining in.

"Is there anything i can do to help?" Theron asked, standing awkwardly to the side. He grimaced as Sig, another of Mill's medics reattached an arm of one of the worst off smeets.

"I appreciate it, but we should have it handled. Go back to the training room for now dear. We'll continue in a moment." Mill replied, attention already turning to her newest patients.

It was going to be a long day.

Theron headed back into the med-ward towards the training room. When an idea hit him.

He looked back in the direction of the reception room. The sounds were distant. Mill and the others would be occupied for awhile.

It wouldn't hurt to take a peak. Just enough to calm his aching cardiac-spooch.

Finding the room had been a bit difficult. It had been all the way in the back of the ward. One last look around to make sure he was alone. He slipped into the room without a second thought.

A single patient room. It was far too dark and quiet. Only the small blinking and dull whirl of machinery filled the room. A pink glow, brightened and dull slowly behind a curtain.

He stepped carefully into the room further. Catching what sounded like breathing. A low and slow, slight raspy noise. As if they were struggling to breath. It made his antenna stand straight up.

A bed lay against the center of one wall. Wires and small tubes coming out from underneath a curtain that surrounded it.

He gulped. Why are you hesitating? Just go for it, Theron!

He'd been unprepared for what lay behind the curtain.

Wires and tubing everywhere. He could just barely make out Zim's form underneath it all. Once bright green skin was almost completely grey. Dark circles and slightly gaunt face. Zim's breath was ragged, as if he'd stop any second.

He looked like when Voel and him had sentenced him to death.

Wait, what? When had he sent-

"Ah!" He clutched his head in pain, dropping to his knees.

The influx of memories from his past life had quickly overwhelmed him.

Wide eyed and gasping for breath. He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the floor as everything eventually returned to focus.

Theron got to his feet with a blank look, walking up to Zim's bedside.

A surge of anger overtaking him briefly. He grabbed at the cord to life support.

Zim! Greatest defective of the Empire. Murder! Killer of tallest! One of his best friends. His first lo ...Stop!

what are you doing!

Theron covered his face with his hands in horror. What was he doing? What in the void was he doing!?

He stepped back from the bed, his legs starting to feel weak.

Zim, the one he'd fallen for twice. The one he had been forced to forget. Zim wasn't at fault. No, no! It had been...

Chaos vs order, loud vs quiet, willful vs docile. This wasn't even the same Zim as his past. Zim hadn't done anything wrong.

What was wrong with him? Theron felt sick with himself.

The curtain was pulled back into place. Mill's kind face appeared before him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him from the room.

"This is what I didn't want you to see..." -------

He'd thought Zim was holding back at first. That the other had known about their shared past as well.

However, with each passing day. He wasn't so sure. They were strangers and it seemed Zim wanted to keep it that way.

Perhaps, this was just how Zim was always meant to be. It was odd to think about.

He missed Zim's energy.

Theron wanted to bring it up. A part of him had to know. To know that he wasn't the only one. That he wasn't crazy.

Most of all, that he had a chance to make amends.

What if the spell was broken though? He didn't want Zim to hurt anyone.

What if everything just went back to before? He didn't want to hurt Zim either.

The way those magenta eyes looked at him with fear.

Did Zim really hate him so much in this time? Maybe Zim really did remember their past and still held a grudge?

If he was someone else would Zim like him better?

Sometimes he didn't even feel like himself. He wasn't sure if he even knew who he was anymore.

Theron, the medical elite? The one so deeply in love.

Theron, the Almighty Tallest Purple? The one so numb to the world.

Theron, the smeet starting out in life? The one so new and wide eyed to the possibilities.

Who was even in control anymore?

It was like a never ending tug of war. Sometimes he felt a thousand different ways about something or someone. His reaction that day after the influx, still haunted him. Tallest Purple had never been known for his kindness. It sent shivers up his spine. While a different part of him felt he had been justified. How cruel of an Irken he had been turned into.

Maybe, an entirely new Theron had been born that day. A combination of all that that he had ever been. He's knows his paranoia for one had been amplified

A sigh left him. He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he let himself sink further into the bedding.

Stop thinking about it, Theron! This won't solve any of your problems!

The past is the past.

The arm over his eyes drops to his side.

Purple eyes look with determination up at the ceiling as a thought comes to him.

He wanted to move forward. By the gods in all of the cosmos did he want it.

Purple eyes flicker back to the book by his side.

If Zim wasn't going to come to him. He'd go to Zim.

------------------------------- (Academy- Science classroom: Undetermined time)

Zim leaned back in his chair. Letting out a small sigh as he moved away from the microscope. He scrubbed at his eyes. Thankful, that no one else was able to see his frustration.

Instructor Piek had been all too happy to let him use the room after hours.

'I'm so glad you're thinking of being a scientist Zim! We need more bright minds like you.' Zim still blushes at the compliment.

Despite his determines not to go down this road again, that didn't mean he'd given up on finding a way to deal with his PAK. It just so happened that his best solution at the moment involved science.

There was only so much coding fixes he could do, being so limited on time.

It still wasn't nearly enough. 40 schmillion errors was not smeets play.

Although, he'd be lying if he said a part of him wasn't overjoyed to be behind a microscope again. Just a teeny tiny part though, he tried to convince himself.

Don't let yourself slip up now, Zim!

His oldest memories had shown a time before Irken's had needed a PAK.

That sickness, whatever it was, did it play a role? If he could find a way to combat it, maybe he wouldn't need to worry about fixing his PAK at all.

Sure being PAK-less would be difficult to adjust to, but he thinks he can manage.

He looked over a tablet he'd been putting his findings. Some observation and records of previous medics or scientist. Who had tried their own hands at discovering a cure. However, those records were often brief and lacked the information he wanted. Often consisting of theories more than actual research.

Perhaps the archive may hold what he was looking for. However, he hadn't had the time to go down. Between classes, coding fixes and his new prodigy. He hadn't had much time to himself.

Although he had a mighty need to go down there again! It was calling him!

A small beep from a nearby machine. A few more of his samples were ready.

Later then, he supposed.

There was still so much he had to do.

He was close, he could smell it!

----------------- (Planet Irk: First timeline. Docking station for The Massive)

Theron looked over the crew of The Massive from their private deck. He pulled at the collar of his robes, it was so uncomfortable! Who decided to make the official robes so constrictive anyway? He could barely move, let alone breath in them. If it wasn't for their hover-belts, he'd never be able to move.

He looked over to Voel, who has his arms folded behind his back. Red eyes observing the loading of The Massive for its next voyage with sharp eyes. He could see the tension in the other's jaw.

"You still mad?" He whisper asks.

"Don't talk to me."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Red eyes snap over to him. Voel's antenna folded flat in anger. "You-"

"My Tallest?" Rarl Kove interrupts from the doorway. "The Massive is ready to board at your leisure."

"Oh right! Of course, we'll be down there shortly. Thank you Rarl." Theron says quickly. They needed to maintain a united front.

Rarl's antenna perked. The adviser wasn't sure what had gotten into his Tallest, especially Tallest Purple. Who was...how should Rarl say this...not very nice. Perhaps it was treason to think, but Rarl much preferred his liege like this.

The advisor leaves the room with a small bounce in his step. A purple eye twitched. Their workers had been acting so weird lately.

"We'll talk about this later." Voel hisses as he passes his partner. ----------------- (Academy dormitories: hallway outside Zim's dorm. Weeks later, evening)

Purple eyes peaked around a corner. They narrowed at that unfamiliar Irken from another class.

They had been glued to Zim's side for weeks now. Supposedly they were taking extra lesson from Zim.

Rig, he had learned their name was.

Why did it have to be Zim? Couldn't Rig have chosen someone else. Yeah, Zim was in the top for academics. But, Theron definitely felt that there was more to it.

Rig's behavior was odd. No one save Voel and himself seemed to notice it. As soon as Zim left his dorm in the morning, there was Rig. As soon as Zim left a class, there was Rig. Even as Zim returned to his dorm in the evening, there was Rig. Just like now.

He frowned.

Where did the Irken even find the time? Were they skipping class? It was probably the reason they had such poor test scores. Should he report it?

It's not that he was jealous or anything.

They were just mentor and student. Friends most likely. It's not as if Rig had feelings for Zim, right? Ah! Who was he kidding? It was so obvious.

His frown deepened. Go away!

Rig continued talking to Zim. Asking him the most useless or oddest questions.

How did Zim do this? How did Zim do that? What kind of sweets did Zim like?

What did Zim think of instructor Bid?

huh?

DING!

The first bell signaling curfew cut Rig off.

They would have about thirty minutes until they needed to be back in their dorms.

Between classes, then punishment, arguments with Voel and Zim's own avoidance. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the smaller Irken. He was grateful his punishment was nearing an end at least.

He was glad Voel was occupied right now. He might try to interfere with Theron's plans otherwise. He needed to talk to Zim alone.

The red eyed Irken was in the self training rooms, blowing off steam again. Despite the bad blood between them right now. Voel hadn't hesitated to rant about Rig to Theron for hours. He hadn't minded. It was nice to have Voel talking to him again. Getting his opinion, even if it was just about how to get the other Irken away from Zim.

It was better than them fighting. He missed having his friend. Progress was progress. Smeet steps, he told himself.

Theron figured it would be easiest to catch Zim right before curfew would go into effect. Even if they could only talk for a few minutes.

Still, Theron didn't have much time. Skoodge would surely be back soon. He didn't feel like explaining himself to the more robust Irken. It would still be a few minutes for Skoodge to get back here. He needed to be quick. Then he'd need to rush back to his room before Voot caught him. The last thing he wanted wanted was to draw more of instructor's ire.

No more running. He tucked the book further into his side.

Once Rig is out of sight, he makes his move.

He slipped in the dorm without issue. His eyes scanned the dark of room for Zim. A light tucked into a corner draws his attention. He makes his way over to it. Various shades of pinks, purples and reds sat within a glass box. Plants? They looked like some of the ones in the book.

Where had Zim found those?

His brow scrunched.

The low sound of a sink running, finally reaches him.

Nervousness started to set in.

Maybe he should leave the book here. It was getting late. He can always talk to Zim another day.

The whoosh of the cleansing room door opens.

Zim's startled eyes meet his. He can see fear build in those magenta eyes.

Void!!

Alone in the dark of someone else's room. He probably looked like a creep!

"Wait!" He says as Zim back away from him as he moves forward.

He quickly held out the book. "I..ah...I meant to return this earlier. It's yours, isn't it?"

Zim hesitantly nodded, but did not reach out to take it. Hands gripped tightly in their owner's clothes.

A sign he knew of Zim's own stress.

His antenna flattened. Zim really did hate him.

Setting the book with slow movements onto what he thought was Zim's desk. He couldn't hide his disgust at the uncleanly state of the other one, Skoodge's without a doubt.

Magenta eyes watching him intently all the while.

"I should leave."

-----------

(Zim's pov)

He thought for a moment. "No." Zim needed to know what the other planned. "Why are you here?"

"I just thought I would return your book." Theron rubbed at the back of his neck. Eyes looking anywhere but at Zim.

Magenta eyes narrowed. His hands clenched his sleeping gown tighter. Those were signs of Theron lying.

"That's all?" Zim questioned. He straightened his back.

Be confident Zim! This had gone on long enough.

He wasn't entirely pleased Theron was in his room. Yet, maybe this was for the best.

No one would hear them here.

Skoodge was in the study hall with his friends, they usually waited until last minute to return back to the dorms.

Zim had time.

"Uh...well actually-"

"Whatever you saw in the terrace wasn't what you think!" Zim quickly explained. He didn't want a misunderstanding. Neither was he going to let himself be blackmailed.

"What? That not..."

"I know what you saw was very concerning. What with us holding hands and all...and being alone and...you..you see w-what was actually happening was..." Zim trailed off.

Oh Irk, how did he explain this! He was just digging a deeper hole for himself at this point.

"You think i'm going to report you?" Theron's face was blank, his voice low.

Zim gulped but otherwise didn't respond.

A small disbelieving laugh left the taller Irken. "You both really think of me so little."

Theron took a step forward. His back hit the wall.

Purple eyes widen before a hurt expression quickly took over the taller Irken's face.

"I don't want to hurt you." Theron whispered. Taking a few steps back.

"Why are you here then?" He asked again.

"I..." Purple eyes looked conflicted. "Voel likes you..."

Both are shocked by the statement.

"Wh- I mean...it's just." Theron tried to explain. "I like you too."

"W-What?" This was some kind of trick right? Anger starts to boil within him.

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

(Theron Pov)

What in the void was he saying!

Magenta eyes are wide as they look at him.

"I just want what you two have." He can't stop! He's sure his face must be entirely blue from blushing so hard.

Theron! You're making a fool of yourself. Stop!

"You're lying." Zim's low voice says.

"I'm not! It's true, for the longest time I ha-"

"You're lying!" Zim says louder. A look of anger taking over the smaller Irken's face.

Theron comes to the sudden realization.

He's messed up.

What did he do now?

"Zim..."

"Do you think this is a game! Is that what you're doing? Both of you...You're both in on it aren't you! You're trying to make a fool out of ZIM!" The magenta Irken had taken a more aggressive stance. Hands balled into tight fists. Eyes blazing a bright pink with fury.

"No! That not how it is!" His defense falls on deaf ears.

"You're lying! Liar!" The other's rage was too much, he had to defend himself as Zim rushed at him.

Theron knew despite the other's small stature, how much damage he could inflict. Zim was a deadly fighter.

Yet, Theron held the smaller Irken's sharp claws away from his face with little effort as they struggled.

The shorter Irken's wrists felt so small. Had Zim always been this frail? Or maybe his training was actually paying off! He thinks happily on that last bit.

His smile is misinterpreted by the smaller Irken. Magenta eyes flashing.

"I won't let you use me again!"

He grunted at a harsh kick to his shin, letting go of the other as he faltered from it. Before he could regain his balance, Zim had tackled him.

Thankfully his back had found the softness of a bed.

They wrestled further on it. Zim wouldn't listen to reason. Only calling Theron a liar and a host of other things that made him blush from the root of his antenna.

Finally he was able to flipped them for the last time, managing to pin the other down. At least Zim hadn't started using his PAK, he's not sure he'd survive that.

Zim continued to buckle beneath him.

"Let me go!"

"Just, just let me explain!" He said desperately. A bead of sweat running down his face.

Why won't anyone just listen to him!

Magenta eyes narrowed.

"Ugh!" He grunted as the other's only loose leg, kneed him in the side. Luckily the odd angle didn't loosen his grip, but void!

Zim may have not been as strong as he remembered, but the other wasn't as frail as he looked either.

That still hurt!

"By the gods, Zim! Would you just listen to me for one second!" He throws his other leg over Zim's, pinning all of the smaller Irken.

Eventually Zim stopped struggling. Sounds of both their heavy breathing filled the room.

"L-Let me go." Magenta eyes were wet.

Purple eyes suddenly widened as they realized their position.

Theron immediately released the other's hands, moving off of the smaller Irken to give him some space.

Zim moved up to the head of the bed, curling into himself. Magenta eyes never moving from his form. Zim rubbed at his wrists.

Void, didn't that make him feel like a blisnit

"I'm sorry." Was the quiet apology. Zim twitched.

Void! He really...really messed up now.

"I'm not lying." Zim opened his mouth, most likely to call him a foul name yet again. "I'm not, really!"

Was it such a hard thing for Zim to believe? Yes, their society looked down on relationships. Yes, it was risky, but Theron was willing to take that chance. Wanted to take the chance, that he had denied himself, so long ago. Would things have turned out differently?

Afterall, Zim and him had once...

Consequences to the void! Soon he'd be the one in charge, he could make the rules!

If he could just take out that Irken first...

Yet, the smaller Irken seemed to respond to Voel's advances well. It was just Theron then, that Zim just didn't like. That seemed to be the ever growing case. They didn't know each other here. Zim wasn't his. They were strangers. He'd thought they had something in the past. Maybe the only reason why, was because Zim had been broken.

That was the only way he'd ever give Theron a chance.

The thought makes his cardiac-spooch clench painfully.

A deep breath left the magenta eyed Irken. Drawing Theron's attention back to the other.

"How do I know what you're saying is true? How do i know you're not just trying to get me labeled a deviant, or even a defective!" Zim hissed.

"You're not defective! I wouldn't do anything to get you sentenced a-!"

Theron quickly bit his tongue.

Wide magenta eyes met his. "Ther-"

The whoosh of a door. Both heads snapped to it.

"Uhhh?" Skoodge said as he entered the room. They could hear the ding of the curfew bell behind him.

