#I don’t have a scanner and it rained the whole day

[mazout-fm]

Inktober 2023 day 19: Plump

[starryeyedadmirer]

Jake Kiszka — I Wanna…

Just something stupid and mushy that I wrote while I was emotional, after having a great dream about Jake.

Words: 1.52k

I wanna take a trip to the grocery store, with a long list of Jake’s favorite foods tucked down into my pocket, and shop around for a few minutes. Walk each and every aisle, contemplating over the fresh produce, canned drinks, and frozen items… deciding what to grab. I haven’t seen my Jakey in weeks… and, today, he’s finally coming home.

I wanna pick up all of the ingredients on my list, one by one… silently going over the recipes in my head as I amble through the store. This, for that… and that, for this. A cup of this, and a half-pound of that. Taking my precious time, reciting the steps and measurements, over and over again, knowing that… when it comes down to it… I’m only going to end up going off-book.

Eventually, I push my cart up to the checkout line… and it’s practically spilling over with items. I stand there awkwardly, watching the cashier swipe my stuff across the scanner… silently judging me. They probably think I’m such a fatass, for buying so much stuff… but, with the vision of Jake’s contented smile emblazoned in my mind, I don’t care what they think. I swipe my card, without looking at the number on the screen, or even giving it a second thought. It doesn’t matter how much money I spend. This is all for him…

I wanna have that warm, fuzzy feeling swell in the center of my chest as I push the cart out to the car, and set my stuff down in the back seat. The parking lot is bustling with people and their vehicles, and the autumn clouds paint the sky a beautiful blue-gray color. It reminds me of the day that Jake and I met… just a few short years ago. Standing in the rain, in the middle of a crowd of people — everyone waiting at the crosswalk, for that green little man to light up before us. I locked eyes with a beautiful stranger, carrying a massive guitar case, and sparked up a conversation. We talked, and talked, and talked about nothing… and yet, it felt like we’d shared our entire lives with one another. The rain poured down around us, from a sky that was the same color as it is now. That beautiful blue-gray…

I can’t help but to smile the whole way home, still envisioning that same contented smile. The corners of his mouth slightly risen, with a semi-smug charm. His chubby cheeks, blushing red at the mere sight of me. His dark eyes, beaming my way. He’ll be so happy to wrap his arms around me again… and he’ll be all the more eager to indulge in the feast that I plan to prepare for him. Jake enjoys eating on the road… a little too much. Going city to city, trying new and exotic cuisines, and experiencing new flavors is quite the experience… from what he’s told me... but, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as a nice, home-cooked meal.

I wanna get home, and lug the grocery bags into the kitchen. I always struggle to carry all of the stuff in at once, but that never keeps me from making a single trip from the car. My biceps aching from the overload, I start the oven, and get a few pans and a cutting board out from the cupboard. With everything I need set out before me, I connect my phone to the TV, turn on some Fleetwood Mac, and start cooking. Stevie Nicks’s voice is so hypnotic, it makes me question whether or not she really is a witch, all over again. Every now and then, Jake and I have a good laugh about the whole conspiracy — both believing that it’s nothing more than a ridiculous Hollywood rumor — and yet, as I listen to her sing, I can’t help but to feel as though it’s true… and that makes me love her even more.

I wanna spend hours and hours, working away in the sweltering kitchen… battling the clock, to get it all done before Jake gets home. We’re having all of his favorites.

All at once, I throw the elbow noodles into a pot of boiling water, to make the southern-style Mac and Cheese that he likes so much. First, the noodles… then, a sliver of butter, cut from the end of the half-used stick… and, finally, a pinch of salt. I can already smell the butter soaking into the noodles; it brings back so many memories. Jake nearly exploded, the first time he ever tried my mother’s recipe… the one that I still follow, to this day. He ate an entire pan of it, all on his own, and got so full that we all thought he was going to burst. My mother was so happy to see his tight tummy, she could’ve jumped over the moon. It was then, as my gaggle of aunts rushed over to comfort him, that I knew I’d found the guy for me… and, from the joy on her face, I knew that he’d managed to win Mom’s heart too. I still remember it like it was yesterday… and I know he’ll never forget it either.

