#GOD. anyway. this snippet

[good--merits-accumulated]

i'm never finishing this damn fic but. we move

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[varpusvaras]

Fox woke up with a dull headache and laying on the best mattress in the entire Galaxy.

He sighed. It had been a rough week. Someone could say that all of his weeks were rough, but Fox had very different parameters on what counted as rough anymore than most people. In that light, the past week had definitely been rough. It was a pleasant surprise to wake up with only a headache, and a manageable one at that, and not having to peel himself off of damp ground first thing after waking up.

Fox turned his head a bit more into the pillow. It had been a while since he had had the time to go meet Bail in the House. He had never slept the night there, but he had been into Bail's personal quarters a few times. It had always been like getting a little glimpse of what having a home with them would be like, and the times Fox had laid there on the bed, closing his eyes just for a moment, he had allowed himself to just dream of it and ignore everything that happened outside the walls of the room.

The linens smelled faintly of Bail's cologne mixed with the soft washing agent he preferred to use. It was Breha's favorite, and reminded him of home, he had told Fox, and Fox had used that knowledge to imagine how it would be to wake up next to her, in a time where he would have nothing to worry about anymore.

Fox breathed in the scent, and remembered that he was supposed to be dead.

Fox snapped properly awake instantly, every bit of his training kicking in all at once, and he jumped to sit up on the bed. That turned out to be a bad idea, since his back gave him a very intense warning not to move too fast in the form of searing pain coursing up his spine. It left him breathing rapidly for a moment, before whatever painkillers that were used to dull the pain this far started to soothe it over again.

Fox took another deep breath once he could, and with it came the rest of it. The fight, the explosion, hitting ground, and then- nothing. Nothing else between the last impact of hard ground beneath him and waking up in the Cantham House in Bail's bed.

This didn't make any sense. Or maybe it did, but not to Fox just yet. He needed to...he needed to find Bail.

Fox got all the way to pushing the blankets off of him when the door opened, and Bail stepped in.

There was a singular second, during which Bail stared at him, opened his mouth and immediately closed it again, and then he was hurrying up to the bed, crossing the entire room with only a few long strides, and then he was already wrapping his arms tightly around Fox.

Fox breathed in. It was a little shaky. Was he shaking? Bail was, just a little, Fox could feel it from how close to himself Bail was holding him. He pulled his head back in order to look him in the face. He couldn't see much, only the way how tightly set Bail's jaw was and how the corners of his mouth were turned down.

"Bail", Fox called softly. He didn't dare to speak any louder. It felt inapproriate, especially considering what he had done, how much it had probably hurt Bail and Breha and everyone else. This was too much, already, still having Bail hold him like this, and Fox didn't want to push beyond what he was given.

He both felt and heard Bail draw in a deeper breath as well, before he loosened his hold a little.

"Fox." Bail moved back, but only a couple of inches, still not letting go off Fox either. He pressed a soft kiss onto Fox's temple, and Fox had to fight his heart in order for it not to slam right into his throat. "How are you feeling, my love?"

My love. My love, my love, my love. The relief and the guilt that followed immediately after were so strong that Fox had to now fight the tears that were threatening to gather into his burning eyes. Bail was too good, way too good. Everything that Fox had done, and still he called him that.

"I'm..." His throat was dry, most likely not just from having emotions, and Fox had to swallow a couple of times before he got his voice to work. "Good. All things considered."

The explosion he remembered before everything stopped had not been just a little bang, and Fox was honestly surprised that he still had all of his limbs and his face intact. At least the armor had proven to be worth everything he had put into it.

"Good", Bail said. He finally leaned back enough that Fox could see him properly again. There was still some tightness left in his expression, but there was unmistakeably relief written all over him as well. "You gave me quite the scare there, you know?"

There was no accusation in his voice, but that didn't matter, because Fox was feeling guilty enough already all on his own.

"I'm sorry", he blurted. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

To make you think I'm dead. To hurt you. To make you grieve someone like me when there is so much already for you to worry about constantly.

"Fox." Bail's hand came to craddle his face. "I understand. You don't have to apologise to me."

"Yes I do." Bail was too good, way too good for someone like Fox. "I didn't want to make you think I was gone when I really wasn't. I just...I just didn't know how to tell you without anyone finding out."

He had wanted to tell him and Breha immediately. Making them believe he was dead had been outright nauseating, but with how close the Senate was to Bail all the time, and with how many players there whose alliances Fox still couldn't name for sure, it had seemed impossible at the time, and with so many other pressing things coming at him constantly, he had not had the time to even begin to plan how to contact either of them safely, and had resigned himself to the fact that it was better this way, anyway. If he got killed on his way down to the core of the War, they wouldn't have to grieve him twice.

"I know", Bail said. "I'm serious. I know you. I know that you wouldn't have done it if you didn't think it was necessary or if you couldn't find a way. We've all made sacrifices during this war. This was not the first, and it will not be the last."

He ran his thumb gently across Fox's cheek, and Fox finally gave himself permission to lean into the touch. He had missed this. He had missed Bail and Breha so, so badly.