Theron wasted no time in tactifully retreating.

Notes:

Information dock/charging station: The control Brains do not actually know what happens 24/7 for every Irken.

-Thus they use these pods, under the guise of software updates/charging station for PAKs to tell them of any important information. They mostly rely on Irken's themselves to keep one another in line.

Core/Memory Core: The heart/soul of an Irken, buried deep within a PAK. No one is entirely sure what it is, beyond that it is essential for Irken's to live and PAKs to function.

-Paks after death are often collected and reset/reprogrammed for the next iteration. Destroying the core is considered the ultimate death sentence. -Tampering with another's core is the highest offense, resulting in death of both biological Irken and their core and complete wipe of their legacy from the collective. -Damage to the core may result in insanity.

Healing/regeneration: An Irken's ability to bounce back from dire wounds varies between each Irken.

-(Uncommon/Rare)

They heal incredibly fast from bruises and minor wounds. Sometimes within a day. Some are capable of attaching or regrowing limbs and organs (Not including brain or heart). So long as it wasn't a lethal kill or extreme damage. They may regain complete control of these limbs/organs without any scaring. However they may sometimes suffer nerve damage if the wound was extensive enough. Removing their Pak, or destroying their heart or brain is usually the best way to take them out. They can often be found in combatant roles to make the best use of their abilities.

-(Bulk of the species) Other Irken may likewise do all of the above, to various lesser extents. They are a bit more susceptible to damage. The same wound may kill them, but the above may walk away from it. For bruises or minor wounds, it may take only a few (1-3) day(s) to heal. They scar, but typically only when they receive extensive damage. It is rare for them to lose a limb completely, but not entirely unheard of.

-(Uncommon/Rare) The ones with the least amount of this ability, are most similar to humans. For bruises and minor wounds it can take anywhere between days to weeks to heal. If they lose a limb or organ, that's about it. They scar way easier than the rest of their species. They are typically delegated to non-combatant roles due to this fragility.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER:  https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/643864749327745024/invader-zim-infinite-ch7

NEXT CHAPTER:

[dearlazerbunny]

Let it Go (Ch. 2 of ?)

Pairings: platonic avengers team x reader, potential background loki x reader

Words: 3000

Genre/Ratings: -WARNINGS- there will be an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt by reader- chapter will be explicitly marked in advance. Drug (pills) and alcohol abuse, lots of negativity and self loathing. There will be an arc, but said arc is going to start in the eleventh circle of hell and inch up from there.

Summary: *not far enough into this one to give an accurate summary, so this’ll have to be updated eventually. enjoy for now!*

He had just gotten used to the noise.

When he first woke up, it felt like he was suffocating him- always there, always cars honking and lights flashing and music playing and people going about their lives- the city that never sleeps. Someone told him that, he forgets who. He figured out what they meant the second he stepped outside for longer than a minute.

 Now there’s just the wind stirring up dust, and occasionally toppling over a loose pile of debris. City workers push brooms along the street, trying to clear a path. Machines groan and creak as they haul away pieces of the city- days ago, that window was hundreds of feet in the sky- like its nothing. Another day. Just a little quieter than usual.

 t’s hard to believe, even though he has the scars on his shield and healing bruises on his ribs to prove the aliens did, in fact, try to invade New York and take over the planet. Led by a god. And then he’d teamed up with another god- he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d never been particularly religious, but Bucky was- the insufferable bastard Stark, two assassins and a green giant and became an Avenger of planet Earth.

 This wasn’t what he signed up for in 1941. Nazis or aliens, punching them in the face still uses the same muscles. Metal torsos don’t have quite as much give against the knuckles though.  

 He wanders the streets with no real purpose in mind, other than helping out with lifting here and there where needed. The war roars to life in the back of his mind, overlayed with the eerily calm day. His eyes mark the battle: here, where he launched Nat into the air, her dry words echoing in his ears; here, where Thor had very efficiently covered his back. Here, where for the second time in his life he watched a man who didn’t deserve to fall hurdle towards the ground.

 And here- something happened here. His feet remember even if his mind doesn’t- they’ve stopped in the middle of the road. He squints, resisting the urge to cough on a cloud of dust that gets kicked up in his face. Something… his shield, doing far greater damage than his fist ever could, and then someone… screamed?

Her. A girl, in the middle of the road, eyes sunken and skin so taught and paperwhite he’d wondered if the ghosts of this battle were already coming to haunt him before it was even done. She’s screamed at him to duck, and her voice was so raw it triggered something in the back of his brain from basic training and caused him to hit the ground before he fully knew what he was doing. Something had flown over his head- he could hear it cutting through the air- a thunk, a screech that would likely be added to his rotating litany of nightmares- then nothing, save the battle raging behind him. A Chitauri he assumed he’d missed lay twitching on the ground just inches from his neck, and sticking from its chest- ice. Solid ice. So cold that his gloved hand still recoiled when he reached out to touch it.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The girl’s face had been a roulette of emotions- a hint of pride, a darkly sarcastic flicker of her lips, and then her eyes widened and- fear. He watched her watch him, clenching and unclenching her fists. By the time he had opened his mouth to call out to her, she was gone, leaving only a trail of what looked to be frost on the ground before she disappeared around a corner- and something that slipped out of her pocket, jostled from her sweatshirt as she made her getaway.

He didn’t have time to think about her after that. A second later, his comm had crackled to life in his ear, and Stark started barking instructions, and Captain America had straightened his spine and grabbed his shield, and got back to where he was needed.

Steve Rogers, though, still has her tucked in the back of his mind.

The frost is still on the ground. Not as white as it had been, but a few grains of ice still cling to the cracks in the pavement. Strange. Magic? After everything he’s seen the past few days he wouldn’t be surprised. He follows the trail, irrationally hoping she’ll still be tucked behind an overturned car or crumbling building corner.

She isn’t. But there is a neon orange bottle tucked amongst the wreckage, and as he reaches for it he has a flash of memory of it falling from your pocket as you run. The contents rattle. A prescription bottle- like the ones medical gives him never get touched and sit collecting dust in a corner of his closet. Neat rows of print declare it Klonopin, 0.5 mg. Take once a day at bedtime, take an additional half as needed. Ingest with food. In the upper left corner is a name and address and phone number- Christian Heysworth.

The girl in the sweatshirt doesn’t strike him as a Christian. He should probably drop the bottle- it’d never be noticed among the rest of the chaos- and walk away. Worry about his own life and his own mess.

He tucks the bottle into his pocket. It might be a place to start.

…

The knock on her door is crisp and succinct, with no room for error. A soldier’s knock. She knows who it is before she turns the lock, because Clint doesn’t bother knocking anymore. When the door opens, she tries not to look as tired as she feels. “Captain.” It’s an easy acknowledgment, and it gives him time to categorize the healing gash on her cheekbone, covered with a butterfly bandage; the bruise blossoming on her collarbone that peeks just far enough above the neckline of her shirt to be seen. She doesn’t need the attention, but he needs a reminder that not everything is different since the forties. Same soldiers, different decade. Despite herself, the corner of her lip flicks up in the tiniest hint of appreciation. It has been a while since someone’s cared. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

Interesting. “With?”

“Something stupid, most likely,” His voice is just sheepish enough to believe him. From his pocket, he pulls an orange bottle identical to the ones SHIELD’s psych department keeps prescribing her and the ones she keeps using for target practice.

Oh. Something deep in her chest softens and clenches all at once. She knows these questions all too well. “Cap. If you need help with- well. I can try my best, but I doubt I’m the best person to-”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, these- they aren’t mine.” He hands the medicine over and she appraises it with a practiced eye. Klonopin, schedule IV drug in the United States, dose as low as one milligram to sedate an average adult male within forty-five minutes, effects greatly compounded by alcohol- “I, um. I’d like to track down the owner.”

Her brain is humming. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s a long story.”

Wordlessly, she steps aside, letting him in. “I didn’t have much to do tonight.”

Eventually, there are cups of tea in front of both of them, though she’s only taken a sip and Steve hasn’t touched his at all. He tells her about the girl who leaves frost on the ground in the middle of Manhattan and saves him with a spear made of ice. From the way he speaks, its almost like he isn’t quite sure if she was real or not- just a ghost or a very strange guardian angel. It’s bizarre, but not even on her top ten list of bizarre things in this week alone.

“So. I want to… thank her, I suppose?” He laughs without mirth. “I’m not really sure.”

“Think she’s enhanced?”

“Hopefully not by force.”

It doesn’t even bother her, anymore, the implication. Her breathing becomes more controlled on instinct. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t think about it. “Let’s hope. Is she on anyone’s radar? SHIELD?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to check. And if I did, I don’t have anything to go on.”

Natasha glances down at the bottle of pills. But there is Christian Heysworth. She reaches under the couch cushion she sits on to produce a laptop from the gap. It’s wafer-thin and high tech enough that pulling up something as inane as Facebook looks categorically ridiculous. There’s a few Christian Heysworths, but they’re quickly narrowed down by what little information she has. “Christian Heysworth: junior at NYU, frat boy, wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a couple of DUIs under his belt paid off by someone in his family-” she glances up, sharp cheekbones illuminated in blue light. “What?”

“I just… what are the odds he’d be in SHIELD’s databases…?”

“Hardly, Cap. Behold the wonders of the internet. So, are we wringing his neck, or were you thinking something more subtle?”

She says it to get a rise out of him and is rewarded by an aghast expression. “I just need to ask him some questions, Natasha, not-” he stops when her quiet smirk lifts a little of the weight from her eyes and laughs with her. “Fine. But I’m doing the talking.”

...

Natasha Romanov has infiltrated thirty-seven countries in as many or more disguises and has never been caught. She is failing miserably at attempting to camouflage Captain America into a generic civilian. There aren’t enough sunglasses and baseball caps in the world to make him a more manageable height and physique, and his t-shirt- at least two sizes too small for him- attracts the eyes of every wannabe pro sports player and every girl and guy hanging off of their arm. Honestly, they expect her to work in these kinds of conditions? Thankfully pulling her top a little lower and batting her eyelashes nets her enough information to direct her to her “absolutely earth-shattering one-night stand.” They climb stairs in a dorm hall that could be nicer than some of the floors in Stark Tower. She has the urge to crack the tile with something sharp.

Heysworth opens his door in boxers and smoke still on his breath. Heavy-lidded eyes barely focus on her face. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

Steve comes up behind her. “Christian Heysworth? I’d like to have a word with you, son.”

“I didn’t do nothin’.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Steve’s blue eyes are cool when he takes off his aviators; primly folds them and hangs them on the collar of his shirt. “Recognize this?” He holds out the prescription.

“Uh, I didn’t really-” Heysworth stops. Belches. Squints up at Steve. “I- wait. Wait, holy shit, you’re fucking Captain America! Holy shit man, I can’t even-”

As he rambles, Steve looks over to Natasha, who shrugs. “You must have one of those faces.”

Captain America holds up a hand to the kid’s face. “Just answer the question, son.”

“I, yeah, okay, um-” he turns the bottle over in his hands. “Shit, is this what that bitch stole from me?”

“Language. Who stole from you?”

“I met up with some chick downtown who wanted to buy them, but then those freaking aliens started coming and I- you didn’t hear it from me though, ‘kay?”

Steve sighs. “Do you know her name?”

“Nah, chat rooms and shi- stuff. Sorry. I have her screen name?”

He agrees to trade for a selfie with the Captain, which Natasha promptly deletes as soon as he hands over his phone, transferring data to her own. “She’s communicating from this address,” she murmurs, showing Steve the area it triangulated before wiping that information too. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, are you-”

Steve neatly closes the door in his face. “I don’t think he looked at your face once.

Oh, Steve. What a pure soul. “To be fair, I don’t think anyone has been looking at yours either.”

Their trail leads them to the backstreets, to an alley so covered in grime it looks like the whole place should be condemned. And many of the buildings are- covered in caution tape, stairwells crumbling, and fire escapes rusted over. Wind whistles through shattered windows. Foundations are rotting. And yet there are a few minuscule signs of life- a door that’s scraped the ground so many times there’s wear on the concrete, a few piles of garbage here and there. “She’s off the grid.”

“Can’t be right. She was a kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty-”

“You do what you have to.” She gives him a look. “You know that.”

His face goes stony. “Let’s just find her.”

Natasha sets off in one direction, Steve in the other. They both know how this works. It’s a practiced dance. Search the bottom floors first, find faults in the buildings and stairwells so you can avoid them the next floor up. She picks a lock that has managed to stay fast despite rusting over, he leverages himself through a windowsill strong enough to hold his weight. Eerily silent save for scraps of trash and the skittering of mice. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the construction in midtown, slowly shoveling away.

Steve’s mark is almost laughably easy to find. There’s a door tucked in a second-level corner whose seams are iced over three inches thick.

Her boots crunch in frost spilling out from under a crack in the door. She punctures the air with a bird call, and seconds later Steve rounds the corner. He reaches down to run a finger through the snow. “it looks the same.”

“Do you want to do the honors then?” He tests the knob once, twice- the metal doesn’t even rattle, it’s too frozen solid. He opts to kick it in with a well-placed boot, wincing at the sound of ice cracking and then shattering into shards.

The apartment is empty. There’s a table along the far wall stacked with a few cardboard boxes to use as makeshift shelves. Packets of potato chips are shoved in one alcove, a few granola bars in the other. Empty soda bottles litter the floor. The table itself is mostly covered with alcohol: a whole skyline of glass bottles glinting in the light from the newly busted door. Some are empty, some are half full, a few have broken necks. An inspection of the crooked drawers attached underneath reveals nothing but a junkyard of pills, none of which are prescribed to the same person more than twice.

Natasha opens a few of the safety caps, rattling them like a scientist with an interest. “There’s enough in here to put even you to sleep.”

“Is she here? She would’ve heard the door.”

“Maybe.” A door leads off to a molding bathroom and a small hall closet. The next, a makeshift bedroom. A grimy mattress sits in the corner, covered in blankets so dirty there’s no telling what the print of them might’ve once been. There’s also a girl. She’s curled up in the center, drowning in layers of hoodies and sweatshirts. The second Natasha steps in the room she can see her breath. Another step in and the air feels like home. Whatever water was in the air has crystallized and fallen to the ground in a tiny hailstorm, surrounding her like a halo.

She also doesn’t move.

The spy moves with ruthless efficiency, ignoring the cold as she kneels by the mattress. Too many layers. Can’t even see if she’s breathing. She tugs her sleeve up over her fingertips before beginning to shove aside tangled hoods and t-shirts, digging for the collarbone.

“Natasha?”

“Here. She’s almost-” she cuts off with a hiss of pain, wrenching her fingers back like she was bit.

“What-?” the girl is still sleeping. Steve only spares her a glance before taking Natasha’s hand in his, checking for damage. There’s no blood, no broken skin. But the tips of her fingers are white and hard, paler than normal and cold to the touch. He recoils on instinct. “Frostbite.”

Natasha is muttering low in Russian, tapping her fingers together to move the blood, and Steve is momentarily taken back to a plane going down in the middle of an endless ocean surrounded by walls of blue. No going back, only going under, and nothing waiting for him but frost and ice and cold-

“Steve!” He blinks. Natasha’s face swims back into focus. “Get out. Contact the tower. We can’t move her like this and she needed medical yesterday.”

“I’m fi-”

“No, you’re not. I can handle this. Russian, remember?” She tries to give him a small smile. He doesn’t return it. “Get out and coordinate removal. That’s an order.”

Orders, some primeval part of Steve’s brain can understand. He turns and hopes he doesn’t run from the apartment, not even bothering to navigate the stairs- just jumps over the balcony to land in the courtyard below, chest heaving. Unconsciously, he glances in a nearby piece of glass, ensuring his breath isn’t fog. He isn’t cold. He isn’t. He’s fine.

He isn’t thinking when he puts a beacon out for JARVIS to trace. He isn’t flexing his fingers to make sure they can move. He isn’t drowning. He isn’t on ice. He isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’t-

In the apartment, Natasha swears and wrings her hand as pins and needles race down her arm. She’s handled plenty of frostbite, but it never gets easier. The girl is still unconscious, heartbeat dangerously slow. Whatever she put in her system, she meant to knock herself out for a long time. Or worse.

And Steve is on the verge of a panic attack and if your heart stops she can’t perform CPR, so she sits on the edge of your mattress blowing on her fingers as you keep causing the air around you to quietly freeze and fall, a tiny secret twinkle of ice in the middle of New York.

[inkribbon796]

Six [Ate] Ain’t Seven Ch. 1: Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Summary: The anomaly demands resolution, and it will not be denied.