I’ve had some chicken sitting out on the countertop for a while now, thawing. He says that my Chicken Tacos are to-die-for — yet another of my mother’s wonderful dishes, that I’ve learned to prepare for myself. Buttermilk biscuits, deviled eggs, greens, tiny finger-sandwiches, and a huge apple pie… just to top it all off. One by one, the dishes turn out… and they’re nearly perfect.

I wanna clean it all up, when I’m finished. Throw the dirty bowls and cooking utensils into the sink, and wash them by hand. Give the countertops a thorough polishing, so that they shine. Sweep the floor, collect any fallen scraps, and trash them. Set the dishes out on the table, and make them look nice and pretty… like I used to do as a kid, back at Mama’s house. I’m hot, I’m sweating, I’m covered in stains, and I feel gross… but it’s nothing that a quick shower can’t fix.

I wanna see the look on Jakey’s face when he finally comes home. The simultaneous shock, amazement, and complete disbelief in the fact that I made all of that food for him. I can’t help but to laugh, trying to convince him that it’s all real, and not just a big mirage, or the jet lag screwing with his head. I’m actually standing here… all sweaty and gross… and everything that I’ve prepared is just for him. His head likes to play tricks on him after a long flight… and, usually, it forces him to go off to bed as soon as he comes through the front door… but the smell of my good home-cooking shoos that dazed, drowsy feeling away, and beckons him into the kitchen.

I wanna hear his tummy rumble as he watches me plate his food. The way he’s eying everything, I can tell that the waiting is like torture… but I take my time stacking each item onto the plastic disk, so it doesn’t topple out of my hand. Everything looks so good, if I do say so myself. The spread is beautiful!

I’ve never had that great of a relationship with the kitchen… but, when I really want to, I can whip up a good meal. I rarely ever want to, though.

I wanna watch Jake stuff his face, gorging himself on everything that I’ve made. He just can’t contain his inner pig as he devours the biscuits, deviled eggs, greens, and Mac and cheese — none of it stands a chance. There he sits, hunched over at the table… his chin nearly level with his plate, his long hair tied out of the way, and his fork barely moving an inch from the plate to his lips. He’s an animal, and I love him even more for it. After only five minutes, it’s all gone… and he’s up for seconds.

I wanna take care of him, when it’s all said and done… when the day is through, and he’s gulped down every heaping mouthful that he could possibly handle. I cuddle with him, holding him close as I rub his bloated belly, and ease his pain away — his tiny little body on top of mine. Jake always hurts himself whenever he eats that aggressively. He pushes his stomach too far past it’s capacity, and ultimately suffers for it in the end… gets all achy and gassy. His belly is huge — as tough and round as a pumpkin — and he keeps apologizing for everything, even after I’ve reassured him that he’s done nothing wrong by enjoying his meal. It’s just the two of us, lying on the couch, watching TV while the sun goes down, and trying to make conversation over the sound of his little farts. There’s a sense of awkwardness in the air, and an awful smell… and yet, I feel so comfortable, lying here with him in my arms.

_________________________________

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (402): Sun 23rd Apr 2023

Idea for a heckle put-down if I ever try stand up: If you don’t shut up I’m going to make your face bloodier than the abortion your mother wishes she could have afforded 