"Thank you", he said.

The corners of Bail's mouth finally turned more upwards.

"You don't need to thank me", he said. He quickly glanced down at Fox's body then. "Do you need more medication for the pain? You were pretty roughed up when we found you, I am honestly quite surprised that you are managing this good."

"I'm good." Fox looked down on himself then as well. His arms were pretty much completely covered in dressings that if he concentrated smelled faintly of bacta. The same situation was going on with what surface area Fox could see beneath his shirt, and when he looked towards his legs, he could see that his left shin was encased in a more heavy-duty brace. The medication was really putting in some work, since Fox hadn't noticed any of it until now. "We're made to be much sturdier than we look. Wouldn't be much use in combat otherwise."

Bail shook his head a little, but didn't comment on it otherwise.

"Please do tell me if you do need something", he said instead. "I'm...I was afraid for a moment that I'd lost you again, before we got there."

That reminded Fox again of all the questions he had.

"How did you find me?" He asked. "Or, more importantly, why were you even there?"

Bail perhaps lacked the level of self-preservation that Fox wished he had, but going after someone who had been at the center of major conflicts on the planet for weeks now was a decision Fox didn't understand. They did have the same enemies, of course, but that had been all the connection Bail had had to whatever Fox had been doing. Personally coming after someone like that just didn't make sense.

Bail frowned a bit.

"Padmé and I figured out what you were most likely after", he said. "And I realised that you were walking into what was essentially a trap. I had come get you."

Fox opened his mouth to ask him why when it clicked.

"You knew it was me?" He asked.

"Yes", Bail answered immediately. "I've known since the first broadcast after you leaked the files."

"How?" Fox had put so much effort into making the armor cover all recognizable features of him. He had put so much effort into learning to let go and not fight like a clone. He had put so much effort on making sure that he would succeed in his mission, ready to denounce every part of himself in the process if he had to, to make sure that none of them could be used to track him down.

Bail looked him in the eyes.

"I told you already", he said, easily, unwaveringly. "I know you."

Such a simple answer, but one that made Fox's heart hammer hard inside his chest nevertheless.

"Okay", he said, because what else was he supposed to say to that? "Can I call Breha?"

Bail smiled at him.

"Yes", he said. "She's been waiting for you."

[awriternamedart]

"Hhharrggnnnnn…"

Hermes chuckled, letting his light feet touch the ground for the first time in what felt like eons.

"I know, I know boss! You can't be let off the hook either, its rare enough we get these chance encounters here, much less anywhere else!" The speed of his words had dropped ever so slightly. Even his worn chiton had seen better days, the wings on his head now folded and pressed up to his untamed hair. He had seen better days- they all had. Gods, niether of them even knew when they last crossed paths in the Crossroads, much less elsewhere. Hermes had his own duties to the Unseen, as did Charon- but still, both of them lingered for those few seconds.

"…yeah, I miss it to, boss." As if reading the chthonic god's mind, Hermes only chuckled, actually pausing long enough to enjoy the feeling of the grass for once. Hecate had insisted he linger- his clothes had gotten far to worn, and she had supposedly prepared him something. Charon knew, he perhaps had played a part in this scheme, but he was remaining stubborning quiet about the whole thing, quieter then normal! "Don't suppose you got somethin' new in stock there, my dear associate, that we can look through as we wait~?"

Charon just huffed, a low rumbling sound of amusement, dry and cracked. Both of them were worse for wear. Just a few years longer before Melinoe was old enough to be sent to the field, to her mission- but those years were to be spent in constant movement and prevention. Lest the worse happen.

Hermes was knocked out of his racing thoughts for a brief moment, cold gracing his cheek. It was a familiar gesture, dragging a soft laugh from worn cheeks. The circles under his eyes were certainly doing him no favors. Charon simply traced the line under his eye, brushing away the dirt stuck to his cheek.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were up to somethin. Yknow, boss, for someone so quiet, you can be awfully straightforward, makes me wonder why no ones ever really tryna talk to you! Well, besides my good ole coz, your a right fine guy!" Hermes found it enough to get a smile on his face- their affection was subtle, but not hidden. One was always stuck to his path, the other on the constant move. It was nothing either of them needed much time to think about. Crossing their paths so often just led to gentle partnership. Ease. Comfort. Trust. "…we just gotta wait, then itll all be back to normal."

Another word longer and he would have been whisked away by Hecate and Melinoe, both of them calling for Hermes from a ways away. Charon gestured for him to go, but the silent question for him to return before leaving didn't go unnoticed. Hermes gave him the best reassurance he could before he was pulled away and newly dressed- darker fabrics, more golden accents- fresh against his skin. It felt nice to get something new again, and it fit him well, something that made the god smile.

"Oh, Lord Hermes, it works so well! Charon was right to use these fabrics, I have no idea how he found them, thats for sure!" Melinoe clasped her hands together. Despite her young age, stress had already etched itself into her forehead- but it faded into something more childlike as she grinned. "Arachne will be so pleased to know it fits, though she doesn't exactly know its for an Olympian…"

"My lips are sealed, M." Hermes grinned, shouldering his new bag. It even had a little pocket, enchanted to the tee to have more space then it appeared, perfect for a little creature to take as home. Hecate handed him a small ribbon, helping him tie back what hair he had grown in his seemingly endless spy mission. "Thanks, mistress, real life saver the lot of you are!"