A/N: No story has fought me like this one. Even the Time Warp with its multiple timeline garbage didn’t fight me like this one did. This one was supposed to come out in September of LAST YEAR.

Me: No Host, we are doing this, this thread has to be tied up.

Host: But consider making all the apprentices toddlers for a day, instead of writing this?

Me: . . . *thinks about toddler Ranboo and writes that down* . . . that’s a really good idea but we’re strapped for time with this arc and we’re still doing this.

Host: It was worth a shot.

Chapters: 1, 2

It happened infrequently, a tear in the fabric of reality would appear somewhere in Egoton, and the Host would race to correct it before it spread and began destroying things.

The important part was keeping the tear away from the anomaly. It would cause even more problems for the Host, only these problems would only be more obvious to everyone else. And the Host was desperate to keep Dark from noticing the tear. It would ruin everything.

So, the Host wanted to fix the error in the story he was safeguarding, and so he brought himself to the Sides’ home one morning. His arrival timed perfectly.

The Host used his narrations and aura to ring the doorbell.

It took a minute or two for the door to open and to his great fortune, Patton was the one to open the door. He was overly cheery, the epitome of a morning person.

“Oh, Host,” Patton recognized in surprise, glancing around to see if anyone was out and about in the morning. “Come on in.”

“The Host merely wanted to bring something to Morality’s attention,” the Host told him. “If he could meet the Host outside of Dark’s warehouses, but not directly in the parking lots, the Host would greatly appreciate it.”

“O-Okay,” Patton looked back nervously into the hallway of his home.

“Is everything alright?” Logan called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s just Host,” Patton called back. Then he turned back to the Host. “I’ll just get the guys and we’ll—”

“The Host would prefer if just Morality accompanied him,” the Host corrected. “Time is of the essence and discretion is necessary. The Entity will be none the wise of Morality’s proximity, the Host can ensure his safety from the demon.”

“Oh,” Patton became more uneasy. “I guess . . . yeah . . . just let me suit up and I’ll meet you there.”

“The Host thanks Morality for this, the Host will explain what he can once they are in position,” the Host nodded. “He will also ensure none of the Sides’ neighbors remember seeing the Host.”

And with that the Host disappeared in a flurry of his narrations, his eyes bleeding as he reappeared outside the Entity’s warehouses. The tear insistent on receiving the demon’s attention, but Host used all his power to keep it from doing so.

Patton took some time to reach the rendezvous point, in full costume, but he was alone as the seer had asked. The Host knew that Logan and Virgil were in their own superhero uniforms, not too far away from out of sight from both of them. It was not ideal, but it was the best the Host could ask for.

“The Host thanks Morality for his assistance, he has tried to fix matter on his own, but he has proven unsuccessful,” the Host began before reaching out with his aura and muffling Patton’s communicator before yanking the two of them into the tear in reality as it fluttered again.

Patton gasped as he felt his body trying to alter and change but something held that force back. Everything around the Host and Patton was white and time stopped.

Patton wasn’t sure how long time passed between being pulled into the tear and when he blinked his eyes opened. He thought it was only a second but somehow it seemed impossibly longer.

He was also no longer wearing his superhero costume, but was in a grey and beige three piece suit with a blue dress shirt. His head felt fuzzy, a torrent of memories that felt like his own and someone else’s mixed together in an uncomfortable slurry.

He gasped for air, realizing that he’d been holding his breath.

“The Host apologizes,” the Host said, his bat in hand, still looking like his normal self. “The Host would not have involved Morality if there was any other way.”

“Where are we?” Patton looked around at the white expanse and saw in the distance what looked like a castle, opulent and the color of bone. “Am I dead?”

“No, neither Morality, nor the Host have stopped existing, they have slipped into the In-between,” Host corrected. “Its residents are few and far between, the Host and Morality are simply using it to bridge the gap between realities and fix the Host’s mistakes.”

“What mistake?” Patton glanced around again, the castle seemed to be closer than the last time he’d looked at it.

The seer used his narrations to summon up a thick folder and dropped it right at Patton’s feet.

Immediately the contents spilled out to show it was full of legal documents, childhood drawings and pictures of the emotional Side growing up with a different family.

Patton knelt down to pick up a picture of him, probably ten or eleven, cuddled up next to an equally young Yancy under the shade of a tree. “What? What is this?”

“This is what remains of Patton Elijah Sanders,” the Host said. “Everything the Host could not get, he collected so that no one else could see it. Morality has been resisting the Host’s attempts to correct it further. The Host suspects it is because of sentimentality.”

“I don’t remember any of this, I’m one of Thomas’s Sides, I wasn’t raised with you.” Patton grabbed a picture and mentally paused. “Is this a picture of all of you in little cat onesies? Awww, how cute.”

“Yes, there is a matching picture, without Morality, in a scrap book that is in the Madman’s possession,” the Host answered. “More importantly, the Host made sure no one could remember this reality. He did everything he could to untangle those plot threads. But when the Host first closed the gap he was not as powerful as he is now. He was unsure how to do such a thing, as such there were cracks, seams left unglued. Morality is the only thing left to alter.”

“What happened though?” Patton tried to scoop the file back up, glancing back over to see the white castle was less than a football field away now.

“The Suits were not the first time the Host had used the anomaly to bend the laws of his reality to his whim.” The Host used his aura to help scoop the contents of the folder up and they disappeared into his aura with a few simple narrations. “The Host and Morality used the anomaly very early in the Host’s creation to protect their world. The Actor was too powerful and the Host was too new to protect his family or friends, so the Host and Patton ripped the anomaly from the Actor and used it to change everything. The Host kept altering things bit by bit, trying to buy the city more and more time until eventually they are at the state they are in now.”

“What—” Patton stalled in confusion. “How—”

“The Host could not have done this without Morality’s initial cooperation, but now the anomaly fights the Host’s efforts to completely close that reality. It cares not for its playthings, only for the plot and the joy and suffering that can be wrought from its inhabitants and the Host requests Morality’s assistance once more.”

“O-Okay,” Patton stood up. “I really don’t understand what’s going on, and I’m very confused on what I can do to help, but if it means helping people and saving them I’ll do what I can.”

“That is all the Host asks of Morality,” the Host smiled.

“So what do we do?” Patton looked to see that the castle was the length of two houses away now. “That castle’s getting closer, that’s a good thing, right?”

“No,” the Host answered. “The Host and Morality must locate the anomaly still in the old reality. It is located in Dark’s office because the Host would not have existed at the time to remove it from the Entity’s possession. Then they must leave the warehouses to return back to their own reality.”

“Alright,” Patton agreed. “But surely you don’t need me for that.”

“Morality’s emotional manipulation ability is key to this plan, he is essential for its success,” the Host corrected. “Should Dark arrive back at the warehouse while Morality and the Host are still there, it will be Morality’s job to help distract the Entity.”

“Really don’t like it when people refer to my superpower like that,” Patton cringed. “Makes me feel all icky.”

“Nevertheless, Morality and the Host have to be very careful,” the Host warned. “They can never give in to themselves in this branched reality or it will end in catastrophic failure for everyone. Lunky will cease to exist, and there will be no way to combat the Actor. Everyone will suffer.”

“Oh,” Patton’s eyes widened.

The castle grounds were almost brushing the side of their feet, causing Patton to look over at it in alarm, the Host used his narration to place a hand on Patton’s shoulder to redirect his attention.

The Host tried to smile for Patton’s comfort. “If Morality is ready, then the Host can take them in, the Entity is already removed from his office. They can be in and out in minutes. All they must do is stay quiet and not succumb to who they used to be. They go in, and the instant their feet are out of the warehouses’ parking lots, they are free.”

Patton nodded and the Host pushed them into the tear with his aura and the anomaly, the castle not able to touch them.

[duhragonball]

Vento Aureo Reread, JJBA Ch. 486-507

I’m trying to find spoiler-free images to head these posts, and it’s actually easier than I thought it’d be. 

Previously, the Boss ordered Bruno and his team to take Trish to the train station.   On the way there, Fugo checks out Trish’s titties and feels her up a little. 

I have a hard time reading Trish in scenes like this, because she literally hasn’t spoken since she told the boys what kind of stockings and bottled water to buy her.  You’d think she rough up Fugo like she did Narancia, but I guess she’s not sure how to deal with this situation, since these guys are the only thing keeping her alive right now. 

Anyway, Bruno gets frustrated because he can’t figure out what to do with the key they got in Pompeii, until he realizes it fits into the back of a turtle he finds at the train station.  Turns out the turtle has a Stand, and the Boss left it for them to use as a hiding place.  Let’s take a look at this awesome li’l bastard.

The turtle is officially named Coco Jumbo, and its Stand is called “Mr. President”, although this is never established in the story.   I’m not even sure why the turtle has a name outside of the story.  The only one who knew about it before this is the Boss, and maybe some of his top officers, and I can’t see any of them naming the guy.  The point is that this way our heroes can hide inside the turtle’s Stand while the turtle chills out under the conductor’s seat on the train.   It also poops there.  

I guess the idea with Trish at this point is to try to guess what she’s thinking whenever she reacts to other people’s dialogue.   In this case, I’d say she looks somewhat hopeful at the idea that the Boss would be “kind enough” to help them.  I think it’s safe to assume that Trish is curious about her father, not just because he got her into this mess, but because her mother was looking into the guy before she died.  Maybe Donatella Una wasn’t just researching the Boss for herself, but to satisfy Trish’s lifelong curiosity.

This might also explain why Trish hasn’t had a lot to say to the others.   She copped an attitude when they took custody of her, but that was probably just to make sure they wouldn’t push her around.   Now that she knows they won’t, she doesn’t really have anything else to say, since her principal concern is finding out about her father, and no one else in the room knows anything about him either.  But when Bruno mentions the Boss, even in idle speculation, it catches her interest.  I may be way off on this, but it would make sense for her role in the story.   If Trish was aloof about her father, it would kill the drama of their eventual meeting.

Somewhere during the train ride, four of the group age in a matter of minutes.  This just goes to show that the Boss is as fallible as everyone else in the world of Stand Users.  He seemed convinced that Bruno could hide Trish in a turtle and hide the turtle on a train, and that would foil any attempt to find them, except the Execution Team has just as many bullshit Stands as the other side.    When Pesci can’t find them with his bullshit fishing rod that can find anything except turtles, his brother Prosciutto uses his bullshit Stand, which just ages every living thing on the train.   That way he can just kill or incapacitate everyone on board and search the train at his leisure.  

But wouldn’t that kill Trish, you ask?   You must not understand science.   See, Araki Giorno once read that women have a higher proportion of body fat than men, which makes their bodies slightly more resistant to changes in temperature.  Thus, Prosciutto’s power only ages you if you’re a little bit cooler than the next guy.   Of course, there’s plenty of other women on the train who were affected just as acutely as the men, but... uh... Trish was drinking something cold!  Yeah, that’s it!

What doesn’t make any sense at all is that all six of these kids were inside the same room in the turtle, yet Narancia aged far faster than the rest of them, while Trish didn’t age at all.   On the rest of the train, everyone seems to have aged the same.   And even though Narancia aged extremely quickly, to the point where they’re afraid he’s going to die, somehow he manages to stay alive long enough to survive the longest Stand Battle that I know of. 

Supposedly, Bruno and Mista were aged a little themselves, but they drank some sodas, so they’re still able to fight.    You can’t really tell, though, because it’s a Jojo comic, and Araki can only draw three ages.   Their only chance is for one of them to leave the turtle and kill the Stand User before they die of old age, since there isn’t enough ice in the turtle to stave off its effects.   

DICK HELMET IS ON THE CASE.

Dick, no.... what are you....?

Way to go, Dick.

Back in the turtle, Trish is applying ice cubes to Narancia.   Bruno wants her to save that ice for herself, since protecting her is their mission, but she insists that this is the only way to keep Narancia alive.   Maybe Trish feels bad about Narancia almost getting eaten by a spider when he tried to buy her groceries.  Or maybe the pressure has gotten to Trish and she can’t stand by and say nothing any longer.  

With Mista incapacitated, Prosciutto and Pesci manage to find the turtle, but before they can do anything, they realize Bruno isn’t accounted for. 

Turns out, Mista hid some things in his Dick Helmet helmet: an ice cube and his Stand, Sex Pistols.   Sex Pistols exists as six separate entities, and #5 was next to the ice, rejuvenating it enough to enable it to deflect the bullets Prosciutto fired at Mista’s head. 

Since Mista survived, another one of the Sex Pistols, #6, took an ice cube back to the turtle and gave it to Bruno, filling him in on the enemy’s abilities.   So Mista basically got jobbed out to the bad guys in order to make Bruno look cool when he defeated them by himself.  

Bruno proves to be a match for Prosciutto and Pesci in combat, but Prosciutto’s aging powers are still working on him, and it’ll only get worse as Bruno works up a sweat.   So Bruno decides the best solution is to throw Prosciutto off the train.

This scene ought to look really cool when the anime gets to it. 

Before Bruno can toss Prosciutto, Pesci manages to save his brother with his fishing pole, but Bruno unhooks him and takes his place on the hook.   For a moment, Pesci assumes Bruno was the one who got thrown off the train, but his powers make him very sensitive to whatever’s on his line, so he figures out that it’s not the right weight too be Prosciutto.  

So the problem now is that Pesci’s hook is digging into Bruno’s body, and it’ll get to his heart.    I don’t understand how this is supposed to work.   Of course, the hook is just part of a Stand, and not a real hook, so the rules don’t necessarily apply, but if it can damage Bruno’s heart, why isn’t it hurting his arm as it moves through his body?   Why isn’t it damaging Bruno’s lung as it moves closer to his heart? 

Ultimately, Bruno’s solution is even worse than the problem.  He uses his own Stand to separate his body into pieces, and holds very still so Pesci can’t detect his location(s).   This even means splitting his heart into two pieces so it can’t beat.    Sex Pistol #6 seems worried that Bruno can’t survive for long like this, but I have no idea why he would be able to survive at all.   If Bruno can withstand this sort of punishment, why was he worried about Pesci’s attacks in the first place?

Ultimately, Pesci decides that Bruno must have escaped somehow, so he stops the train, which miraculously shoves all of Bruno’s pieces close enough together that he can reassemble himself.   Pesci then tries to go for the kill, but Bruno doesn’t bother trying to cope with his indestructible fishing line.    Instead, he uses it as a ligature to strangle Pesci, possibly breaking his neck.

I say “possibly”, because even though it looks like Bruno definitely killed Pesci in this panel, the big jerk gets back up and keeps fighting anyway.   Now that I think about it, Pesci didn’t really seem to have a neck.    His head just sort of stuck out of his chest like a big thumb, so maybe that’s how he survived this injury.   Anyway, Bruno finally kills him for real, and the day is saved.

Oh, and Trish has a question:

Turns out Trish can see Stands, and she seems to be manifesting a Stand of her own.   This puts Bruno in an awkward position, because he’s not at liberty to explain all of this.   I guess that’s also why Trish hasn’t been very chatty up to now.   No one would have answered her questions even if they could.   But at this point she’s becoming more and more of a participant in these battles.    She sees the truth as an inevitability.   It doesn’t matter if Bruno tells her or not, because she’s going to find out eventually no matter what happens.

And since no one will fill her in, all she can do is try to think it over herself.   There’s something admirable about this, although I feel like I’m mostly projecting my own interpretation onto the character.   But that seems to be what Part 5 is all about.  

Part 2 is my favorite, and I think one of the reasons for that is because it’s very crystal clear about these kinds of details.   “Battle Tendency” functions as an epilogue to “Phantom Blood”, and it has it’s own epilogue scene where you find out exactly what happened to every character (except Santana, but nobody’s perfect).   I don’t have to wonder why Lisa Lisa did this or that, or what she thought about a particular moment, because the story explained it all in painstaking detail.   

But Part 5 doesn’t do that.   It doesn’t even try most of the time, and I’ve started to see that this is a feature and not a bug.    There’s no point in spelling out Trish’s character arc, because we’ve been there and done that approach with Part 2.  Another writer might have been willing to repeat the formula of Part 2, but Araki didn’t because he’d already written Part 2.    This is something else.   Here, what we mostly get are the other characters wondering about each other’s state of mind, echoing the reader’s sentiment.  

The group steals a car to travel the rest of the way to Venice, while another member of the Execution Team, Melone, uses his Stand to track down Bruno.    Baby Face uses a female victim to generate an automated Stand that can learn and think for itself.   It also has the power to convert living things into inanimate matter. 