Another taxi ride to work today because I can’t get in touch with the mechanic to fix the bike. The driver did actually show up on time today but fuck me he was weird. He spoke like his voice box had been riddled by smoking and also he chuckled warily after every fucking thing he said 90% of which I couldn’t make out anyway. During the morning meeting the health and safety officer was given the floor to speak his mind in the importance of health and safety, something he’s been doing a lot more lately. This guy really loves health and safety, like he LOVES it. He has the delivery of a childrens tv presenter and he always looks like he gets some sort of almost sexual gratification out of giving people tips on how to remain safe at work. Mercifully I got sent down to shipping straight away so didn’t have to put up with any stowing bullshit today. Once again the lass in charge said to me “You’re trained to use the scanners aren’t you?” and for the 785th consecutive time I shook my head and said “Nope”. The lass sent me to my station and made no attempt to organise for me to be trained in the scanners ensuring that she will ask me if I’ve been trained in them for a 786th time. Half way through the shift the conveyor belt stopped working and no parcels were being sent down so I decided to go over to the lass and ask her if she fancied training me on the scanners since there was no work to be done anything. And so began the rigorous, intense, highly important training and five long minutes after starting the training I was declared fully trained. Holy fuck I can’t believe it. Five minutes. Six months they’ve been unable to set up some “training” (which was basically just showing me which buttons to press before scanning which package / trolley and this whole time it only would have taken five minutes! The same amount of time it would have taken me to work out what the twist was going to be in a Shayamalan film! Why they didn’t just make time to train me themselves is anyones guess. I spent the rest of the day wandering around the stow section loading boxes into trolleys and scanning them off which is a pretty sweet way to get paid for doing as close to Jack shit as possible. While I was “working” I started thinking about other stuff I want to cross off my bucket list. One thing I want to do is actually a three parter. I want to go to visit Baltimore in order to visit the house Edgar Allan Poe lived in, his grave and the pub where he was last seen alive. This will be quite tricky to organise because there are no travel agents that organise flights from Newcastle to Baltimore (bloody Brexit!). If I were to do this then I would probably need to go from Newcastle to London, then London to Paris, then Paris to Amsterdam, then Amsterdam to New York, then New York back to Amsterdam again then finally Amsterdam to Baltimore. I might have also found a way to start making the most out of my trips abroad. This year I plan on beginning to follow American football. Originally I had the Denver Broncos in mind to follow as their logo is the nicest and will look the best in tattoo form should I choose to get one some day. Sadly I’ve looked up things to do in Denver should I choose to travel there to see one of their games and it’s not as rife with adventure as LA was. I think the most exciting thing that happens in Denver is that every Thursday the local library gives away free cupcakes if it’s not raining. So what I might do instead is start following the Baltimore Ravens because not only would going to see one of their home games also give me a reason to go to see Poe’s famous landmarks but the team are named after Edgar Allan Poe ffs duh!

[hawkins88lausen]

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[dcforts]

[like today]

ao3

Dean wakes up without a weight on his chest.

He stretches on his bed, rolls on his stomach and smiles into his pillow that smells of fresh laundry. He feels comforted by his room, and the simplest event of finding his slippers right next to his bed.

On an off day like today, he usually puts on his robe and makes his way down the chilly hallways with only the sound of his steps and the faint buzzing of the generator for company.

Some days, like today, Cas is already in the kitchen. Dean makes eggs while he sits at the table munching on cereals. It’s just a habit he picked up from Jack; he can’t really tell what they taste like. Dean used to snap at the kid for the constant crunching in his ears so early in the morning - now he’s used to it. He sits across from Cas and eats his breakfast.

Every other day, Sam walks in and wants to talk about a weird dream he had and what it could mean. Rowena tells him he’s got a gift he needs to learn to control, but Dean is not sure there’s much to interpret about a cart full of expired food. Sometimes Sam talks about a case he heard about or an article he read.

Some days he says there’s case not too far from there, and he’s thinking of going ahead, check it out, see if it’s something up their alley. Some days Dean even agrees to let him go alone without putting up a fuss.

*

Today, Sam leaves and Dean asks Cas, “You sticking around for this one?” – back turned, eyes down, hands busy. Sometimes he doesn’t feel brave enough to do that either, so he just goes back to his room and hopes to find him there when he returns.

He makes his bed, carefully smooths out all the creases. He takes a long hot shower, humming a song he got stuck in his head, styles his hair, puts on some clean clothes.

Then he goes to the map room where Cas is usually squinting at Dean’s laptop screen. Not too long ago, he used to knock on his door and ask, “May I borrow your laptop?”; now Dean just leaves it around, and Cas doesn’t ask anymore. Dean doesn’t mind.