"It is our thanks to you, Hermes, for dedicating your time to this cause. Surely Olympus has questioned your continuous absence- we simply want to thank you for your time and effort." Hecate simply smiled before waving him off. "Now go, the boatman has been awaiting your arrival- he's your ride back to the Underworld for the next scouting rounds."

"Please do be careful, Lord Hermes." All the god could do was playfully tousle the young witch apprentice's hair, Melinoe gasping in surprise before Hermes zipped off to his counterpart, his rushed thanks the best they got as they watched him prepare to leave again.

"Now then, whatcha think, boss?" Hermes chuckled before settling into the boat with ease. He could only wave to the Crossroads before Charon pushed off, both of them knowing that time was of the essence.

But once the waving hands were out of sight, Charon paused them for a second, dragging Hermes attention back to him.

"C'mon, boss, we gotta move quickly~! You know better then I that moving as fast as possible is the best way we can get knowledge on whatevers going on downstairs-" His ceaseless rambling was paused for a second when Charon groaned, taking one of his armlets off. Most of his splendor in offerings of Obel was already stripped bare, the Boatman left nothing but his usual garb and whatever gold he could scrounge up and stockpile. He took no pleasure in it, as it wasn't Obel, but it was what he could make due with- which surprised Hermes. He was no god to part with his treasures and offerings. "Whatcha got there, boss?"

All he got in answer was for Charon to take his hands, sliding two of his own rings over Hermes' own fingers. The armlet was pressed into his hands for him to put on as he pleased, his touch lingering before he stood up to begin rowing yet again. Hermes could only stare in surprise, for once silent as he tried to process exactly what Charon had done.

To give recieved offerings of one god to another- it was nigh unheard of. But as he slid it on, feeling it settle into his skin, he could only chuckle and smile. Hermes was an Olympian, sure, but Charon was tied to the Underworld, to the River Styx herself and her sisters alike. And this was one way to certainly say that while in the Underworld, Hermes was under Charon's protection and watch.

"You know, if you just wanted to stake your claim, there were far easier ways, boss!"

Charon offered no answer to that, just another low gutteral groan with no percievable meaning. All Hermes could do was laugh and admire the delicate shine- they certainly were partners, in more ways then one.

-

woe charmes be upon ye

or speedboat

professional associates

how do they have so many ship names

anyway my take on how hermes got the new fit and also charons missing rings and armlet-thing (i dont know what their called and its bloody midnight im not researching shit rn) reappearing on hermes

hades 2 has in fact taken me by the throat and thrown me into the pits of tartarus were back in the fucking building again

[vicsbasement]

Is the scene in the new snippet taken from the Maria/grief fic? :P

You absolutely caught me. It is! I don't know, there's something about that moment in time for me that compels me to write it over and over again. I keep going back to it because I remember that first time we saw the picture of Charles and Carlos driving out of Maranello and to see Charles there-- they already knew, you know? And they couldn't say because there wasn't anything official. But there's this whole headcanon in my head that Charles didn't, couldn't, let Carlos go through this alone because the announcement wasn't supposed to come this early, right. So when Carlos called he picked up. When Carlos needed him, he went. I don't know. Anyway! I did say you'd win another snippet so this is another one for clingy!charles. Enjoy! Carlos was sure that nothing was amiss. He was sure that Roberto just got in his head, but—as he stumbled out of his car in FP2, Charles was the one to grab his arm to stop him from falling. Why was Charles there?

“Hello, mate!” Charles says; a light tone to his voice, cheerful and sweet. Almost too light, like it was forced gentleness. Carlos would be suspicious if he didn’t feel like he was about to hurl.

“Care to hand me over to Gigi? I’m not feeling too well.” Carlos declares, a bit of his polite front waning when another roll of nausea hits him as Charles removes his hands from his back. Carlos starts to take off his helmet and balaclava, hating the sensation of the fabric dragging against his sensitive skin.

“Fred told me this.” Charles sounded… admonishing, like he wanted to make Carlos feel bad for not telling him he’d been having a hard time keeping his food down since yesterday. “You guys heard him, where’s Gigi?” Charles gets something in his eyes when he turns serious. Carlos has seen it a couple of times before, even directed at himself, but his garage—well. It’d come alive with his instructions, with Charles’ tone.

Two mechanics scrambled out of his seat to look for Pierluigi as Charles grabbed Carlos’ arm again and made him sit in a corner. When Carlos felt he wasn’t about to keel over, he let his body fold into himself and his back curved. Carlos just wanted to sleep. The pounding in his head was worsening, the nausea came back with a vengeance, and Charles was looking for—his isotonic drink, of course. That would help a little with the nausea.