Meanwhile, inside the turtle, Trish has to pee, so Bruno uses his powers to create a hole in the floor of the closet FUCK FUCK FUCK I FORGOT HE DID THIS MY FANFIC WHERE THEY GOT STUCK IN THE TURTLE IS RUINED BECAUSE I IMPLIED THAT HE HADN’T TRIED THIS BEFORE FUCK.

Sorry.

Baby Face manages to ambush Giorno and hurt him badly enough that he can’t get help from the others, but Giorno realizes that his powers do the opposite of what Baby Face does, so he figures out how to use Gold Experience to create replacement body parts for the pieces Baby Face removes.   Baby Face’s weakness is that for all it’s intelligence and independence, it’s too immature to cope with the problem of Giorno’s evolving abilities.   It gets frustrated and tries to brute force a solution, and Giorno just finesses the thing until it blows itself up.  

Later, Melone tries to recover from the defeat, only to find that Giorno transformed Baby Face’s dead body into a poisonous snake and sent it back to bite its creator.   Then it changes back to a corpse all by itself, which I think its a first for Giorno.  

I was going to try to keep track of the Execution Team as they appeared in the story, but I think we’re down to only two guys now, so maybe there’s no point. 

“Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows/Everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together”

“Can we change the station?”

“I’m driving, so no.”

“Dammit, Giorno.”

“Brighter than a lucky penny--”

“Shut up, Mista.”

[nilliad]

CH 1. Keep Believing

Word count: 6,258 (I can’t believe it’s this long)

Summary: Based off of this post by @the-light-of-stars as well as this post, this is a remodel of Endless Summer’s Book 3 Chapter 1 (with some elements of 2). I’ve seen that a lot of people weren’t expecting so many off-task scenes/romance scenes in the first few chapters of the book. Some were expecting more action and drama so I am going to try my best to deliver what the people want! 

IMPORTANT: This is still based off of elements in the 1st chapter meaning that there will be scenes that are word for word. The story and characters belong to Pixelberry. 

Although this is technically a JakexMC (Jalen) fic, there are moments with Estela (and will eventually have future moments with) Sean and Quinn. 

So an astronaut, a pirate, and an armored woman walk into a bar…

Wait a minute. That’s not technically right.

So an immortal being wearing a red spacesuit, a pirate, and Jalen run through a rainforest…

What a start of an awful joke. And that’s not even mentioning the blue shaman.

That is what it all felt to Jalen. It was one big, giant joke. None of this should be happening. Yet here they were, running from a time warping volcanic eruption that destroyed the world as they all know it. The only reason how she knew it was a real thing was the waves of heat that sent waves down throughout the rainforest, smothering her and the others in sweat.

The leaves crunched under the weight of Jalen’s armored boots and the shrieks of terrified birds took flight and the smokey haze that had begun to roll over the island further solidified the belief that yeah, this is all real and was the worst joke that Jalen had ever been a part of.

Her friends were missing. Hell, she was missing. After getting to know everyone briefly in the grand scheme of time, Jalen knew in her heart that the gang will be with her forever. And forever right now sucked without them.

Lava from Mount Atropo poured over its slopes, slowly swallowing everything in its path. With the sky blackened by the ash and fire from the volcano, there was one thing that the old shaman knew for sure. In despair, with fear deeply rooted in his voice, he croaked out, “Too late… It’s all too late. Raan’losti has come.”

Jalen wasn’t sure any amount of comforting could heal the shaman and bring him hope. Hope seemed to be so far now, just as far as her friends were.

Yvonne stepped in front of the Endless, gearing up for what appeared to be a face-off. Her eyes were narrowed in anger. “Arrete demon!” She hissed at the Endless. “You told me if I brought you Jalen-“ Yvonne pointed at Jalen, making her back up a few steps, “-you’d give me the Fountain!”

The Endless blinked at Yvonne, somehow keeping her emotions in check despite the world crumbling around them. “The legendary Fountain of Youth, yes.” She nodded her head. “It’s inside the mountain just as you and your fellow pirates believed, but not in the form you’d expect. In any case, I wouldn’t go back there now.”

Everyone turned their heads back to the mountain from which they escaped from. Yvonne clenched her jaw before she eased up, regaining her composure. If she wanted to say something (which she definitely did Jalen figured) Yvonne swallowed it down.

At the summit of the mountain, geysers of lava rocketed into the night sky, consuming the stars from thousands of years ago in ancient constellations no naked eye had ever seen before.

“This is no ordinary eruption,” said the Endless gravely. “This entire island is about to change… just as it did when Rourke tampered with the crux.”

In amidst of all of the chaos, Jalen was supposed to find her friends through a volcanic eruption. And the island itself… Jalen shuddered, but she also wondered if the Vaanti had ever seen such a catastrophe. To answer her question, Uqzhaal announced, “During there last eruption the Vaanti were pulled back hundreds of years…”

“And the world was turned into a primeval hellscape.” Jalen tried to imagine it. She focused on the environment all around her, keeping out the others by her side. She surveyed the area, picturing literally hell on Earth. The ground crackled and popped, streaks of red lava pounded against it to break free. Occasionally, it did, sending surges above the surface like geysers of death. Streaks of white and yellow lightning attacked the surface and a never-ending storm made darkness its ruler.

She blinked and everything was gone. Her mind took the best of her and left her completely dumbfounded. The world right now was like this- dying, turning itself inside and out. It only made Jalen sicker. “Is this going to send everything further into the past?”

Jalen glanced over to the Endless for an answer only she could answer. “There’s no way to know how far-reaching the effect will be yet.” The Endless turned away from the others, making Jalen frown. This was who she was going to eventually become?

Yvonne, silent for the last few minutes, spoke with her voice soft. She approached the Endless, her hand hovering over the spacesuit’s shoulder. Yvonne decided not to. “So you’re saying the Fountain is lost?”

“What you seek can be found to the east,” the Endless replied over her shoulder. “There is another temple on the coast. A place once known as No’ox Naj. Your brother, Patrice-“

A gout of lava crashed onto the nearby slopes. It converged with a stream of molten rock and rapidly flooded down toward the group.

Doubt bubbled up inside Jalen. She shook her head. “Oh god… I don’t think we’re gone survive this.” Instinctively, she backed up further, watching the lava as she moved as if it would lash out at her.

The Endless turned to Jalen with her eyes fueled with intensity. “Listen to me.” Jalen forced herself to pull her eyes off of the lava to stare back at the Endless. “You’re the miracle I’ve waited for. You’re the only one who could keep everyone safe. I need you to recover the Island’s Heart from Rourke. With it, we can preserve La Huerta and protect our friends. Do you understand?”

“I… I-“

Forcibly, the Endless yelled, “Jalen, do you understand?!”

She swallowed, unsure what to make of this plan. All that the Heart has done for her friends was to control Quinn and show them the death of their world, how could it possibly redeem itself? But, despite her doubts, she weakly said “Yes”.

“Good.” The Endless smiled. “Stand back.” She lifted her helmet over her head and secured it on as Jalen and the others took a few paces back. The Endless lifted her arms like she was balancing on a tightrope as she approached the pool of lava. Jalen clamped her mouth, her eyes widening as the Endless struggled to form words. “Go… Find everyone! Find… the Island’s Heart!” And she vanished beneath the rising blaze.

Jalen wasn’t sure if she just witnessed her own death or if the Endless was still alive. She reached out toward her until Yvonne grabbed her wrist, yanking her away. “Laisse tomber! We must go!” Together, the three of them ran through the rainforest, ducking under low branches and jumping over exposed roots.

They reached the summit of a hill where Jalen finally turned around to see the base of the Mountains surrounded by lava.

“We should be safe up here,” Uqzhaal heaved.

He spoke too soon. You could hear it before you could see it. The thunder before the lightning. It was a booming sound, it could have shaken the Earth with its force. Then, the lightning. Several flashes light up the smoky sky, striking the Earth at arbitrary locations.

Gawking up at the sky, Yvonne mumbled, “A storm?”

Uqzhaal too peered up. “Not a natural one…”

Floating orbs of energy appeared high above, exploding into wild arcs of lightning, giving Jalen deja vu from the very first day. The storm. “It’s happening again,” she said with terrified certainty, “just like when we flew in!”

The lightning zapped into the rainforest, grabbing ahold of the surrounding foliage, causing it to ignite. Yvonne shouted a curse in French, bouncing up in surprise as she did so. Uqzhaal began to backpedal from the peak of the hill. “No longer safe! We must move, quickly!”

They took off from the hilltop, Jalen leading them in a fierce effort to get to safety. There was a crackle of splintering wood and a massive tree trunk began to fall toward her. She dived out of the way into the smoking brush. As the tree crashed down, a cloud of sparks and thick smoke billowed out, suffocating her. Jalen coughed roughly, squeezing her eyes shut to keep them from burning. Jalen rolled over, blind, as she crawled her way out of the smoke. After a few moments, she was pulled up from the ground. Yvonne supported her with an arm wrapped around her waist. While squeezing one eye shut and gritting her teeth, Yvonne said, “We’ve got to… keep moving!”

“Where’s Uqzhaal? He was right behind us…”

“On the other side of the tree after it fell. We must hope that he can make it out on his own, he knows the land.”

Together, they moved in unison, helping the other walk further into the forest. In front of them, a series of blue flashes fill the air. Rays of bright blue light streamed from a glowing rift hovering in mid-air. Jalen wasn’t sure what to make of it. “It’s… like a window,” awed Yvonne. “I see a place on the other side.”

Jalen peered up to Yvonne's eyes and they had a mental agreement. “Ah, screw it,” grumbled Jalen as they stepped through the rift. The world shifted around them to be a dusty roomed crammed with furniture and half-packed wooden crates.

“Where do you suppose we are?” asked Yvonne as she pulled away from Jalen to wander through the room.

Jalen went to the table in front of her. She pulled out the chair and sunk into the seat. “No idea,” she sighed, glancing around. “‘When’ might be an even better question.” She bent down from her chair to pick up a crate. Wiping the dust away from the top, it read:

Property of Joseph’s Cantina, British Colony of La Huerta

“It’s got a bunch of old bottles inside. This must’ve been some kind of bar,” she announced, lifting the crate on top of the table. So La Huerta was part of the British Colony, that would be somewhere between the 1600s and the 1700s. Yvonne must have also been part of that time, considering she was a French pirate in the Caribbean when piracy was at its high.

Eyeing the contents of the crate, Yvonne selected a wine bottle. She pulled it out of the crate. She unsheathed her dagger and prepared to pop out the cork.

Jalen waved her hands. “Wait a minute. You can’t just take that!”

She winked at Jalen. “I’m a customer, cheri. And more importantly, I’m a pirate!” She popped the cork with a smirk. Then, she grabbed two glasses and blew out any dust from the glasses before she poured the wine into each one. “Drink with me?”

Jalen pressed her lips before she took a glass and takes a sip from the dark, velvety liquid. She lifted a brow. “It’s not bad.”

“Oui,” Yvonne gulped down her drink in seconds. “Hits the spot.”

Over Jalen’s shoulder, she could still see the rift that would lead back to la Huerta. She wanted to keep her eye on it in case it randomly decided to close and leave her and Yvonne stranded in another time. But the rift wasn’t moving and Jalen didn’t want to move either. She whipped her head back around and caught Yvonne’s eye. “So… why does your brother need the Fountain of Youth?”

Yvonne pouted, casting her gaze on the table, avoiding Jalen’s. “Ah. I’d hoped you’d be more charming to drink with.”

"I think we at least need to talk about the fact that you were trying to trade me for knowledge about it.”

“Non… I would never trade you. Truly.” Yvonne shut her mouth when she saw how unconvinced Jalen looked. She rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass to drink from before she answered. “The red demon told me you were in danger and where to find you.”

Jalen guessed, “And promised to give you the Fountain when we returned together?”

Yvonne nodded. She gulped down the rest of her wine and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Jalen… you’re clever at making difficult choices, oui?”

She shrugged, but she couldn’t resist a small smile. “I mean, I guess I’ve made it this far.” Her smile drained when she realized that she made it this far with her friends. She needed them back. She didn’t think she could go any farther than this without them keeping her sane.

Yvonne wasn’t reading her innermost thoughts. She moved on. “If you were forced to decide between following your dream or not following it and taking care of someone you care about, which would you choose?”

“That’s tough.” She tried to make sense of the question, but only one face showed up in her mind. Diego, her best friend, the person she loved the most. Jalen couldn’t bear the thought of not being there, sharing her dream without Diego by her side. “I’d take care of my loved ones,” she decided. “My friends are everything to me.”

“Joi sentiment. If I’d held that same belief, perhaps Patrice would have…” Her gaze went straight through Jalen, her mind lost in her own thoughts. She blinked and suddenly, she was rearing to go. She bounced back up to her feet with a clap of her hands. “Ah, well, it is a matter for another time.” She glanced over at the rift where the silver of visible rainforest is dark and smoky, indicating that the fire had died down. “We should return.”

Jalen finished off the rest of her wine and she set her glass on the table. Picking herself up she cracked her knuckles and tried to shake loose the nerves. “Okay, let’s go.” Jalen walked out through the tear with Yvonne close behind.

The ground is covered with writhing smoke. The lava fissures still emit a dull glow, but the surrounding brush appeared to have stopped burning. Finally, there was a calm to the storm, allowing for Jalen to finally say it: “We’re going to find everyone. Right now.”

“Oui, but wouldn’t you think that we should get to safety-?”

“We have to get them to safety. C’mon.” Jalen began to trudge forward, deeper into the rainforest with her hands shaking. She clenched her fists to stop the shaking and to stop the fear from taking her over. She’ll find them… she would.

After a half-hour of wandering through the rainforest, they heard ruffling of the brush. Voices amongst them. Jalen inched closer to the sound when Yvonne pulled her arm, spinning her back. Yvonne pressed her finger to her own lips and lifted her cutlass sword, meaning for them to be careful. Jalen nodded, slightly embarrassed that she was being so reckless. They ducked behind another brush and waited.

“…been three days since they crashed the helicopter, they could be anywhere on the island right now.” Jalen didn’t recognize the voice. She kept low and held her breath as she tried to watch the strangers. But three days didn’t sound remotely right. It was only hours ago...

They pushed through the foliage, wearing the Arachnid suits with guns low in their hands. The leader, wearing a blue-tinted suit tapped on the side of their helmet, making a light flicker on. They motioned for the others to follow their example. “I don’t care when they landed,” the leader said, “we’re getting paid to find them and bring ‘em back to Lundgren. So we do our job and we get off of this godforsaken island. Got it?”

The other soldiers saluted to their leader as a response.

A light tickle paraded down on Jalen’s hand. She turned her head to see a massive spider crawling up her arm. Her mouth opened to shriek but she quickly swallowed it back down with the help of her other hand covering her mouth. The movement alone forced rustling from the brush she and Yvonne hid against.

“You heard that?” one of the soldiers broke rank, slowly inching toward Jalen and Yvonne.

Out of the corner of her eye, the tip of Yvonne’s blade reflected the moonlight, illuminating the spider on Jalen’s wrist. She grabbed the spider, feeling the coolness from its metal body. Its legs were slender like needles and where the head should be was a tiny red camera. Clenching her fist, the spider broke and crumpled to the soil.

“5038! Get back in formation, now!” The soldier wasn’t too far off from where Jalen and Yvonne hid, but he was forced to retreat back to the others. As they walked away, their leader barked more orders, more than likely compromising their own goal to find the catalysts.

Yvonne sighed and she used her sword to push herself up from the ground. She offered her hand for Jalen to take. “Great, they have robotic animals with cameras as if the guns weren’t enough.” Jalen made sure she stomped on the mechanical spider, making sure her anger was properly exerted. “We have to get out of here, they might know where we are.”

“D’accord.”

They carried on for what seemed like hours before they found the shoreline of a wide, moonlit cove. Pillars of natural rock rose from the sea like fingers grasping for the stars. The clearing allowed for Jalen to take a grand look around. Ever since the encounter with the mechanical spider, she felt more on edge with the thought of someone watching her and her friends. She couldn’t shake the eyes off of her. She spun around, eyeing the trees behind them. Just when she thought she might have seen something, Yvonne cried out in French.

She jabbed her finger at a wreckage further along the beach. She spoke too fast for Jalen to understand (even though she doesn’t know French at all). Then, Jalen realized that Yvonne had never seen a helicopter. And it was the helicopter that she fell from…

Jalen ignored Yvonne and eased closer to the wreckage. Images of Jake’s horrified face as Jalen fell out of the helicopter flashed in her mind. She reached out, touching the cold body of the copter, wishing it was Jake’s hand that she had missed grasping before the fall. Shutting her eyes and biting her lip, Jalen pressed her head to the helicopter and hoped that her worst fears weren’t true.