It’s curious – he uses only three fingers as he types, one index of his left hand and the index and middle finger of his right hand. Dean had been about to bring it up to Sam one time, but then he thought of all the things Cas knew about him and never mentioned and decided to keep this one about Cas for himself.

While they research, they’re quiet for the most part. Some days, the table between them is covered in books, in pizza boxes, in weapons, in blood. Some days, they argue and storm off and some days, Cas makes Dean laugh and Dean makes Cas do that face that Dean likes.

If he's had a long night, sometimes Dean dozes off with his head on his hand and his gaze in Cas’ general direction. Bitter thoughts drift him away, like, how Cas probably shouldn’t be there, and how this was never a place for an angel.

A titan of the sky, confined in a human body, squeezed on a chair in an underground box. How his skin must prickle, and his wings long to be stretched. How long it will be before he won’t take it anymore.

Dean doesn't like those days. He gets snappy and irritable and Cas leaves and it makes everything worse.

Most days though, like today, he looks like he's exactly where he's supposed to be and when he meets his eyes across the table, maybe even exactly where he wants to be.

Sometimes Dean relaxes a little too much and he’s woken up by the sound of the coffee mug Cas puts down next to the book he fell asleep on. His brain register a looming presence and his insticts tell him to jerk away, but before that can happen, there’s Cas’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.

Dean heart slows down, he sits up and drinks his coffee.

*

Today is peaceful, but Dean feels a little more alive, like on those blue early mornings on the road that make you regret stepping out of your car without a jacket and the smell of gasoline filling your nostrils seems stronger than it’s ever been.

Dean opens up the police scanner on Sam’s laptop and checks his texts. Most days there’s one from Jody who just wants to check in, like she’s patroling outside of their bunker. Today there’s one from Claire, replying to a text he sent her the night before.

you on a job?, he asked

no, just finished one, is what she wrote back.

He writes, come by for the w/e. Then adds, he wants to see you and sends attached a picture of Cas that he snaps on the spot without him noticing.

A few seconds later Claire writes back, just admit you miss me. And right after, ok. And then again, kaia wants burgers.

Dean grins and shots back, just admit you love my cooking

She sends a rolling-my-eyes emoji. Dean snorts and Cas looks up.

“Claire and Kaia are spending the weekend,” he explains.

"Good," Cas smiles and then says, “You should make burgers. She loves them.”

*

Some days Sam calls and says there’s nothing for them, and some days he calls and says there’s something for them.

Today Cas is typing away and Dean has just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Sam calls and it’s something.

Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.

He will roll down his window a little even if it rains and Dean will turn the radio on, and a familiar track will start in just the perfect spot, right before the chorus, and Dean will sing along quietly, tapping his fingers on the wheel, under the grey and the wet and Cas’ gaze, curious and slightly amused.

*

Cas asks again if they have everything, like he’s packing for a kid going to summer camp (Dean tells him), and takes one of the duffel bags from Dean’s hand without asking, and walks past him, like he’s used to carry Dean’s clothes and weapons. “Do you have your snack for the road?,” he asks, climbing the iron stairs and Dean stops in his track, glosses over the snarky suggestion that he’s the kid going to summer camp in the scenario, and instead actually wonders if he’s got time to run to the kitchen real quick, but then he shrugs, shoulders his bag and says “We’ll stop along the way.”

They can stop along the way, like they sometimes do. He will get a hot bagel and Cas will down half his coffee, and they will stand right outside the store, where they can’t get wet but they can breathe and hear the rain. And Cas will say – well, Dean can never anticipate what Cas is going to say, but that’s the good part.

*

Dean tells him to wait for him outside as he brings the car around but when he does, Cas is not there. Dean turns off the engine just as the first raindrops hit, hit, hit the windshield. Today there’s something different, he feels, in the familiar, comforting smell of the Impala, something fresh, new, something that whispers to him that he’s got the whole day ahead and all the time in the world after that.

By the time Cas gets out of the metal door, rain is falling heavily all over the roof and Dean feels nowhere on Earth, surrounded by water. Dean doesn’t hear the door shutting, but spots the blurry silhouette of a trench-coated figure approaching. He turns the key in the ignition and as the lights go up, he’s on Earth again.