“It’s behind you.” Carlos said, and Charles turns sharply and grabs the drink, offering him the straw between pinched-tight fingers. Carlos doesn’t hesitate, but Charles seems to notice the gesture—his fingers a little too close to Carlos’ lips and mouth, so he recoils, albeit gently.

“Thanks.” Carlos murmurs, and Charles nods. He looks fidgety, like he wants to help more but he doesn’t know how. Pierluigi must be looking for medicine to stop the nausea, that’s probably why he wasn’t close, maybe he went to the Ferrari hospitality for his medikit. Charles seems to get an idea and looks for a wet towel, and hands it to Carlos. The heat is stifling and it’s making everything worse, his mouth fills with liquid and Carlos feels like he’s about to throw up in front of the whole garage, when he feels Charles’ gentle hands press the ice-cold towel to his forehead.

“They told me you had a fever?” Charles asks, sheepish. He removes the towel for a second and replaces it with his hand, looking for the pulse point right behind his eyebrows and using his wrists to gauge the temperature. “I shouldn’t have put the towel before, I don’t know if you’re still—”

“I think I am, yeah.” Carlos says. Charles is using both his wrists to gauge his temperature, now, he’s basically cradling Carlos’ head between them. And Carlos gets a good look at Charles; the frown, the pursed lips, the demeanor, and Teto’s voice echoes through his head.

“He’s clingy.” He remembers. But this is not clingy, this is just worried. Right? Just worried.

Pierluigi arrives at that moment and sees Charles cradling Carlos’ head. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and Carlos just shrugs as Charles makes space for Pierluigi to lean down and ask him about his symptoms.

As Carlos is trying to recall what’s causing him discomfort he feels how his mouth fills with liquid again, he starts slurring his words, the world turns on its axis and he feels as he’s fading slowly away, the last thing in his vision Charles’ expression of  utter worry.

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie had done this often enough that the last person he expected to see at the door was a well-built dude with some sports jersey on. 

“Oh hey.” Sports Guy said, not looking remotely surprised to see them (nor was he hysterical, panicking, nervous, rushing Eddie inside or doing anything people normally did when it came to a home haunting.) “Eddie right? With Hellfire?” 

“That’s me.” Eddie said, giving a dorky little tug at his shirt, right over the Hellfire Hunters emblem, and regretted it immediately. 

“Come in.” Sports Guy said, stepping aside with a wave. 

His house wasn’t quite a mansion, but it was enormous, and Eddie could barely listen as Sports Guy began giving a run through of the layout of his home. 

“It mostly stays outside, but we’ve caught it in the house a few times.” He was saying as he went, pointing out various things that sounded an awful lot more like Eddie was here to catch a racoon than a ghost. 

Halfway through his spiel a literal herd of children, led by a curly headed kid who shrieked “Steve! Don’t catch it without me!” before shooting down some stairs, and Eddie become concerned some wires had been crossed.

“You understand you hired ghost hunters, right? We’re here to…” Eddie paused, because for the first time in his life, it felt so stupid to say what he did for a living. “Hunt ghosts?” 

“I know. Dustin--that’s the curly haired kid that just ran by--brought it home by accident. The kids named it Dart but it keeps ruining my rhododendrons. 

“Your--rhododendrons?” 

Steve nodded, face serious. “I’m in line for winning the county's best garden prize at the fair this year. Check in is in a month. If I replace any more flowers with store bought ones they’re gonna disqualify me.” 

Steve the Sports Guy lived in a giant fricken house, with a buttload of children, and was worried about a ghost haunting his flowers. 

Eddie wasn’t sure what the hell he’d just fallen into, but he was desperate to learn more. 

Not just because Steve was the hottest man he had ever seen in his life. 

(...Maybe because Steve was the hottest man Eddie had seen in his life but who could blame him? Those biceps, god!)

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #4

He's lost everything.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was finally back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was officially over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the hand sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

Kelari was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works now that the war's over."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see --"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

"Sergeant?" Kelari asked quietly, stepping close to Bucket's side, "They're Commander Vertex's batchmates, right?"

The gentle nudge would have been helpful--Kelari was new, but she'd already learned what to do when another Guard faltered--except the intel she was working with was faulty. 

It was a reasonable assumption: Thire wouldn't shut up about his batchmates, so they were all known. Ponds had already stopped by to see Stone, the rest of their batch lost to the war, while Thorn's quietly deranged batch somehow managed to stay known but off the radar. Vertex was the only Commander whose batchmates were unaccounted for.

Except Vertex didn't have any batchmates.

Cresh Squad had taken heavy losses a couple weeks ago, and Bucket had been doing his own rehab with Patches in the medbay while they were still recovering. Commander Vertex had been there speaking quietly with the survivors, going between the beds with soft words and reassuring touches. It was clear that he'd done that kind of thing before, and when he'd finally taken a moment to sit down with Defib, Bucket had overheard their conversation.

'Good going with Whiskey,' Defib said gruffly. 'He would have camped outside the medbay doors if you hadn't talked him down. Tango's stable, but it's never easy to see a batcher get hurt.'

'No,' Vertex said, sounding tired. 'It really isn't.'

'Sounds like you have experience.'