The helicopter was turned on its side, it was somehow missing a few of its blades. The cockpit was caved in and the tail bent. Jalen forced open the door and let out a breath. No one. She was never more relieved not to see anyone. At least they didn’t die in the helicopter.

Then she noticed the blood on one of the seats. There was glass from the windows broken on the inside. Some shards were stained.

“There’s nothing here,” croaked Jalen. She turned away from the wreckage and stepped up to Yvonne.

“Why don’t we take shelter for the night, eh?” she offered, making Jalen shake her head.

“I’m not quitting here. They are still somewhere…” Jalen looked up to the tree line once more, hoping to find answers from it. When nothing magically came to her, she trudged back through the rainforest again. Deeper and deeper they went, careful to be as silent as they could if they were unfortunate enough to see any more Arachnid soldiers. Finally, they saw a light. Soon, one light turned into dozens.

Jalen frowned, knowing what it was before she got to the perimeter. The Arachnids had set up an operation camp in the middle of the rainforest with sturdy tents, boxes of supplies and cars in their wake.

Just when Jalen turned to leave, she heard his voice. “Let him go!” Sean yelled at the top of his lungs. He was shoved by Fiddler with his hands bound behind his back by rope. She pushed him on the ground with her boot on the side of his cheek in the middle of the camp. Fiddler grinned down at him, sadistic. Even then, Sean did not relent. “He needs medical help! Let me help him!”

“And why the hell would a football star know how to stitch up that kind of wound, huh?” Fiddler rolled her eyes.

Jalen knew why. She saw that Sean was also thinking of the same person, Michelle. His face contorted in a silent sadness before Lundgren appeared. His cigar burnt in the moonlight. “Get the other one,” he grunted.

One of the other lieutenants, Mouse, yanked Craig forward by his arm. Craig howled in pain, his teeth flashing in a snarl. There was a wrap around his arm, blood soaking through it. Mouse forced him to his knees across from Sean. When Craig went down, he blinked hard, his body wavering. He was unstable.

Bored, Fiddler sighed, “Why can’t we just kill them now?”

“Because we need Wolf to see it,” Lundgren’s mouth pulled into a cruel smile. “He has to see them all.”

Jalen backed away from the foliage that gave her cover. Her head spun, trying to think of a way to bust Sean and Craig out of there.

“Jalen!” whispered Yvonne. She dragged Jalen away from the perimeter of the camp, deeper in the rainforest. They both stopped short when rustling came in front of them. Yvonne held up her cutlass, ready for a fight and Jalen went for the knife stashed out of sight from her Andromeda armor, holding it unsteady.

A spearhead impacted the ground several meters in front of them. Jalen and Yvonne exchanged nervous glances before someone walked through the foliage. Estela pushed the giant leaves out of the way with a relieved grin on her face. “I knew it was you.”

“So was that spear meant for me then?”

Estela glanced down at the spear and blushed. “I-I just…stuck it in the ground. I wasn’t trying to hit-“

“Katniss, why didn’t you bother to wake me up? It’s my shift…” Jake swallowed his words once he appeared beside Estela and noticed Yvonne and Jalen standing right in front of them- solid. Here. Just a few paces away. His shoulders slumped as if a weight had been lifted off of him.

Jalen tucked away her knife. They met halfway, silly grins on their faces as they embraced each other in a tight, desperate hug. Jake wrapped his arms around Jalen’s waist and swung her around in a circle, making her laugh in pure joy. He’s alive. Estela’s alive. Sean and Craig too- it’s a start at least.

Estela went over to Yvonne, who dramatically leaned onto her for support after she sheathed her sword. “Oh cher,” Yvonne moaned, “my feet! We’ve been combing the forest all night…” Estela was forced to hold onto her so the pirate wouldn’t collapse onto the ground. She was considering letting her fall but… she was with Jalen. Yvonne must have helped her.

Estela called out, anxious to get back to their little campsite and out of the rainforest. “What’s the holdup, guys?” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening.

Jalen and Jake had been busy. Jake still had her in his arms lifted off of the ground. She cupped his cheeks as they kissed. It was the type of kiss you’d only experience once in a lifetime. The only one that mattered: the reunited kiss that meant that they would never be separated again. They both shook in fear that they might get pulled away from each other…

Estela felt like she was violating their personal space. She turned away, her face a furious shade of red and tried to focus on getting Yvonne back to her own feet.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you say I was hurting you?!” Jalen cried. Estela figured now would be a good time to look. The couple was inches apart, their heads bowed against each other while Jalen gently felt Jake’s sides as he repressed a wince. When he finally did, Jalen knew she found the spot. “Here?” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged off the matter. “Glass cut me when we went down. Besides, seeing you for the first time after all of this? Worth the pain.”

She sighed, “Shut up” with a shake of her head. It was nothing Jalen could do to fix that herself. She glanced over to Estela, who regarded her with a dignified nod. But that wasn’t enough. No. Jalen pulled away from Jake to engulf Estela in the biggest hug, squeezing her to remind Estela that she had missed her. Jalen pressed her lips to Estela’s cheek and gave her a smile. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Estela knew she was blushing really hard now. “I’ve missed you too,” she said, “I thought that you might’ve died.”

“Well, I’m glad we both didn’t.” Jalen squeezed her one more time before she backed away and eyed Yvonne. “Are you going to be good?”

Yvonne shrugged. “Once I rest. But no hugs, kisses, and tears of joy pour moi?” 

Both Jake and Estela rolled their eyes.

Estela pulled her spear from the ground and led everyone where she and Jake had come from. Yvonne trailed a step beside her, trying to keep the conversation light and entertaining while Jake and Jalen stayed back, holding hands. Jalen lifted their intertwined hands together and kissed his knuckles. “We are going to find everyone and make sure Michelle checks you out just in case.”

It made her sad to think of Michelle again. She remembered the devastated look on Sean’s face from earlier. Somehow, they would have to break them out of the Arachnid camp and she wasn’t sure how. She also wasn’t sure if Jake and Estela even knew about it.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, letting their arms fall back into their natural swing.

Estela pulled apart some foliage and pushed aside hanging vines. She presented a cave on the side of one of the mountains. As everyone went through, she held it open before she closed it after herself. Inside, there was a fire that was still burning, their backpacks and more giant leaves that were makeshift comforters. “Welcome to the humble abode a la Montoya y McKenzie.”

They gathered around the fire, Yvonne especially. She held out her hands and rubbed them. Jalen noticed the callouses imprinted on her palms. 

The fire gave everyone a warm glow, its shimmering brightness made her feel relaxed after this entire ordeal. The cackling of the flames was a sound that settled the calm.

Jalen had pieced off her armor, leaving her in her tank and her camouflage pants. With the light of the flame, she could focus in on her friends. Estela’s face was smudged with dirt. Her sweatshirt was torn, honestly falling apart but she didn’t take it off. Her hair was knotted in its ponytail. Jake was no better. He had lifted up his shirt for Jalen to take a look at his laceration which was pinned down by a long leaf. Jake’s shirt where he was cut was torn. He had bags under his eyes (obviously he didn’t sleep much on off shift), and his blue jeans were muddied and wet at the bottom.

“So what happened after…” Jalen couldn’t meet Jake’s eyes. “…after I went down?”

“Jake crashed the helicopter,” Estela said, plopping a berry in her mouth. “And Craig is right, I am never flying with you again.”

If Jake was hurt by that statement, he didn’t show it. “Craig and I got the worst of it. Shard got impaled in his arm and we were looking for some medical supplies to fix that up.”

“He passed out from blood loss when he was with Sean and so Sean went off on his own to find something or someone to help,” Estela mumbled under her breath, “Ese idiota.”

“While Katniss was here fixing me up, the Arachnids found them and took them back to their camp.” Jake bit his lip, focusing in on the fire. “We wanted to look for you and Zahra first, but obviously we didn’t get very far because of me and Craig. And Estela and I have been thinking of a plan to bust them out when you showed up.”

Estela shook her head. “We took too long. They aren’t going to last- Craig won’t.”

“We’ll find them, Trinity. Just relax,” Jake offered.

She gritted her teeth as she glared at Jake from across the campfire. The flames added a sense of fury to her dark eyes, making her more intimidating than she already was. “Use my name or don’t speak to me again.”

Her forceful words were like a slap in Jake’s face, leaving him in shock. Beside her, Jalen tried to reach out to Estela, saying her name as she did so. Estela turned away from Jalen, refusing to be comforted. Sadly she said, “We were idiots to think we could all make it through this together. Honestly… I doubt anyone is getting out of this alive.”

After being quiet for so long, Jalen was surprised to hear Yvonne’s voice. How Yvonne was about to weave in and out of conversations like a shadow, making you forget about her, was something that Jalen didn’t understand. Especially since Yvonne was such a flamboyant person. “Ah, pardonnez-moi… but do you happen to see something outside?” She pointed at the cave’s entrance where the green of the environment glowed in the moonlight.

“More leaves?” Jake lifted his brow.

Jalen was close to giving up squinting at whatever Yvonne was trying to hint at when she finally noticed it. “Is it just me or is it phasing through the leaves?” It definitely wasn’t just her, seeing the look of confusion on their faces.

A strange, indistinct figure faded through the opening of the cave. It captured the moonlight from outside, illuminating it in a soft glow. The figure was faceless but shaped like a human being. When it drew closer to everyone, Jalen felt a chill down her back. Green light undulates within a translucent, ghostly body.

Jake jumped in his spot. “Holy-“

“What on Earth?” mumbled Jalen.

“Oh, non, non, non! Yvonne does not do ghosts!” She stumbled to her feet and took off deeper in the cave. 


Estella finally turned to look at the figure. Her eyes widened. She was rendered unable to form a coherent sentence. She stared up at it as it loomed over her, seeming to study her grief-stricken face. “What is this? W-what’s happening?” she stuttered.

It raised a hand toward her, offering something. A small object was partially visible in its luminous grasp.

She gasped, “Is that… How did you get that?”

Jalen tried to see what the ghost-like figure was holding in its hand. “What is it? What does it have?”

Estela met her gaze. Jalen had never seen Estela so rattled before. “A photo I kept at home in San Trobida. It’s me, my mother, and Tio Nicolas…” Her shoulders fell. “It can’t be real. Everything out there is burned to cinders.” She stared at the spectral entity fearfully, unable to reach out to it. The light within its body faltered, turning grey and black.

In desperation, the figure turned and extended the photo in its hand to Jalen.  The picture was slowly darkening at the edges. It seemed to be ready to burst into flames. Tentatively, Jalen reached out and took the salvaged photo from the entity. As she grasped the photograph, the figure disappeared.

Jake glanced all around. “Where the hell did that thing go?”

Jalen went to hand the photo to Estela, and the very moment she touched it, everything is suddenly awash with light. The haze cleared, and Jalen stood in a cozy, yet sparsely decorated room. A man with tied back grey hair leaned over a desk, trying to fix an old typewriter. “Come on, you tonto…” He hit the side of the typewriter in frustration. The machine emitted a sad clang as its keys click back into place.

He sat down and he prepared himself to resume typing. After a moment of hesitation, he sighed. “Now I’ve forgotten where I was…”

There was a knock at the door. Estela entered the room carrying a large box.

“Ha. And then there’s my niece who thinks she can fix everything with her fancy college degree!” He welcomed her in with a kiss on her cheek.

“Hola, Tio Nicolas. I have something for you.” Nicolas eyed the box which bore the image of a desktop computer. Estela explained how much this would be better than the old typewriter he had been using to write his memoirs. Although he was hesitant to accept the gift because it might be traced, Estela reassured him that his revolutions would not be compromised if he only wrote his memoirs on it.

Together, they worked on getting the box open. “You never give up,” he said, lost in thought. “Just like your mother.” He smiled at her wistfully. “I should call you Livita.”

Estela placed a large bundle of packing material in his hands. “I’m not a little girl anyone, Tio,” she sighed.

“No, you’re not. She’d be very proud to see you now. All grown up and on your way to great things.” He named a couple of big cities, sure of himself that she would love a different lifestyle than what she had here but Estela disagreed. She assured him that her future would be here, where she could be able to raise a family on her own. The entire scene melted Jalen’s heart but she felt like it wasn’t her place to watch.

Soon after, the scene flooded away with another burst of intense light. Jalen was back in the cave. Estela was still holding the photo in dumbstruck awe. Tears streamed down her face. She met Jalen’s eyes and Jalen knew that they both saw the same thing. A future, perhaps, if they all survive this. Something to hold onto, something to hope for, something they can fight for.

Jake stared at them both. “You two okay? You kind of… zoned out. I’ve hit you both twice with this stick.” He waved around a small twig in front of the fire.

Estela, blinked her eyes to free herself from the tears. “I… was that… how…?”


“I think,” Jalen said with more certainty than she led on, “we’re seeing the future. A future that could’ve been.” She figured if she couldn’t get Estela to believe in this, she couldn’t get Estela at all. She would be gone, consumed with despair.

She agreed, nodded her head without a doubt. Estela watched the fire, how it crawled upward to the sky to disperse in the air. Its color leaving a warm, comforting glow to everyone. Estela twisted herself in her spot and leaned over to Jalen to embrace her in a tight hug. Jalen wrapped her arms around Estela,, rubbing her hand down Estela’s arm. “Shh. It’s okay.”

“I’d forgotten how much I miss my home.” Estela lifted the photograph behind Jalen’s shoulder, gazing into it. “When I was little, all I wanted was to have a family one day…” She pulled herself back, inhaling deeply. She glanced at Jake (who is very confused but is doing a great job of keeping his mouth shut) and then back to Jalen. With a new resolution in her, she said, “We’re going to fix this.”

Jake broke his silence vow with a reassuring smile. “Damn right we are.”

“No more anger. No more despair. We owe it to ourselves to fight for the future with all we’ve got.” She tossed a lone branch into the fire, adding more flames to rise higher. She watched the flames before she met Jalen’s and Jake’s gaze once more. “I think maybe I… I just needed to see it to keep believing in it.”

“Now that’s the Estela I know.” No nickname. Jalen was relieved that Jake had listened to Estela earlier about the name calling. Even though Jake meant it in a playful manner (unless you’re Rourke), she could understand how pissed you could get from it. Her? Jalen didn’t think she would accept her own ridiculous nickname. She gave him one back just out of spite and never regretted it.

Estela shook her head. “It’s Katniss, cabron.”

Jake laughed.

Jalen fell in love with this moment. She never wanted to see it end. But sadly, they had a more pressing issue at the moment: Sean and Craig, busting them out of the Arachnid camp. “Okay, you guys said you were forming a plan to get the guys out? Let’s hear it.”

Fun fact: in my version of Endless Summer, I headcanon everyone referring to Jake and Jalen as JJ/J&J behind their backs

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 2

In which Egwene is excellent, understanding is reached, and laughter is achieved

Chapter 2: The Nature of Pain

Well that’s a promising start to a chapter.

Egwene! She only had one chapter last book but what a chapter it was, and I am loving her current arc so here’s to more of that, hopefully.

She smiled to her reflection, and her twin selves nodded to one another in satisfaction.

Speaking of reflections. It does seem to carry just a bit of double-meaning here (see what I did there?) if you want it to, what with her entire battle here to…maintain and also affirm her identity, and make those around her see her for who she truly is, and to be who she needs to be.

So she’s still spending quality time in the Mistress of Novice’s study every day. But she’s barely crying anymore. (Though, unlike a certain Dragon, she’s still capable of tears. Which is…good? I suppose? For a given definition of ‘good’, anyway).

The Aiel could laugh during the most cruel of tortures. Well, she could smile the moment she stood up.

I’m reminded, here, of the time when Rand forced himself to smile through the torture he was subjected to in the lead-up to Dumai’s Wells. Both Egwene and Rand have now been subjected to torture at the hands of the White Tower, and both have smiled in response, though the similarity pretty much ends there. I don’t really have a point to this comparison, because they’re very different situations and characters and contexts, but I like how something can be so superficially similar yet so different in every meaningful way.

(I would not be at all opposed to this arc culminating in a Dumai’s Wells level scene, though. I can’t see Egwene outright fighting the other Aes Sedai, but she did have that dream of the Seanchan attacking the Tower, and there’s also the issue of Mesaana…)

Give up? You’re asking Egwene when she plans to give up? Have you…met this girl? Ever? At any time across the last eleven books?

“Proper order, Silviana?” Egwene asked. “As it has been maintained elsewhere in the Tower?”

The score stands something like Egwene 2304913 – 0 Elaida. I’ve been keeping careful track.