Cas is unbothered by the rain, as he is unbothered by most natural events. He takes his time opening up the backseat door to toss the duffel bag in, before slipping in the passenger seat, trenchcoat soaked, hair dripping and raindrops running down his cheeks. Dean’s lips quirk up. Cas says, “I had forgotten a book.”

Dean doesn’t care. He says, “You should dry your hair,” but Cas shrugs, “There’s no need.”

Dean reaches towards the backseat to take a t-shirt out of his bag. He throws it on Cas’ head and starts rubbing his hair and he's so startled that for a moment just lets him.

“Dean,” he complains then and pushes his arms away, “I’m not a child,” he says. His face is red and his hair wild. Dean counters his annoyed look with a grin, “What?” he says.

Cas shakes his head, “Can we go now?”

But Dean is not ready yet. Sometimes, when he's alone with Cas like this, he feels something grip his insides and tug at him to say something.

He usually wants to say, I’m glad you’re here, but today he also wants to say, we could let Sam handle this one and just go for a ride, we could stop only when we get out from under the clouds and we could watch the rain from a distance and we'll be standing in the light, and if we’re lucky it won’t be too cold but if it is, who cares? You won’t be bothered by that and I won’t be bothered by that either cause you’ll be there, he wants to say aren’t we lucky? aren’t we lucky that you’re with me and I’m with you right now? and I have this feeling swelling in my chest, I don’t know what it is.

And I wish everyday was like this, exactly like this, but I’m not sure what this is.

But when Cas’s expression blends into confusion and he blinks, “Dean?”, he shakes his head.

They’re fine. With the whole day ahead and their whole lives after that. He feels like tomorrow he can have anything, but today – he likes today just the way it is.

“Just thinking,” he says, starting the car and taking the road, “Having a good day, is all.”

With the corner of his eye he can see Cas dubiously looking out at the pouring rain and back at him.

Dean meets his eyes and gives him a smile to see if he can prompt one in return without saying anything.

Cas’ lips twitch for a moment and then he smiles back.

_

*about Sam's dream: to my knowledge expired food in dreams mean unfinished business and stuff of the past we carry with us (sorry sammy i thought it was fitting - i had the same dream if that's any consolation)

[joestarwhore]

Yandere Rohan with a darling who does whatever he tells her and doesn't try to escape and starts developing Stockholm syndrome? Pls I'm an absolute simp for Rohan

I WOULD LOVE NOTHING MORE!

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

Yandere!Rohan x Reader

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

The easiest way one could describe your relationship with Rohan Kishibe could be summed up in one word.

Inseparable.

The end of Yoshikage Kira awoke something possessive in Rohan’s soul. Countless nights you woke up to see his emerald eyes staring at you. Countless days where hed draw you naked, portraying you to be locked in a cage with no key.

None of this bothered you, in fact you welcomed all his possessive gestures towards you.

& Today was just no different. You knew something was headed your way when you walked into the entry room and the doors handle was replaced by a thumb scanner. You knew why it was there.

“Good morning, darling,” Adrenaline made your legs shake a little as you turned around, Rohan’s form dressed in light pajamas leaning against the railing upstairs. “I see you’ve found my new installment to our home.”

“Yeah, it’s cool!” You said, giving it a glance over. “Is it a thumb scanner?”

Rohan’s chest chuckled with a low rumble, “Yes, good job my darling! Lately people have been questioning where you have gone. ‘It’s been 4 months!’ they say, ‘where could she be?? could it be another stand user?!’”

You huff. “I just don’t want to leave & you don’t want me to either. You are my safe place & the love of my life, why would I wanna leave you or disrespect you like that??”

Rohan descended down the stairs as he gazed at you. Your cheeks blushed as his eyes scanned your body, his lips pressing against your forehead. “I understand what you mean darling, it’s alright. No one will ever take you from me as long as you live, understand?”

You nodded, smiling up at Rohan to receive a loving gaze back. “You’re such a good girl. I have to do some work for a little while so go hang out in our bedroom alright? I’ll be there soon.”

📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝📝

9:02 PM

The rhythm of rain encased the secluded town of Morioh, & the silence of the night made you at peace. It had been a long time since you were able to feel peace within yourself, much less make yourself be unguarded.

You only felt fear outside of the protection of your soulmate.

Rohan’s love.. god, he was aggressive. When he needed to feel empowered, he’d hold you down and force himself on you. He’d grip your face in his hand and make you look into his eyes as you’d cum, his eyes portraying lust, adoration, and pure insanity. That was the kicker, in all reality. You couldn’t live without that look, that soul, bearing look. The world IS Rohan Kishibe, your very air to breathe. You’d rather die then ever be away from Rohan.

“Good girl, yeah take my fat fucking cock you whore,” he’d growl at you. “Show your other half how good he makes you feel.”

You’d scream louder, and he’d pound you harder. You were owned, and you loved the security.

Other times he’d tell you how the others are still looking for you. Josuke searches everyday, Koichi checks all your old hang outs, Okuyasu walks your street everyday- yet, this whole time you’ve been under their noses. You think it gives Rohan a thrill when they come back defeated & torn up about you being harder and harder to find, and he gets to go home and fill your cunt with his seed.

Morioh, Japan. Your prison & your paradise.

Anything for Rohan.

[alderaani]

Embers

summary: After Umbara, Boil learns how to endure, and how to reclaim pieces of his brothers marching on | AO3 | series

warnings: canonical character death, grief, animal injury + mentions of animal death (completely not explicit, on the level of canon-typical violence).

a/n: finally another part of my 100 clone prompts - the rest of the series is linked above! i know there’s not much in canon to support Waxer being an animal lover, but i wanted to give Gree a friend to nerd out with and it’s cute. also gotta pay homage to @nibeul’s wonderful art here - while I wasn’t consciously inspired by it, it hits on v similar themes and is just beautiful like...that image of waxer holding up numa lives in my head rent free.

-

Insects swirled in a halo around his helmet. They swarmed around the seams of his blacks, too, attracted to the small beads of sweat there, to the tiny strips of flesh he couldn’t quite cover. The rising bites itched, rubbing where the edge of his vambraces met fabric, and the buzzing was enough to drive a man mad. Boil sighed, brushing them off half-heartedly and watching them billow angrily away. They’d be back. They always were.

In the reprieve, he fumbled at his belt for the viewfinders hooked there and brought them to his visor. As he spun the dial to within half a klik so that he could search the undergrowth, his thumb settled in the comforting groove where Waxer had dropped them and chipped the plastoid. He worried at it with his nail while he scanned, frowning.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Had been in his head for weeks now, verging on a month, and he was still waiting to feel something other than crippling emptiness. There weren’t any dreams any more, none except for the oldest one they all pretended not to have; levelling a blaster against Kenobi’s head and pulling the trigger. Even that didn’t feel like the nightmare it used to.

Eventually he lowered the viewfinder, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the stifled sound of his own breath in the dense air. A faint, humid breeze stirred the leaves, sending a cloud of thick yellow pollen up towards the canopy. Boil blinked to bring up the filter diagnostic on his HUD, keeping his belly low to the ground to avoid the stuff as it drifted lazily overhead.

“Kid, you doin’ alright out there?”

He listened to the static hum of the comm line for a few moments, biting back the panic that crawled up the back of his throat when it dragged on just a beat too long.

“Apart from gettin’ gnawed on by the bugs? Just grand, Sir.”

Potshot sounded a little winded, but that was probably just the heat. Blacks self-regulated temperature, but only to the extent that they made sure you sweated evenly. It never used to be quite so bad; that had been the one thing Phase 1 armour had going for it, for all it was bulkier and less adaptable to varied terrain. He supposed the Republic had had to cut costs somewhere. Waxer would’ve been whining by now that his ass was so hot they could light a flare off it. Potshot was young enough that he’d never known any different.