Vertex was silent for a long while.

'My batchmates,' he said eventually, 'And my command. I lost them. They're...they're all gone, now.'

'Not gone,' Defib corrected gently, 'But marching far away.'

'Not gone,' Vertex had agreed, almost too soft to hear. 'Just marching far away from me.'

Patches was a medic and Bucket knew when to keep his mouth shut, and neither of them had mentioned anything of the conversation to others. Bucket was pretty sure the other commanders knew, too, but it wasn't like they'd go around airing someone's trauma like that.

Far too much trauma to go around for all of them.

Kelari nudged him again, and Bucket blinked rapidly, hauling himself out of the memory. He lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

The Marshal Commander frowned.

"We're here to see--to see..."

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into unease and then panicked alarm--he didn't think that it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[definitelynotshouting]

oh hunger au pre-canon s6 oneshot im halfway finished editing we're really in it now

[deiaiko]

#20.6 Concern

"There we go, cluck!" Gyetang exclaimed after tasting the food he and Viole cooked.

His guest, Viole, nodded approvingly after having a taste himself. "It's better."

They ended up making more dishes to be served along with the macaroni soup. Gyetang had almost forgotten how fun it was to cook with someone.

Grace and Boss came out of their room soon after Gyetang and Viole finished setting the table.

"Good afternoon," Grace greeted, trailing closely after Agni.

Viole immediately perked up and ran to get them.

"Hi, Bam." Agni smiled warmly, which Gyetang found to be a rare sight for anyone other than Grace. He filed that information for himself. "It's nice to see you again."

Viole nodded and that was that. The outgoing boy that Viole was when they cooked together was no more, replaced by silent curiosity.

As they made their way to the cafeteria, Gyetang realized that he wouldn't have noticed that anything was amiss if he didn't cross paths with Grace earlier. The way they carried themselves was not noticeably different, as if they had practiced it many times before. There were a lot of questions that were already sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back, afraid that he might step out of line.

Viole, however, was brave enough to ask, "Where's your mask, Mr. Agni?"

Gyetang had seen his boss without a mask, but he saw him wearing it more often than not, so it did throw him off. Gyetang knew there was a scar that Boss hid under his makeup, yet clearly he didn't put much effort in hiding the unevenness of his eyes.

"I stored it in my pocket," Boss answered Viole without elaborating. He took a sip of the broth and hummed approvingly, "Did you help Gyetang to cook this, Bam? It tastes a little different from his usual."

"It's just as good," Grace added as he scooped another spoonful of macaroni.

Viole beamed at that and began to eat along.

Gyetang didn't bother trying to hide his glances. It was clear that they were pretending that nothing was wrong, but if this problem was concerning enough that they had to take a day off from it, his feathers couldn't help but ruffle with worry. The last time something like this happened was when his previous team suddenly disbanded. The signs were there, but he decided to ignore it, naively thinking that it'd pass as it usually did. He definitely won't let it happen again, not when this team had felt like home, not when he could help it. "Can I ask what's up with today, cluck?”

Grace and Boss looked at him, at each other, and back at him again. Grace was the one to open his mouth, but Boss interrupted him before he could utter a word. "I will tell you later when everyone has gathered."

That definitely didn't sound ominous at all. Gyetang realized he hadn't been this nervous since his last floor test, or maybe when he got scouted by Boss to join this team, or when he first set his foot on their floating ship, or when he learned that Boss was associated with the criminal organization. Okay, maybe he got nervous quite often, but that didn't mean this was any better.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Gyetang." Boss assured him, as if he just read his mind.

Gyetang wasn't convinced, but he'd take it for now. "If you say so, cluck."

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[yumizurueleonora]

idk if you still want to take requests for the angsty sentence starter thing, but maybe 1 for akitoya, and then 13 and 17 for toya and harumichi? you can pick one or all of them haha

YES YES I AM THANK YOU GREAT PROMPT CHOICE I LIKED THIS :DD

1: “I’m just so afraid.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Akito can’t breathe.

He has to practice. He has to keep going.

The night stretches out, and that’s just another reminder of how Akito can’t stop.

Chasing that moon. That… gorgeous, delicate moon.

There’s so much fear in his chest. It’s suffocating.

That gentle voice is ringing in his head, saying words that make Akito’s heart shatter. Cutting him every time he tries to pick up the pieces.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you grew up and stopped chasing some tiny event that no-one’s even heard of outside of this town?”

It was a long time ago. Akito knows that. But…

But it’s still ringing in his head. He can’t stop it.

And that face is in his vision. Bruised and cold.

So cold.

He’s a terrible partner.

That voice keeps ringing in his head no matter how hard he sings.

And it’s only getting louder. Louder and louder.

“Akito!”

It’s almost like… he’s here…

His eyes flutter shut, and there are suddenly arms around him.

He doesn’t even need to see them. He knows those manicured fingers and long arms.

“…How’d you know?” Akito asks, and Toya chuckles softly.

“Partner sense.” He responds, but then his tone changes. “What are you doing, Akito?”

“Practicing.” Akito sighs.