Speaking of Elaida, Egwene gets to go serve her dinner. And, if we’re lucky, serve her in a more colloquial sense. (Does anyone even say that anymore? No? Nevermind then).

Silviana seems worried about Egwene’s wellbeing and Egwene doesn’t quite recognise it – in that, she and Rand have another thing in common, it would seem. The disconnect between them and those around them, when it comes to understanding that people are concerned for them, and even why those people might be concerned for them. Though again, while it’s a similarity on one level, it gets very different when looked at more closely.

She considered that last comment. Perhaps it hadn’t been surprise that Silviana had shown upon hearing of Egwene’s visit to Elaida. Perhaps it had been sympathy.

I’m momentarily amused at the memory of Egwene accusing Moiraine of not even recognising human emotion.

But Egwene’s role, as she sees and embodies it now, isn’t one she would think of as deserving sympathy. She’s not trying to get the other Aes Sedai to feel sorry for her. She’s trying to get them to follow her and recognise her as Amyrlin. More than that, she’s trying to repair the near-fatal damage that has already been done to the Tower and the Aes Sedai, and also prepare them for the end of the world, and at some point that starts demanding a force of nature more than a person.

Like so much else, the same could be said of Rand, to a degree. I say that a lot, I know, but what fascinates me about the parallels between Egwene and Rand are not the parallels themselves so much as the differences beneath them, which are highlighted by the surface-level similarities. And the more I think about it, the more I think it comes down to an issue of choice. Egwene chooses, where Rand was chosen.

I mean that not so much as a narrative truth but as a matter of perception, which in a way is what makes it so fascinating. This is a fantasy  world with prophecy and a Pattern and therefore a rather complicated notion of free will (or the lack thereof) that I would probably tie my brain into logical knots trying to untangle. So I’m not looking at how much choice or agency Rand and Egwene have relative to one another, but rather how much they perceive themselves to have. (Because perception and belief are the keys, aren’t they, to living freely a predestined life? But then, I’m an atheist; what would I know?)

Rand makes choices – he chooses to continue day after day, despite everything – but he does so with the increasing knowledge or certainty that his life does not belong to him but to the Pattern, to history, to the world itself. He chooses to do what must be done because it is his task and his duty and his destiny, and so is no choice at all. He is arguably the single most powerful individual in the world, but in many things he no longer perceives himself to have agency. He must do what he must. His choice is resignation. He is the chosen one; he does not get to choose.

(To go on a slight tangent from my tangent here, this relates back to what I was thinking about last chapter. That he has lost sight or sense of why he is fighting. He is using himself and everything around him, and destroying himself in the process, because it’s what he has to do, but it feels as if his aims are becoming increasingly…hollow. And with a fading sense of purpose beyond determined resignation, his ability to choose anything in a meaningful way fades as well, so he becomes little more than a weapon of fate, wielded by prophecy. Something is going to have to change that).

Egwene, though. Egwene actively chooses her path, and the steps she takes. Sure, she’s pushed and pulled by events around her, not to mention the part where she’s literally enslaved. Often, her choices are limited, and often she has to do things she would rather not, but the point is that she does not stop seeing them as choices. It is a matter of perception, and she believes herself to have agency. She leaves the Two Rivers because she wants something more. She goes to the Tower because she wants to learn. She goes to the Aiel because she wants to learn. She is summoned to become Amyrlin, but even then, she herself decides to truly be Amyrlin rather than a puppet. She makes that choice her own, rather than resigning herself to it. And now she is striving to save the Tower because she knows it needs saving. Egwene is not a prophecied hero; she is a hero because she chooses to be.

And I love that about her. I love that, if you try to map her story to the Hero’s Journey, she manufactures her own ‘call to adventure’ and then skips right past the ‘hero is reluctant’ step. I love that even when she is pushed a certain direction, she goes on her own terms. Becoming Amyrlin, being taken captive… when she surrenders, she does so in order to control. I love that instead of fighting a path she has been set on, she steps onto her own and dares the world to defy her.

It doesn’t make her storyline or character better or worse than Rand’s – at least, not the way I read it; they’re different characters and their different arcs are each lovely and effective in their own rights – but it enhances this effect of…contrasting parallels between them. For example, the way they deal with pain. Rand endures it because he must. Egwene embraces it because it is a victory. Both are determination and willpower, but one is resignation while the other is choice. It’s a bit like listening to the same piece of music played once in a major key and once in a minor key. The same, sort of, but also not the same at all.

Anyway.

Egwene treating Katerine as a servant amuses me far more than it should.

Egwene ignored the threat. What more could they do to her?

Not a question I would recommend asking, given that the answer is usually ‘challenge accepted’.

Egwene just gives them a lecture on precisely how fucked the Tower is right now, and how they should pull their heads out of their arses and do something about it.

More eloquently, of course. And very slightly more subtly.

Of course, this is no doubt lost on Katerine, given her actual Ajah. But Silviana seems to have been listening at the door…

I still rather like Silviana. I think Egwene kind of does as well. She certainly respects her, anyway.

No Alviarin? Where is she now? What is she up to? Trying to find a new concealer to cover the invisible mark Shaidar Haran left on her?

Yes, Egwene was winning. But she was beginning to lose the satisfaction she’d once felt at that victory. Who could take joy in seeing the Aes Sedai unravelling like aged canvas? Who could feel glad that Tar Valon, the grandest of all great cities, was piled with refuse? As much as Egwene might despise Elaida, she could not exult at seeing an Amyrlin Seat lead with such incompetence.

Time for Phase Two, perhaps? Whatever that might be, in this case?

I still just love the situation she’s in, because it’s so uniquely…odd. There’s an aspect of the classic ‘leading a rebellion from within the enemy’s camp’ element to it, of course, but the twist is that the Tower itself, and the other Aes Sedai, aren’t her enemies. She’s leading a rebellion, but one that seeks not to undermine or break the Tower, but rather to strengthen it. To take advangate of the cracks in the foundation, but at the same time to heal them. To gather support to her, but without ever letting the overall whole weaken.

Easy, right?

So now she has to figure out how to behave with Elaida. Punching her in the face, unfortunately, seems like it’s not an option.

Corridors are still shifting and also paintings are becoming significantly more creepy. Maybe Shai’tan once had ambitions of becoming an interior designer, and turned to evil when no one wanted to employ him.

Oh, there’s Alviarin.

This was the woman who had pulled down Siuan, the woman who had beaten Rand

So she knows about that now, it seems. Last book she was surprised to hear that Elaida had tried to have Rand kidnapped, but I guess she’s filled in the details.

And she thinks of him as Rand, here. It’s not ‘the woman who had beaten the Dragon Reborn’ and thus caused something of a diplomatic crisis. She doesn’t think of it here in terms of Elaida mishandling the Dragon Reborn, but of Elaida beating Rand. There is still love between them, even if it is strained almost to breaking and nearly overshadowed by everything else.

Elaida needed to know Egwene’s anger, she needed to be humiliated and made ashamed! She…

Egwene stopped in front of Elaida’s gilded door. No.

She could imagine the scene easily. Elaida enraged, Egwene banished to the dark cells beneath the Tower. What good would that do? She could not confront the woman, not yet. That would only lead to momentary satisfaction followed by a debilitating failure.

But Light, she couldn’t bow to Elaida either! The Amyrlin did no such thing!

Or…no. The Amyrlin did what was required of her. Which was more important? The White Tower, or Egwene’s pride? The only way to win this battle was to let Elaida think that she was winning. No…No, the only way to win was to let Elaida think there was no battle.

This is, I think, a very important moment in – or perhaps illustration of – Egwene’s character development. And it’s excellent.

We’ve already seen Egwene’s decision to accept pain, and her refusal to accept the role Elaida (and most of the Tower’s Aes Sedai) are trying to force her into. We’ve seen her determined and we’ve seen her defiant.

But this is different. Humility, I think we can agree, is not exactly one of Egwene’s main traits. That has often served her well – after all, arrogance, pride, and ambition are often separated from determination, confidence, and resolve by little more than context – but stubbornness even in the form of calm defiance isn’t the right tool, here.

The fact that she is able to recognise that, and not back away from it, is a real mark of strength and maturity in her. It reminds me of her conversation with Moiraine all the way back in TFoH, when Egwene asked why Moiraine had started doing what Rand told her. And Moiraine replied simply that she had remembered how to control saidar. It was a major moment in Moiraine’s own behaviour and approach, and Egwene is now facing something like that herself, and truly understanding it. Sometimes surrender, or the appearance of surrender, is necessary. Sometimes pride must be set aside.

This is about something far greater than her pride, and while that may seem a simple statement, it’s no easy thing to recognise and genuinely accept. Not just for Egwene – for anyone. But she accepts it here, and shows how far she has come, and how deserving of the Amyrlin Seat she is. She is not doing this for herself, but for the Tower. She will accept pain and sacrifice pride where necessary in order to heal and unite the Tower, will give of herself whatever is required, because it is about something greater than herself.

Moiraine would be proud. I’m proud. It’s such a strong moment, even though no one around her is able to notice anything of it.

Character development is one of those things that really benefits from a fourteen-book series, if you do it right.

Silence. That would be her weapon this evening.

Excellent. Silence is such an effective tool in so many circumstances, and it’s so often underestimated.

Ah, Meidani’s here. And not apparently happy about it. Poor Meidani; she’s caught in a pretty shit situation.

In stark contrast to Egwene’s understanding of when to set aside some measure of her own pride, Elaida’s sitting on basically a throne in an elaborately decorated room, smirking. Elaida wants power for power’s sake – she knows the world is going to need saving sometime in the near future, but while she is in her way trying to work towards that, it’s important to her that she be remembered as the one who saved it. That she be known as the greatest Amyrlin ever, etc. It’s not about the Tower and the World, it’s about Elaida. And she’s not effective enough to make that kind of arrogance work.

Though Egwene had not chosen an Ajah herself, she would have taken the Green.

This is one  thing I dislike about Egwene’s characterisation, actually. There’s such a good opportunity here for her to be truly of all Ajahs and of none. Not raised in the ordinary way, never given the choice of an Ajah, and therefore being in a position to understand and appreciate and identify somewhat with all of them. Especially because, while I can see why she might lean towards the Green, she does have elements of several of the others. There’s also the fact that she has brought a great deal of change already and means to bring more, so having her sort of…outside of the normal rigid structure of Ajahs, and instead as someone who genuinely stands getween and linked to and yet apart from all of them, could be a way to emphasise that. And it would underscore her suitability for the role of Amyrlin in general, because unlike every single other Aes Sedai, she actually isn’t of any Ajah, and never has been.

I just feel like it’s a bit of a wasted opportunity, and it always strikes me as slightly odd whenever it’s mentioned.

But Egwene held her tongue. This meeting was about survival. Egwene could bear straps of pain for the good of the Tower. Could she bear Elaida’s arrogance as well?

A less painful task, perhaps, but not necessarily a less difficult one.

Egwene broke her gaze away from Elaida’s. And – feeling the shame of it vibrate through her very bones – she bowed her head.

Elaida laughed, obviously taking the gesture the right way. “Honestly, I expected you to be more trouble. It appears that Silviana does know her duty.”

It seems like a small gesture to have to make, and her shame and anger could be read as slightly hyperbolic, but…it’s really hard to stay calm and let someone you absolutely hate take the upper hand, without making any move to show them how incompetent and mistaken they are, and that they’re only winning because you’re throwing the game.

Egwene hears Meidani’s name and knows she’s one of the spies, but doesn’t know the entirety of all the ways in which Meidani’s life sucks right now. Compelled by an oath she was forced to swear to spend time with Elaida, while knowing that Elaida knows she was sent by the rebels and terrified of what might happen if any of that goes wrong. Also the implication that their ‘pillow friendship’ has probably been renewed makes it even more unpleasant, given Meidani doesn’t really want anything to do with any of this.

“Ah, that is right,” Elaida said musingly. “It will be good to know how traitors have been treated in the past. Beheading seems too easy and simple a punishment to me. Those who split our Tower, those who flaunt their defection, a very special reward will be needed for them. well, continue your search then.”

How spectacularly cruel.

Egwene, meanwhile, is proving her ability to multitask: she can seethe and serve soup at the same time. Just about.

Elaida’s still being generally awful, asking Meidani for information about the rebels and insinuating that she could strip her of the shawl and then laughing about it. And Egwene continues to show admirable restraint by not punching her.

Light! What had happened to Elaida? Egwene had met this woman before, and Elaida had struck her as stern, but not tyrannical. Power changed people. It appeared that in Elaida’s case, holding the Amyrlin Seat had taken her sternness and solemnity and replaced them with a heady sense of entitlement and cruelty.

Well, and I think Fain might have had something to do with that, but otherwise Egwene is probably correct. Elaida craves power, but she clings to it too tightly. She’s not strong enough to feel secure in her position, so she tries to forcibly show herself to be even stronger, and instead ends up brittle.

At least some of the Aes Sedai are apparently nervous about the Seanchan, but Elaida dismisses that as well.

Egwene couldn’t speak. She could barely have sputtered. How would Elaida feel about these ‘exaggerated’ rumours if the Seanchan slapped a cold a’dam around her idiot neck? Egwene could sometimes feel that band on her own skin, itching, impossible to move.

…Yeah. It’s hard enough for her to keep silent and ignore Elaida tearing the Tower apart, and being wantonly cruel towards Meidani, and dismissive of a threat Egwene has seen. But the fact that the threat is the Seanchan makes it so much worse for her to be listening to this. She has suffered firsthand what Elaida scoffs at, and it’s no wonder she still feels echoes of it, and she can’t let herself show anything. So she’s stuck in a room with someone she hates, someone she thinks could bring down the Tower and possibly the world, and now she’s also stuck in here remembering enslavement and torture and generally one of the worst times of her life.

“No […] These Seanchan are not the problem. The real danger is the complete lack of obedience shown by the Aes Sedai.”

Holding onto power so hard that it shatters in her hands like porcelain. She is not strong enough to inspire respect, so instead she tries to beat everyone around her into submission. Which always ends well…

“Fortunately, I have an idea myself. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that the Three Oaths contain no mention of obedience to the White Tower? […] Why no oath to obey the Amyrlin? If that simple promise were part of all of us, how much pain and difficulty could we have avoided? Perhaps some revision is in order.”

Um…yikes. Double yikes because Meidani is listening to this and has already been forced into a fourth Oath of obedience.

Egwene is rather horrified at this notion; she has received oaths of fealty, but the first two were given voluntarily and the others were taken from those who tried to use her as a puppet, and none were sworn on the Oath Rod. There’s some grey morality there, but this is several steps further. Elaida wants to demand them of all Aes Sedai, for the sake of maintaining her own increasingly despotic power. Which is…understandably both terrifying and infuriating.

Egwene’s rage boiled within her, steaming like the soup in her hands. This woman, this…creature! She was the cause of the problems in the White Tower, she was the one who caused division between rebels and loyalists. She had taken Rand captive and beaten him.

Again with thinking of him as Rand here, and feeling angry at the fact that he was beaten, rather than at the fact that Elaida fucked things up with the Dragon Reborn. As for the rest…yeah, pretty much. The other Aes Sedai are not her enemies, and most want the Tower to be whole again, but Elaida stands in the way of that.

Egwene felt herself shaking. In another moment, she’d burst and let Elaida hear truth. It was boiling free from her, and she could barely contain it.

No! she thought. If I do that, my battle ends. I lose my war.

So Egwene did the only thing she could think of to stop herself. She dumped the soup on the floor.

Well, that’s…one way of handling things, I suppose. It’s certainly amusing, but again it’s actually not as excessive as it immediately appears, I don’t think. Given what Egwene has endured thus far, and everything that has happened as a result of Elaida, and even what she’s had to listen to in this scene alone, and the fact that she can’t let herself do or say anything and she has to act like she’s submissive and defeated…well, it’s not suprising that her self-control would waver slightly.

It is still amusing, though.

“I’m sorry,” Egwene said. “I wish that hadn’t happened.”

Ha. Well played.

And she has her composure back, so it seems to have worked.

Meidani gets the task of helping Egwene clean up the soup, so Egwene tries to tell Meidani to send for her. Of course, that just adds a third string to Meidani, pulling her in yet another direction, but Egwene doesn’t know that.

Egwene laid a hand on her shoulder. “Elaida can be unseated, Meidani. The Tower will be reunited. I will see it happen, but we must keep courage. Send for me.”

Meidani looked up, studying Egwene. “How…how do you do it? They say you are punished three and four times a day, that you need Healing between so that they can beat you further. How can you take it?”

“I take it because I must,” Egwene said, lowering her hand.