“Good, you see anything?” Boil grunted, pinging his location anyway. There was no real reason for it; Potshot might’ve still been green but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d done well to keep up so far. Boil could stand being self aware enough to acknowledge that he hadn’t been the most welcoming, or the most patient with the new partner he’d never wanted. He wouldn’t have had any right to be overbearing now, but it was for his own comfort, however small and bittersweet.

“Nothin’ at all. That seem odd to you too?” Potshot said, as the surveillance holos he’d taken popped up. Boil flipped through them, earmarking a couple to show him how to improve the angle later. The important shit was all there - enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. No birds, no creatures, no fresh droppings.

Just the bugs, and the trees, and them.

“Yeah, it’s odd alright. Think we’ve found what the general’s looking for.”

Boil felt pressure around his right boot and turned, vibroblade in hand, to stab into the fleshy vine knotting round it. It writhed and retreated, leaving behind pitted, smoking trails where acid had started eating into the plastoid. He registered the damage with a dull sort of annoyance. It was something else to take care of later, a way to look busy and shape the silence. It would fend off the others and their offers of company, made out of pity he couldn’t bear to look at.

“Really? What’re you seein’, boss?” Potshot asked.

Boil glanced upwards to track the position of the sun; high, almost directly overhead. At the peak of the day this place should have been teeming. Instead the only tracks he’d found had been baked solid, and this wasn’t the shocked quiet that followed a stampede. It was stagnant, aging.

“This forest is in the centre of an old super-volcanic crater, right?” he asked, not waiting for a response. It had been in the mission dossier, alongside profiles of the flesh eating plants, the deadly pollen and the venomous creatures, all of it fenced into the sloped, unforgiving bowl of the terrain. It was the kind of forest that stuck in the mind. “And we know that something has driven the wildlife away.”

Potshot hummed, the comm muffling for a second as he shifted. It took a moment of bitter disappointment coiling in Boil’s belly for him to realise that he’d been waiting for a sharp quip that wasn’t coming. He swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible to feel so wrongfooted while lying down. If he’d ever find his balance again. If he ever wanted to feel whole now that such a fundamental piece was missing.

Potshot groaned suddenly. “Kriff it, the factories we’re looking for are underground, aren’t they?”

Boil forced a chuckle, choking past the self hatred clawing up through his lungs. The kid deserved better, deserved a superior who didn’t constantly treat him like a ghost.

“That’s it, kid. Just like the simulations, eh?”

Potshot laughed, the easy sound making Boil’s throat seize in longing so strong his teeth ached. Waxer would’ve loved him, and that made it all the worse.

“Hardly. What do we do next?”

“Alright,” Boil said, lifting the viewfinder for one last look at where he could see slight fog rising through the trees. “You get your ass back to forward command and debrief the General, I’m heading in for a closer look.”

“ What? But - Sir! We’re supposed to be working as a team. I can’t leave you -”

“Sometimes working as a team means you do your duty and trust the others to do theirs.” He cut in, keeping his voice steady by force of will. Sometimes, it meant carrying on alone. Boil clipped the viewfinder back into place and prepared to move, even as Potshot continued protesting. Boil didn’t answer for long enough that silence fell on the line.

“...am I not performing to the standard expected, Sir?”

Potshot’s voice was soft, all vulnerable underbelly. Still so shiny, and Boil remembered feeling like that, like there was still a scorecard constantly on his forehead.

“No - kid -” Boil sighed, dropping his head forward. He’d never learned how to be gentle - it hadn’t ever come naturally, and there had been no reason to lose his sharp edges when Waxer had always been there to foil them for him. He felt sharper now than ever, full of shards that didn’t sit right, and fished among the pieces for something his brother might have said. “I trust you to have my back. You’re doing everything right. But...sometimes we’ve gotta think of the mission. We need more proof before we can move in, but the two of us get caught, command loses what we already know.”

“Can’t we just send a comm?” Potshot asked, his voice still tight and hurt sounding and he was fucking this up, shouldn’t have been trusted to try to fix himself without breaking everyone else wide open in the process.