“That wasn’t practice. That was… dangerous. Violent. Your voice was a honed blade.”

“Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?”

Akito stays silent, and Toya sighs.

“I’m afraid, Akito. I’m just so afraid for you.”

There’s another pang in Akito’s chest, and…

And Akito doesn’t know what to do.

So he just stays silent. In Toya’s arms. Feeling the pain that’s shared between them.

“Come home with me. My parents are out, we can play Pokémon or something.”

And Akito wants to tell him that he needs to keep practicing. That he’s also afraid. That he’s scared that Toya will leave him again, for good this time.

But he knows his partner. He won’t let that go.

So instead he just laughs softly and opens his eyes.

“Okay.”

And again, the pain continues. But that’s alright.

It’s alright for now.

13. “You never listen to me.”/17. “I have to leave.”

It’s always so… messy whenever Harumichi and Toya get into a fight.

Toya’s pacing the floor back and forth, an intense expression on his face.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“You never listen to me!” Toya starts, his eyes flashing with a cold fire. “Why?! Why can’t you understand, Father?!”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.” Harumichi simply says, keeping his own temper under control.

It should come like second nature, but there’s a strange bubbling in his chest.

He’s a child. There’s no reason to yell.

But Toya keeps going, and he can’t keep repeating the same thing over and over again.

“Insolent child! You’re so stubborn!”

“Pot, meet kettle!” Toya snaps back. “Yes, I’m so stubborn! It’ll lead me to ruin! Then to my ruin I shall go! Why do you insist on dictating my life?!”

“Because for us, there is no other path for happiness than classical music!”

“No other path?! If someone told you that your only path to happiness was to be a doctor, when you can barely stand going to the hospital to see Saki, would your heart not strain to be free?!”

That sentence… breaks something in Harumichi.

And there’s an echo in his head.

That grating voice.

“Worthless, worthless, worthless! God, why did I have to be cursed with a child like you?!”

“That’s different.” Harumichi says, almost robotically, and Toya’s entire body tenses up.

“You don’t even care, do you? All you want is for me to be made in your image! I need to leave, I’ll be at the Tenmas’!”

Toya walks out the door and slams it behind him, and Harumichi collapses onto the couch.

He’ll never understand, will he?

That this is the only path for their family. It’s what they’re meant to do, and people will try to pull them away from it all their lives.

And they’ll go, for only a pinch of that sweet thing called love.

Fate has decided it long ago.

And all Harumichi can do is try to drag Toya back from that pain, that torture before it’s too late.

[daemon-in-my-head]

FYI cuz there's a bunch of new guys all of a sudden (hi hope u enjoy my madness, I've been gone for a hot sec but slowly making my way back to the shambles I left);

My Durgetash is based on betrayal + systematic manipulation on all sides. When I'm not talking about Gortash exclusively, that is to say more durgetash and or Durge, I don't even try hard to hide my bias.

I like em toxic in the hurt/no comfort tragedy 'never breaking the cycle' way. And old. We're doing a bit of a bi catastrophe approach over here and I absolutely do not respect canon whatsoever (genuinely my durgetash has reached levels of insane fucking around and finding out).

Lately the idea of a brand has also been invading my mind (piss off marazhai we're not doing that crossover babe).

I'm clearly not sane about them. My takes are biased as fuck. Sometimes I delete my musings about them using bdsm as a sorry therapy replacement, sometimes I don't. Like now. I have a track record of writing shit where either of them dies. I killed them more times than I care to remember. Please consider yourself warned.

[god-of-this-new-blog]

““Latin,” both of their advisors had offered in the first weeks of spring term, “would be an undeniable boon.” L had put up a fight about altering his schedule. Light had yielded gracefully to the request. Light was one for yielding gracefully when he understood it was required of him.

There was one Latin class taught on campus, one room in which it was taught, one table around which the students gathered, and one seat—a necessary buffer—between the two young men.”

— Summa Cum Laude by God_of_this_new_blog

[magistralucis]

A princeling fair to see, the pearl of minstrelsy [Oltyx/Yenekh snippet]

(I started scribbling this after seeing @eleooooooo's take on necrontyr Yenekh a few days ago, holy hell that boy is fine. And such a fine boy deserved another. IDK if I'm going to make this a full thing, but it's been a long time without any content from my end... and we could all do with something sweet, always 👍)

------

On the day Kynazh Oltyx's statue was unveiled on Sedh Yenekh recognized the sweetbitter inkling of his fate.

News seldom came so fast in fringeworlds such as theirs. The young prince had recently returned from war, and the dynast Unnas in his pride had commissioned for him this statue, a copy of which was to be instilled in every world held by Ithakas. As Yenekh made his way to the central square, it seemed that over half the planet had joined him to bear witness. Patriot champion, the whole city whispered, a fine lad and a strong warrior, a true leader to his men. And since the lot of everybody on Sedh was tied to the mercy of their high command, they were very interested to know what this one promised, and were all in all pleasantly surprised.