Leading by example. But she does win Meidani over very quickly here, by showing such determination and strength.

“I can help heal what has been broken, but I will need your help.”

I’m remembering way back in the beginning, when Nynaeve still thought of Egwene as her apprentice, and mentioned how ‘Egwene has the desire to heal, the need to’. And…in a way, she wasn’t wrong. Egwene hasn’t followed the same path of healing that Nynaeve has, but here she is trying to heal what is essentially the greatest wound to the Aes Sedai as a whole.

Elaida throws Egwene out, which is probably the best way this could have ended, all things considered.

Oh, except she wants Egwene to come back another day. Deep breaths, Egwene. You can do it.

“And if you so much as spill another drop, I will have you locked away in a cell with no windows or lights for a week.”

Elaida. Please. Can we stop with the locking people in boxes thing? That’s a parallel Rand and Egwene really don’t need to share.

Egwene left the room. Had this woman ever been a true Aes Sedai, in control of her emotions?

Yet Egwene herself had lost control of her emotions. She should never have let herself get to a point where she’d been forced to drop the soup. She had underestimated how infuriating Elaida could be, but that would not happen again. She calmed herself as she walked, breathing in and out. Rage did her no good.

Just like embracing pain, she has to learn how to do this, and it’s not exactly easy at first. But she knows where she went wrong, and is already making sure she will do better next time. And I like the recognition that rage does her no good, because it reminds me of her first meeting with Silviana, where Silviana asked why she was not hysterical and Egwene responded by saying she could not see how that would help.

Egwene ate contemplatively, listening to Laras and the scullions bang pots at washing up in the other room, surprised at how calm she felt.

She is learning true Aes Sedai serenity. Not the forced and brittle mask of it that so many seem to have used as a substitute, but the real thing. The ability to acknowledge emotion but dismiss it when it does not help her. Not forcing things like pain away, but accepting them as part of her. The ability to face anything, and withstand it in a state of calm.

She had changed; something was different about her. watching Elaida, finally confronting the woman who had been her rival all of these months, forced her to look at what she was doing in a new light.

She had imagined herself undermining Elaida and seizing control of the White Tower from within. Now she realised that she didn’t need to undermine Elaida. The woman was fully capable of doing that herself.

This is all excellent. She is steadfast and stubborn and determined, but she’s also able to recognise when she needs to shift her focus slightly, or reevaluate her exact goals and strategies. Because, again, it’s about something far greater than herself, and she knows it. And this is a lovely, subtle realisation.

Her role isn’t to undermine Elaida, but to be a source of strength in contrast to Elaida’s weakness, to be a centre around which the Tower can reform and rebuild and heal, even as Elaida shakes its foundations. She isn’t seizing control, because it isn’t about control, really. It’s about being there to support something that is crumbling, to show strength and sow unity amidst division and weakness.

It’s also a strong revelation because it means essentially relinquishing any sort of personal grudge against Elaida. It means making this, once again, not about her but about the Tower itself. Letting go of her own anger in order to focus on what is truly important.

Elaida would topple eventually, with or without Egwene’s help. Egwene’s duty, as Amyrlin, wasn’t to speed that fall – but to do whatever she could to hold the Tower and its occupants together. They couldn’t afford to fracture further. Her duty was to hold back the chaos and destruction that threatened them all, to reforge the Tower.

Yes, that, exactly. And holding the Amyrlin Seat, coming into power, may be a part of that, but this is the realisation that that part is…incidental, almost. That, again, it’s not about her at all. Nor is it about Elaida, even. It’s about doing whatever she can do to hold the Tower together and heal it.

And that’s what she’s been working towards this whole time, but this is just that…slight change in focus, and a much more subtle and nuanced understanding of her true purpose here, and what needs to be done.

She has come so far, to be able to see and understand and act upon this, and it’s beautiful to watch.

Time for another trip to Silviana, which will probably be edifying for anyone but Egwene. Because really, what can they do to her? And as Meidani showed –and as the reactions of some of the other Aes Sedai have shown – at some point it just makes the others respect her more, and thus serves her own purpose. She will not be broken so easily, and the others are coming to see that strength.

[Egwene] spoke calmly about the evening, omitting the fact that she’d dropped the bowl of soup on purpose. She did, however, say that she’d dropped it after Elaida had talked of revoking and changing the Three Oaths.

Silviana looked very thoughtful at that.

“Well,” the woman said, standing up and fetching her lash, “The Amyrlin has spoken.”

“Yes, I have,” Egwene said

Ha. It’s not quite on the level of “there’s no need to call me ‘sir’, professor” but that’s what I’m immediately reminded of, and it’s pretty excellent.

Oddly, Egwene felt no desire to cry out. It hurt, of course, but she just couldn’t scream. How ridiculous the punishment was!

It’s almost like the end of a training montage, except with…pain. She started off determined to embrace the pain, even though she wasn’t completely sure how, and did a decent job of it. But it still hurt, and she still screamed, and it took effort. Now…now, it just seems ridiculous.

She’s thinking of the far greater pain of seeing the division and hostility amongst the Ajahs, of hearing Elaida speak of an oath of obedience to the Amyrlin, of Meidani’s treatment.

Each of these things was a pain inside of Egwene, a knife to the chest, piercing the heart. As the beating continued, she realised that nothing they could do to her body would ever compare to the pain of soul she felt at seeing the White Tower suffer beneath Elaida’s hand. Compared with those internal agonies, the beating was ridiculous.

And so she began to laugh.

This is lovely. She thought, in the very beginning of her odd captivity, about how the Aiel could supposedly laugh through any torture. About how she could not see how she could manage that, but she could at least try to embrace the pain. And she had to remind herself of it at first, with something of a constant mantra, and over time it got easier, little by little. Easier still when she understood that every beating was a victory, a sign that she was winning.

And now…now she has realised something even greater than that: namely, that in the face of the wounds the Tower is facing, this pain is nothing. That in the face of a far greater task for a far greater purpose, this is a minor obstacle. A triviality. And that renders the pain…irrelevant, almost.

And so she laughs, finally succeeding at truly embracing pain and laughing in the face of it, without having to force it.

Laughter in the face of pain, serenity as she contemplates her true task – and the fact that it isn’t about undermining Elaida. These are major steps, and they show such incredible growth and understanding. Her way forward won’t be easy, but she understands what she has to do, and she’s strong enough to do it, and with that comes this sense of…lightness, almost.

The lashing stopped. Egwene turned. Surely that wasn’t all of it!

Silviana was regarding her with a concerned expression. “Child?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

Ha. Yeah, to anyone who is not Egwene (or Aiel, I suppose), that would look…rather worrying. It’s okay, Silviana, Egwene’s just badass and also a better Aes Sedai than most Aes Sedai.

“Can’t you see it?” Egwene asked. “Don’t you feel the pain? The agony of watching the Tower crumble around you? Could any beating compare to that?”

Silviana did not respond.

I understand, Egwene thought. I didn’t realise what the Aiel did. I assumed that I just had to be harder, and that was what would teach me to laugh at pain. But it’s not hardness at all. it’s not strength that makes me laugh. It’s understanding.

That is beautiful. And this is such a perfect chapter to follow the previous one, because the contrast is so clear. Rand hasn’t yet reached that understanding, not truly. He is lost and afraid and desperate and he doesn’t understand, not really, and he’s in so much pain that all he can think to do is become harder in order to prevent it from breaking him. So he has lost laughter, along with tears.

And the answer is understanding. Understanding what this is all for, as Egwene is finally understanding what her true focus is, what her battles and her war are all about. She was close, before, but now she understands it in full, and with that comes this sense of laughter and release and the true strength necessary to win, rather than the brittle hard strength of resistance and defiance.

So this is what Rand, too, will need to reach, in some form or another. An understanding of what it is he is doing, of why he is enduring all this pain, of what his task is and why it matters. He knows it, knows the prophecies and his role and knows he must win or the world dies, but it’s…like Egwene thinking that she has to beat Elaida and bring the Tower to herself. It’s very close to the right answer, but it lacks nuance, and the focus is ever so slightly off, but that small difference can mean everything.

“I will not make the same mistake [as Shemerin], Silviana. Elaida can say whatever she wants. But that doesn’t change who I am, or who any of us are. Even if she tries to change the Three Oaths, there will be those who resist, who hold to what is correct. And so, when you beat me, you beat the Amyrlin Seat. And that should be amusing enough to make us both laugh.” The punishment continued, and Egwene embraced the pain, took it into herself, and judged it insignificant, impatient for the punishment to cease. She had a lot of work to do.

What a fantastic chapter. So many great realisations, so much really wonderful character growth, and I am so very much looking forward to seeing how this arc plays out.

Next (TGS ch 3) Previous (TGS ch 1)

[impracticaldemon]

Mirafreed Week 2017 Fanfiction Ch.3—First Steps: Beyond Kisses

Story ~ First Steps and Beyond Prompts: Day 5—Lipstick; Day 6—Children

Words: ~ 5000 (Chapter 3) | AO3 | Fanfiction.net | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Summary:  This story takes place between the Battle for Fairy Tail and the Oracion Seis Arc, as timelines permit. Chapter 3 follows Freed’s proposal for the two of them to find a home together and the difficulties of two complicated mages trying to forge an intimate relationship.  Angst, relationship development, sexy fluff (and a certain amount of frustration). 

Rated: T+ for Chapters 1 & 2, M for Chapter 3 (to be safe); Chapter 4 will be M

Chapter 3: Beyond Kisses

[I]—Tea and Kisses

As expected, the gossip mill churned with great fervour when it became known that Mirajane and Freed were actively looking for an apartment together. Eventually, there was even a small article about it in the Sorcerer's Weekly, featuring pictures of Mirajane dressed in everything from a skimpy bikini to a floor-length ball gown. The only picture of Freed was from the fashion show in which he'd involuntarily participated, and while he looked elegant enough, the editor seemed to have deliberately chosen the one shot where the angle made his slight smile look more like a leer.

"Well, maybe that was the only photo that the show organizers would allow them to publish," said Mirajane, as they read the article together at their regular date for morning tea. Her voice was light, and she even sounded amused, but Freed knew his lady too well. The over-tight grip on her mug and the angry gleam in her blue eyes was more indicative of her mood.

"Perhaps," Freed agreed. "But we both doubt it, so why pretend? The door is closed and I promise not to repeat anything you have to say about the magazine's editors beyond these four walls."

Mirajane gave him a fond smile, the dangerous spark fading from her eyes.

"I've learned to keep my temper… and sometimes it's easier to keep it if I don't let go of it even in private. For one thing, getting angry around Elfman always sets him off, which seldom works out well. He's very protective, as you may have noticed. But somehow when you tell me to get angry and say exactly what I'm thinking, I no longer feel especially angry."

"That's too bad," Freed commented. "You are not only lovely when you're angry, but also very witty—in a scathing, flay-your-opponent-alive kind of way. By the way, I see that you've finally found a lipstick that is dark enough to match those roses Droy created for you. The colour suits you very well."

He picked up the small cake that she had set down in her annoyance at seeing the photos, broke off a piece, and fed it to her. It was a deliberately sensual—rather than romantic—gesture, and he was pleased to see that Mira's eyes focussed on the way that he licked the crumbs from his fingertips afterward, instead of returning to the magazine.

"You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" she said softly, the moment she had swallowed the bit of cake.

Freed picked up her hand and traced the line of the vein on her wrist with his thumb.

"Yes, I told you that I would—try, that is."

"You also said you'd be patient." She met his eyes as though to challenge his lack of patience, but her slight shiver when his fingers continued to stroke the soft skin just below her palm detracted somewhat from her protest.

Her green-haired lover—in the more old-fashioned sense of the word, at least for now—smiled in a way that made her bite her lower lip. Somehow, they had gone from discussing an annoying piece of unwanted publicity to… this.

"I said that I can be patient," Freed told her, his thumb still tracing those oddly electric patterns on her inner wrist. "And if I thought that I was bothering you now—in a negative way—then I would be patient. Moreover, I have been patient."

Mirajane was always both irritated and captivated by the way that Freed could make her feel young and rather inexperienced at times like these. In fact, she was young—barely into her early twenties, although she managed to maintain an appearance of wisdom and maturity that fooled even those who knew better—and she was inexperienced in terms of serious relationships. As a teenager she'd been wild and decidedly dangerous to those around her; after her sister had died, she'd reformed into a sexy but untouchable sister-mother figure to the majority of the guild and perhaps Magnolia as a whole.

"I did agree to look for a place together," she ventured, trying vainly to ignore her flushed cheeks and the warmth she could feel spreading outward from where Freed was touching her. "And we'd only been seeing each other for three months at the time!"

"Yes, and I am very happy about that. However, I have come to the conclusion that we are both too domestic—and likely too particular—to find what we want in the apartments and smaller places that we've been looking at."

"What do you mean?"

Before answering the question, Freed leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mira's. It began as a simple kiss, but her lips had already been slightly parted and he took ruthless advantage of that to explore her mouth with his tongue, so that the kiss quickly became deeper and oddly more intense than in the past. Freed's hand slid further up Mira's arm and she felt the strange electric feeling travel with it, as if there were more than mere finger-tips and nerve-endings involved. A few minutes passed, and then Freed felt Mira start to tense. Without being in any way abrupt, he gently ended the kiss and slowly leaned back, folding his hands together so as to resist any further temptation. For now.

"Thank you," Freed said quietly.

Mirajane didn't respond at first. She was staring down at the table as though fascinated by the well-polished wood. Then she shook her head and looked up. Her whole face felt warm and was probably red.

"That was… different. Why?"

"Power—I think. You don't entirely believe me, but I have done my best to… mute things a little. While we got used to each other. I suppose that magic calls to magic—we can both sense spell energy after all—and ours is somewhat aligned. The effect is becoming more pronounced as we become more comfortable together; I don't know why. I noticed it a couple of months ago."

"I didn't."

"I can't fully explain it. I suggest that I am more open to you than you are to me—which is only reasonable in the circumstances. I have hurt you and your family."

"Then I still need to move past the past—so to speak." Mira did not look wholly convinced. After all, she was the one who had originally convinced Freed that his actions on Laxus' behalf had not destroyed their relationship as friends and guild mates.

"Mira…" Freed hesitated. He didn't want to lose her. Reluctantly, he tried to put into words the idea that had come to him over the past few weeks. "You've let me become close to you. Now you've agreed to live with me—if we can find the right place. But I feel as though I'm fighting a constant, silent battle. You really don't like to acknowledge your demon powers, and I won't let you forget them."

"I thought we already talked about that." Mirajane shifted uncomfortably.

"We did. But you are going out with me despite how you feel, not because you are comfortable with your powers. I believe you'll get there—you are already less anxious—but until you can tell yourself that's it's alright and you won't hurt anyone by mistake, you're going to… hold back with me."

Once again, Mira fidgeted. She was intelligent and capable of honest self-analysis; Freed's argument had some merit.

"What does this have to do with getting an apartment?"

Freed had to resist the urge to pace.

"As I said before, oddly enough, demon powers or not, we're both rather domestic creatures." He smiled wryly. "Evergreen and Bickslow are both far more exotic beings than I am, when it comes to creating a space that is a home—not to mention knowing how to cook or tidy. And if you tell me that Elfman has a desire to create gourmet meals then I'll believe you, but I'd be surprised. Or does he have a flair for interior design of which I was unaware?"

That drew a reluctant smile from Mirajane. She nodded in agreement with Freed's assessment.

"In comparison to our families," Freed continued, "you and I secretly want a rather traditional place, with an excellent kitchen, room to entertain, enough space for both guests and our own interests…"

Mirajane laughed out loud. "And a garden and a koi pond?"

"And a fenced yard for the children."

Mira turned noticeably pink again. "It's a little too soon to talk about that," she said in a low voice.

"I agree. That or even the rest of it, maybe, but I think the image is there in our heads already and that's why the apartments and so on aren't satisfying to look at." Freed tilted his head at her. "Since I seem to be pressing my luck anyway, I will complete my analysis. I think you are conflicted: the idea of throwing yourself whole-heartedly into creating your own home and family makes you want more than a utilitarian place to live; however, the idea of being closely involved with me on a day-to-day basis still scares you."

"I'm not afraid of you, Freed!"

"I know." Freed sighed. "I don't think that fear of me—in the obvious sense—is the problem. Either way, I apologize for upsetting you. Besides, I may be completely wrong, and we just haven't found the right place yet."

He rose, took one of Mirajane's hands back, and bowed.

"Freed…" For some reason, Mirajane felt her irritation with the man dissolve again. The strength in his hands and the way that he somehow conveyed both restrained power and the desire for intimacy almost made her shiver again.

"I have reason to believe that Elfman will be out this evening," said Freed in a light tone. "Although it is incredibly presumptuous to invite myself over, may I join you for dinner this evening? If you think that the guild can do without you for an hour or two?"

"I wish Elf wasn't so fascinated by Evergreen," Mirajane replied rather petulantly. When Freed remained silent, she added: "Yes, I'd be happy make dinner for you this evening, even though it is a strange request from a person as consistently polite as you are. I'll find somebody to look after things here."

"Thank you, Mira. I'll see you later, then."

[II]—Intimate Discussions

Freed surveyed the Strauss family home with a slightly sardonic expression. Mirajane and her siblings had been in Magnolia since she was thirteen, during which time they had lived for the most part at the guildhall. The house was fairly new; or more precisely, they hadn't had it for long. Mirajane had bought it about a year ago, when earnings from her modelling jobs had begun to add up. It wasn't especially large, but it was located in what realtors referred to as a "desirable location": an older neighbourhood close to the center of town with full-grown trees and more space between houses than could be found anywhere else. There was a small but pretty garden, and the yard was fenced, although there was no koi pond.

Smiling at the pond idea, Freed walked up the short flight of stairs to the front door, which opened at his approach. Mirajane was wearing a short summer dress in some kind of soft material, and her feet were bare. Freed was pleased that he'd judged correctly: he'd left his usual coat and boots at home in favour of black trousers and a wine-coloured vest over a white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned and the cuffs loosely folded up. He was gratified to see Mira's eyes widen with surprised approval.

"Come in, Freed… And you needn't look so smug; I freely admit that I like your outfit."

"That isn't going to stop me from looking smug, Mira," her guest replied, kissing her cheek and taking his shoes off inside the door. "After all, I get to have dinner—alone—with you, and you like the clothes I chose for the evening. What man wouldn't feel smug?"

"A more polite man might conceal his smugness," Mirajane suggested, her blue eyes twinkling a little.

"Alas, it isn't exactly politeness I have in mind this evening." Freed pulled his hostess against him in a tight embrace and kissed her firmly on the lips.

"Or food?" Mirajane said with a slight gasp a minute or two later.

"Food would be very welcome," Freed demurred. "I merely wanted to advise you of my intentions ahead of time, so that there was no misunderstanding."

"You didn't even bring flowers or, or anything!"

"True. I invited myself to dinner and brought no gifts. That way, you can't accuse me of trying to bribe you or make you feel guilty or indebted."

Mirajane smacked him lightly on the upper arm and tried to look affronted. "I assure you that I don't feel either guilty or indebted when a dinner guest brings me a small gift or a bottle of wine or something of that kind."

"Ah, but you still have my flowers," Freed pointed out.

"Yes, and although they continue to look lovely—I assume you put some kind of arcane runes on them—I think it's time for new ones! Or are you short of money?"

Mirajane immediately reddened and looked flustered, since she knew that Freed had been working hard to repay the guild and the town of Magnolia for the repairs necessary to both after the battle for Fairy Tail. Freed ignored her consternation, however.

"I am not short of money. Since I denied myself the pleasure of your company for over three months, and have remained busy in the—almost—four months that we've been seeing each other, I am entirely free of debt and then some. However,"—he spoke over Mirajane's attempt to apologize for her question—"I do intend to buy you new flowers, just as soon as we decide on a home together. In the meantime, the original roses serve to remind you of our discussion on the matter."

Mirajane stopped trying to cut in. Instead, she frowned slightly, and tried to shift away so that she could look up at him. When his arms didn't move, and proved as yielding as steel bars, the best she could do was resist the desire to snuggle in closer. It was annoyingly difficult not to.

"I don't need the reminder," she told him at last.

"Excellent. Then let's talk about it over dinner, shall we?"

"You're still trying to get me into bed, aren't you?"

"Yes. I believe that came up during the same discussion. But in perfect seriousness, if you want me to desist, you just need to ask."

Mirajane huffed, but didn't say anything more, so Freed let go of her and followed her into the kitchen. The food smelled wonderful, and it was clear that dessert was baking in the oven.

"I was going to suggest that we eat in here," Mirajane said, "but it's a little warm, I'm afraid. Not that either of us seems to mind the heat much. At least, I don't, and I assume you don't since you normally wear a coat on all occasions."

Freed regarded the good-sized kitchen with its comfortable eating area. It was appropriate to the suggestion he wanted to make over dinner.

"I can create a slightly cooler area that won't be affected by the heat from the cooking, if you don't mind setting the table."

"Showing off?" Mirajane teased.

"No, just being practical."

A short time later, they were eating Mira's wonderful dinner in perfect comfort, only the tiniest distortion indicating the location of Freed's magic. Soft music accompanied dinner, issuing from a shimmering lacrima crystal that was itself a piece of art.

"Alright Freed, you've managed to get things more or less the way you want them, I suspect, so what is it that you want to discuss?" Mirajane fixed her guest with a wary gaze.

Freed finished his mouthful of food without haste.

"I think that we should live here," he said simply. "You have already chosen this place, and I like it very much, so why not?"

Mirajane looked startled and then upset.

"But… Elf lives here and I'm not going to tell him to leave! You can't expect me to!"

Freed nodded his understanding.

"Of course I don't expect you to tell him to leave, but have you considered how he feels? I know you are very close, but he may appreciate his own freedom, you know. Especially if he has his own, ah, interests to pursue. It should have occurred to me sooner, but he's the one who should have an apartment, not us. I can assure you that Evergreen is not in a hurry to settle down."

"Thank goodness," muttered Mirajane.

Freed ignored the interpolation.

"More wine?"

"No thank you!" Then Mirajane discovered that her glass was empty, and with a sense of capitulation, she handed it to Freed. "Alright… That is, yes please."

He filled the glass in silence, along with his own.

"If Elfman dislikes the idea—if he would rather stay here—then I'll come up with something else," he promised, once Mirajane had sipped at her wine.

"I… suspect that won't be necessary," she admitted. "He was as resistant as he could be when I bought the place—which isn't saying much, but I know I overrode his preference to stay at the guildhall. And if I present it to him as something that I want, so that any money I give him up front is just a small thing compared to the rent I'd otherwise have to pay…"

"I'm still surprised you went looking at apartments with me, given that you had this lovely house," Freed told her.

She grinned at him. "You caught me at a weak emotional moment—it had been a trying day."

"Of course."

"And I liked your idea of living together."

"In concept or in reality?"

"Both. I promise."

"Then you will consider my idea?"

"I'll speak to Elfman about it tomorrow. He said he'd likely be home late tonight."

"He will be." Freed spoke with some certainty. Evergreen might not be wholly reconciled to the idea of her team leader being involved with "Little Miss Perfect" (her words, of course), but she was fond enough of Freed—and loyal enough—not to stand in his way. Besides, she liked to torment Elfman without having to admit to herself that she wanted to spend time with him.

"I see." Mirajane frowned, but forbore to cast further aspersions on the Raijinshū's capricious female team member.

She cleared the dinner dishes and took dessert out of the oven to cool. Freed watched her patiently as she made coffee for herself and tea for him, understanding her need for space and occupation while she mulled things over. She liked his idea, he thought. And if they wanted a bigger place someday—since the house only had three bedrooms—they could worry about it then. He knew Mirajane very well, and she would want children sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, he had more immediate hopes and dreams, but he had already pushed the limits of acceptable behaviour. He allowed himself to be guided into the cosy living room, and sipped his tea while Mirajane described her most recent modelling assignment, and the sleazy photographer who had needed reminding that she was a Fairy Tail mage. Freed smiled appreciatively at the end result, but added the photographer's name to a short mental list of people with whom to have pointed discussions.

"I only have half your attention!" Mirajane protested at that point.

"You have my full attention," replied Freed with perfect truth.

He rose from the armchair to which he'd been directed and set down his plate and cup. His long green hair had been tied back into a low ponytail but his bangs still fell around his face—and over his right eye—as usual. Mirajane caught her breath and then hurried to stand up. Every now and then, she found herself partially mesmerized by how he looked and it was annoying that it seemed to be happening more often lately. She had expected the effect to lessen as she got to know him better. It gave her insight into the effect that she had on others, since his style of beauty was not unlike her own, but that didn't help her to feel less shallow—or less vulnerable.

"You're leaving already?" she asked, puzzled and relieved and disappointed.

"You are holding me at a distance. I am trying my utmost to become closer to you. It isn't an ideal situation. As you reminded me, I promised to be patient."

"But…" Mirajane frowned. Every way she looked at it, he was correct. She was holding him at a distance even though she wanted to be with him. It did suggest that she was afraid. She didn't like—the realization finally crystallized—she truly didn't like not being in control of how she felt.

Despite his best intentions, Freed couldn't resist the somehow woebegone expression on Mirajane's lovely face. She looked bewildered and he had some idea why. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"You'll sort it out. The thing is… I don't really want to seduce you. I don't even want to find out if that's possible. I want to hold you, and touch your skin, and make love to you—because that's what we both want. Shared love, shared responsibility, shared vulnerability. For people with power I think it generally comes down to that."

He could tell that the words made sense to her. Her slim hands reached up to brush the hair out of his face and he reflexively closed his eyes. His right eye was… troubling… to look at. When she leaned into him, arms now around his neck to balance herself, he let go of her shoulders and allowed his hands to rest lightly on her hips. He was surprised when she kissed his neck rather his lips, but kept his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.

"Stay for a bit longer, please. I'm sure that your patience hasn't entirely run out, has it?"

"No—ah, no, it hasn't run out. Yes, if you want me to stay I will."

They sat on the couch after that, or rather, Freed sat on the couch and pulled Mirajane onto his lap. He put his arms around her but otherwise left her to choose what to do next. She continued to kiss his neck, and then his ears and finally what she could she see of his shoulders. Somehow he managed to stay still throughout, although he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He felt his whole body tense when her fingers unbuttoned his vest and most of his shirt, but other than shifting to accommodate reactions that he couldn't possibly help, he didn't move.

His eyes were closed, partly to give his lover a strange semblance of privacy, partly because he thought that if he could see then his control might slip beyond recall. Soft hands traced the muscles and bones of his chest and warm lips trailed along his left collarbone. Unlike Mirajane, he had no difficulty at all in feeling the quasi-electrical sensation of magical power rising along his skin. When surprisingly sharp teeth marked his shoulder he gasped out loud and then gently took Mira's face between his hands.

"That… Wait." He pressed his forehead against hers in an attempt to recover enough breath—and wits—to speak coherently. Her hands remained pressed against his ribs, but she didn't move. Finally, he opened his eyes and smiled ruefully at her. "Well."

"I know I didn't hurt you," Mirajane told him, expression torn between concern and amusement. Her cheeks were flushed, but mostly she appeared to be smug.

"No, not at all." The rapidly darkening bruise on his left shoulder might suggest otherwise, but Freed felt no pain. At least, not there; elsewhere, his clothing was very much too tight and he was distinctly uncomfortable.

"I never really realized that people could blush with their whole bodies," Mirajane mused thoughtfully.

"Mmm. More blood in the capillaries. Shows up more if you have fair skin, too."

"You have nice skin."

"Thank you. So do you."

"You should know, since you've seen most of it; I've modelled all sorts of swimsuits. You, on the other hand, are almost always overdressed." Mirajane's tone was teasing, but Freed could also hear the warring emotions underneath: desire and fear, although the fear was much less pronounced than it had been.

"I find myself overdressed right now, but I suppose that's not the same."

The flush on her cheeks darkened and she looked away. "… No, not quite the same."

"Have you concluded that you can wrap me around your little finger with a few well-placed kisses?" Freed asked, turning her face back toward his.

"Not exactly," Mirajane responded slowly, meeting his eyes—which was saying something, since he could tell that both were visible. "But I'll admit that you've somehow managed to convince me that we should have our own home."

"I thought I'd already convinced you of that?"

"Yes… in a general way. But now I realize that we need our own place because we really need more privacy."

"Ah."

"Not that I didn't already understand that we need more privacy but—look, can you just drop this?"

"Sure."

"And stop looking so smug!"

Freed raised an eyebrow.

"The woman I'm in love with is sitting in my lap and just half undressed me. It's difficult not to feel a least a little smug. Besides, that is very much the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"

"My pots are all steel-coloured."

"So's my kettle." Suddenly Freed blinked and looked alarmed. "… Mira…!"

With characteristic stubbornness—at least, Erza would have called it that, if nobody else—Mirajane had twisted so that she was kneeling across Freed's legs, her white hair concealing her face as she used lips and teeth to put a second, matching bruise on Freed's right shoulder. The slight hoarseness in his voice didn't escape her sharp ears, and she was pleased with the effect. Suddenly strong hands grasped her upper arms and pulled her upright, so that they were facing each other again.

"This isn't a game," Freed told her flatly. "Or at least, not one that we can safely play right now. Do you understand? I want you to touch me because you want to: not to establish dominance, not because you're afraid, not because you have something to prove."

There was a long, long silence after that.

"I understand," Mirajane said eventually, very quietly.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Freed immediately apologized. He had already relaxed his grip on her arms.

"Why is this so complicated? Honestly, it's not like this in the books."

"Those would be the books with the half-naked men and women on the covers?"

Mirajane giggled, suddenly sounding a lot more like herself. Freed relaxed a little.

"Yes… Erza and Cana get them—okay, and I do too—and we trade them around. Cana always gets the more explicit ones, and well… there's not much of a plot…"

Fairy Tail's fair-haired girl (so to speak) smirked and reddened again, but without being especially embarrassed. Freed, on the other hand, clapped his hands over his ears.

"I don't want to know about it. Not if it involves Erza. Otherwise I'll say the wrong thing at the wrong time and who knows what will happen."

"Oh? More afraid of her than of me?"

"Yes: you actually care about me and I'd like to think that you would hesitate to damage me too severely if I accidentally embarrassed you."

Mirajane rolled her eyes, and then smiled.

"I care quite a lot, to be honest. So I guess you have a point." She hesitated, then added: "It may take a little while for me to sort things out with Elf and make sure it's okay. He'll grumble a lot about me living with you, even though he's kind of got his head around things more, now."

"I think you'll find him fairly tractable at the present time. He, ah, doesn't have much of a leg to stand on, you know, from a moralistic point of view."

"… I'd rather not think about that, but I suppose it's true. All I was going to say, though, is that if we wait to have this place entirely to ourselves then it could be a few days or a few weeks."

"True," Freed said neutrally.

"And the man I love is sitting here partly-undressed and rather dishevelled and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity."

"Really?" The man in question could feel his heart beat accelerate again, as Mirajane began to run a hand gently down his neck and along his collarbone. Her other hand was working on the last two buttons of his shirt, which she had liberated from his trousers.

"Yes. I don't get to see you dishevelled very often, Freed. It's rather disturbingly attractive."

"Probably because you know that it's only with you."

"That could be true." Mirajane finally managed to undo the last of the shirt buttons, and she paused to admire her handiwork before running both hands along Freed's flat stomach and up across his ribs. "Or maybe I'm just infatuated."

"I don't think it's infatuation. Lust maybe. Love and lust together aren't a bad thing, you know."

"I'm relieved to hear it. There are a lot of conflicting messages out there, though. So I might still get a little anxious from time to time…"

"I can live with that," Freed said. "I never expected things to be simple. I just wanted a chance to resolve the complications."

He shifted his legs onto the couch and settled himself more comfortably against the soft armrest. Then he pulled Mira down against his chest and ran his hands down her back and over her hips, brushing his fingertips across the tops of her bare legs. When that seemed to be acceptable, he brought his hands back to her face and smiled.

"So it's okay to tell me to stop, right?"

"I know. I'm not a child."

"I am in no way treating you like a child," Freed pointed out.

Mirajane kissed him, lightly at first and then more emphatically. "True," she said, once they were both rather out of breath.

"The only other thing I was going to add," murmured Freed, "is that unless you do tell me to stop sooner rather than later, I would prefer to go somewhere with a door."

"Just in case of jealous lovers, brothers, that kind of thing?"

"No. For that kind of thing, I recommend magic wards. For a basic sense of privacy, a door is sufficient."

Mirajane laughed and managed to snuggle closer. "Let's just stay here for a bit, okay? Then we'll see."

[To be continued… in Chapter 4]

Note:  Reviews and comments (even short ones) would be much appreciated. I enjoyed writing this chapter, which sets the stage for the next (and concluding) chapter. Unfortunately, I was unable to put everything together in as short a time as I'd hoped (i.e., during Mirafreed Week itself).