Yenekh had never seen anything like it. Royalty for him had always been stoic. Aloof and distant, most of the time, crushingly immediate when they deigned to gaze upon Sedh. That was how Unnas was depicted, indeed all the kings of Ithakas before him, towering over the people in their bold-faced majesty. That was how Kynazh Djoseras was depicted, the elder prince who'd drawn similar crowds some years before, his slim face uncannily stern as he stared straight ahead of him. (Unlike his father he was only ever shown alone, and only as a side profile, though his judging gaze was felt by all who saw him.)

But there was no precedent for Oltyx's statue, not among royalty, nemesors or overlords. His was a full-body sculpture, unlike his father and his brother carved in friezes. It was of realistic size too; the statue was set on a high plinth, the bodily proportions slightly magnified to account for perspective, but otherwise one could almost believe it was the real kynazh standing up there. Already that was too down to earth to be the norm, but what really shocked the denizens of Sedh was the expression - for yes, Kynazh Oltyx had an expression, a genuine marker of personality. The fair prince stood with glaive in one hand, the other held palm-up as if in hail, and he was smiling.

It was not a vivid smile, nor a triumphant smile. They would have understood that, although privately, they might've thought it uncouth to show that much emotion when a stoic stare would have done just as well. No, his was a demure smile, so subtle that it seemed a sculptor's secret grace: the prince's eyes were slightly downcast, hooded as if he were sharing sweet mysteries, and the curve of his mouth rose so delicately one might think it a trick of the light. His raised arm seemed almost inviting, as if to swear oaths to a lover, or to clasp his admirers in an embrace.

It was a sight to take Yenekh's breath away. Indeed, it was the closest thing to benevolence any of them had ever seen from the heart of Antikef. It was so unusual, so unlike royalty, that as Yenekh stood there starstruck his elders began debating whether this was a serious depiction of the prince or not.

Though, well, surely it was. Like Yenekh and the other warriors of his ilk Kynazh Oltyx had come of age during wartime. This was the first time his image had been presented all over the Ithakan kemmeht, the royal court had to get it right. The dominant consensus was that the sculpture would not have been approved, neither by his older brother nor his father, if it hadn't reflected something about the prince's reality - a point which Yenekh's father considered paramount, and took great care to impress upon his son.

"After all, you are soon to present yourself at the royal court," he said, resting a warm hand on Yenekh's shoulder. "The war is over - the body politic, within and out of Antikef, must resume its role - you are the next branch of Sedh's nobility, and among our finest, and it won't be long before the future of this world rests on your shoulders. Go, see if you might seek the younger prince's favour. I daresay we'd flourish somewhat if he were to look kindly upon Sedh, even if it were he alone who did so."

Back then nothing was more important to Yenekh than the will of his father. "I will." He said, and prepared to present his home in the best light, though he didn't seriously think anything would come of it at the time. Yenekh's father had once heard the same words from his father. His father's father, too, and that father's brother all the way up the House of Aetis, and little had changed for their pains.

It was not for lack of faith in Sedh. Yenekh loved Sedh, thought the world of it even, but they were just too far away from the crownworld to merit royal attention. That was not for lack of faith in Antikef, either, the distance was not negotiable. From the royal court's perspective Sedh was not even in the provinces, they were beyond the provinces, where the kemmeht was stretched so thin that one might peer through it like a veil. The lords of Sedh were not weak - they'd defended the border for uncountable generations, they had strength, they had pride - but there were a million things they could beg of royalty, while royalty required nothing from Sedh other than its continued obedience. If its lords did not plead for grace they wouldn't see any at all.

How could Yenekh alone possibly change this state of affairs?

Yes, he supposed the young prince was wondrous fair. (Yenekh began to dream of him often from the day he laid eyes on the statue.) Perhaps he might even be kind. That wasn't a good reason to tie an entire world's hopes on one person, not that it'd stopped them doing it to Yenekh. Such is the kinship of youth, the warrior thought wryly, and he kept all this in mind until his first official engagement came around.

He was among innumerable youths from the kemmeht. All were sturdy and bright-eyed. All had favours to seek. Much to Yenekh's surprise, those were the only correct predictions he'd made about his lot. It was his first time encountering the royal court, but it wasn't at Antikef; no, it was with the Nihilakh, at Gheden's famous Lantern Festival to hail the new year. He did not blend in as thoroughly as he'd expected, though it wasn't in a bad way; for the first time in his life Yenekh was made to understand he was beautiful, though no one at Sedh had ever remarked on it. (Compared to the lords of the inner worlds he'd thought he was so plain, but his white-and-blue robes accentuated his form gracefully, his silver belt and collar shining bright.) And although he could never have hoped for a prince to look directly upon him, that was exactly what Kynazh Oltyx did on the day they met, the central square teeming with the lords of a hundred dynasties.

Yenekh knew the prince at once, at the faintest snatch of his rich warm voice. He moved carefully past the youths of Ithakas - the kynazh was turning his head, just as Yenekh reached the front of the group - as Oltyx looked upon the darkest and faintest star of his high kingdom, his brown eyes widened, and he smiled that same gentle smile Yenekh had admired upon the plinth.

"Gosh." He said. "You're pretty."

In that instant Yenekh was consumed by love's first flame, and he yielded to it as he’d never yielded before.

[gotstabbedbyapen]

New level of desperation unlocked: I'm resorting to Danmachi fanfics that features Hyakinthos Clio for more Hyacinthus content.

I don't care that he's hated in the fandom, I don't care that he's an antagonist, I don't care that he's a sadistic little shit. I love all versions of Hyacinthus.

[zackstriker]

surrealism + abstract fiction writing sounds cool as hell dude!! is there anything especially neat you've studied lately? :0

omg i’m so glad you asked!!! i’m actually working on a novella rn that’s told in fourth person POV and it’s super hard.

as far as stuff i’ve learned: i LOVE using the “Ashamed I” pov which is when you use second person POV to tell a first person story. For example: “You had a hard day, counted three accidents on the interstate on the way to work. You didn’t see as many seagulls as normal. Lexi, your assistant, says it’s going to rain but you know she’s wrong. It hasn’t rained in weeks.” In this paragraph the “you” isn’t the you as in the reader, the “you” is a whole fleshed out character.

i’m working on destructuring the idea of the novel in a class rn and we’re reading No One is Talking About this by Patricia Lockwood (i’m actually meeting her soon bc i get to have dinner with her and introduce her at one of her readings as a part of my program) and it’s such an interesting read!! She was a poet before she wrote prose and you can really tell. i’ve never read anything quite like it!!

Anyways i’ll stop there bc i could pop off for hours and hours and hours about Weird Fiction and absurdism and avant-garde literature.

[deiaiko]

#7.1 Silent conversation

Every muscle in his body was sore, and the rocky ground that he laid on didn't make it any better. Grace knew he had at least three fractured ribs, given that his power was partially sealed by the floor administrator itself. But he had won the fight against Ren, the test that Hansung set up specifically for him. Now he was officially part of FUG, and done with the second floor.

If anything, the pain was actually grounding. Given that he had to participate in a war, this amount was close to nothing, just a mild inconvenience because he didn't have the power to quickly heal.

Light footsteps were the only warning he got that someone was approaching, and he felt an immeasurable amount of relief when he sensed who it was from the shinsu signature.

Grace tilted his head a little and smiled when he saw Agni. His heart swelled when his partner kneeled next to him and began tracing his face with rough fingertips. His cheek ached when Agni tenderly traced over it — there must be a bruise there. The hand lingered, Agni's icy palm against his skin acting like a cold compress. It felt really nice.

God, he missed him so bad. The pocket call didn't feel anywhere as close to witnessing the real person himself, tangible and alive.

Grace knew his voice would waver were he to speak anything at the moment, especially when Agni also looked like he wanted to cry himself. So they just drank in the sight of each other, gentle touches reminding them that they were not alone, and it was alright. Grace didn't need Agni to say anything to understand what he was feeling, or what he couldn't say out loud. After all, this wasn't the first time they had a silent conversation.

Grace double tapped Agni's knee and lightly squeezed it. 'I'm here, I got you'.

Agni's eyes widened slightly before softening, his gaze no longer distant. The corner of his lips slightly pulled upwards and the lines between his brows ceased. He returned the gesture by double tapping Grace's palm and squeezing his wrist.

Grace caressed the knee with his thumb, 'are you alright?'

Agni shrugged, but he gave him a reassuring smile. 'I don't know, but I will be'.

Agni reached for his lighthouse and pulled out a bandaid from the first aid kit that he had always brought ever since he lost his healing sweetfish. Grace had long known that Agni had a habit of keeping his hands busy whenever he needed to gather his thoughts, so he let Agni clean every small cut on his exposed skin and wrap them with a bandaid. Agni frowned when he reached Grace’s chest, which most likely had a bad bruise on it, but didn't say anything else and left it be.

After he was done, Agni drew a circle on Grace's palm. Sometimes it meant 'what's on your mind?' and other times it meant 'distract me', but either way, Agni wanted him to talk. He could refuse, of course, but Agni had read him like a book. He was thinking of something before Agni came, after all, being left alone in this cave with his thoughts.

So Grace patted the ground next to him and Agni laid down, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. Grace cleared his throat to test the waters, making sure his voice wouldn't crack.

"This place is nostalgic for me. I used to lay on the hard rocky ground and stare at the ceiling for a long time. It was cold, dark and humid, nothing like the bed we usually sleep on and nothing to see up above. But it was peaceful. Just me existing without needing to think of anything. It got me thinking. . .what would have happened if I didn't come to the tower? Every scar, every death, every loss. . .is it worth it? You always came to my mind then, and I know I would rather have this than being alone in that place."

Agni squeezed his hand, "My life would be meaningless if I never met you. I climbed the tower to find something worth struggling for. And here I am, with you. Even if I have to experience every scar, every death, and every loss all over again, as long as you're here. . .I’d say it's worth it."

Grace brought their intertwined hands closer to his lips and kissed the back of Agni's hand. It meant either 'thank you' or 'I love you'. He didn't need to turn around to know that Agni was blushing.

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