“Don’t trust it not to get intercepted,” Boil said, which was only half a lie, and would have made Cody scoff at the back to front over-caution. “And it don’t all fit in a comm. They’ll need everything you can remember to plan the advance.”

Potshot sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was looser. “...Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Boil said, feeling his own chest lighten. “If you don’t hear from me by 1100 then raise me on the priority channel.”

He listened until Potshot had stated a reluctant affirmative and clicked off the line, then bellied out of the undergrowth and headed further in, to the epicentre of the unnatural quiet. He liked the way his mind went silent on recon, how everything else fell away. It wasn’t quite the same, tilted just a little off axis, but similar enough to when it had been Waxer at his six that if he didn’t think about it, he could almost trick himself into believing nothing had changed.

Plus, the space was good, just for a few minutes, where he didn't have to pretend for anyone.

It was a quiet journey, for the most part, punctuated only by the steps he couldn’t quite muffle. His thoughts were broken some time later when he suddenly heard it; the distant mechanical boom of something deep underground. He quickened his pace, following the vibrations until the earth under his feet grew hot, the air shimmering unnaturally in front of him. It had been like this at Point Rain, when the sand baked and glinted, glass-like, under the blaze of the overhead sun. If he hadn’t known the super-volcano was very thoroughly extinct, he could have kidded himself that it was just the geothermal energy of magma moving close to the surface. A clever disguise. But not clever enough.

The ground sloped ever downwards the further into the bowl he got. He watched where he placed his feet as it grew rockier, stones and small craters acting like pitfall traps concealed by the moss. Boil pinged his scanner every minute, searching for Seppie probes as the terrain tapered, falling away into a green-rimmed yawning abyss. Set into the centre of it was a huge grate, the source of the searing air. Here were the factories they’d been looking for, exactly where he’d suspected. It was a muted sort of satisfaction.

He crouched at the edge of the drop, taking holos and transmitting them directly to the Commander’s HUD. Then he checked his chrono and sent an unapologetic follow up that he’d be late to rendezvous, seeing that 1100 was about to come and go. Then he minimised the comms on his HUD to flash for priority only; he’d get bollocked for being late sooner or later, but he figured it would be novel to have it fully in person.

Finally he turned, ready to start the rapid scale back towards the 212th's forward camp, when he registered a low, keening whine.

His blaster was in his hands within a moment, trained at the knee-high leaves. The sound came again, higher this time, followed by laboured panting.

He gently brushed aside some of the foliage with his blaster barrel. Dark eyes stared at him from between the leaves. They both froze. It was some sort of animal, obviously; a mammal, probably a predator. It was small too, with paws too large for its scrawny body and a dark, downy fur that rippled with every laboured breath.

Sharp teeth. A narrow muzzle. A long, whip-like tail.

A vornskr, Boil thought, and hated how readily the identification came, how readily he tensed in anticipation of the inevitable Boil can you see - do you know how rare -

He shook the memories away, of Waxer leaning precariously over the top bunk to wave some manual Commander Gree had sent him in his face, bleating about some animal or species that Boil couldn’t pronounce. In the present the vornskr pup cowered away from him, pushing backwards on thin, spindly legs. Deceptively powerful though, he’d bet.

The creature let out another whine and stumbled, an odd abortive movement. Boil pressed more of the leaves away to get a better look and swore when he saw the brutal metal trap closed around one of its small hind legs, paring down to bone. His blaster was up and trained on the thing before he thought much about it. Better to shoot it, put it out of its misery, than prolong its suffering. It was what they did as part of the cleanup sometimes; wildlife was usually pretty good at getting out of the active battlefronts, but there were always stragglers. The too old or the too young, mostly.

Creatures like this one.

The vornskr stilled, staring at him with those big, wide eyes as if it knew exactly what he was thinking. Boil swallowed. Waxer wouldn’t have let him shoot it. Waxer also wasn’t here now to stop him, but Boil felt his arm lower all the same, just a few inches before he pulled the trigger. The vornskr yelped as the trap hinges came apart in two neat halves and immediately tried to run. It didn’t get very far before it collapsed, panting again.

Boil sighed and shook his head, holstering his blaster across his back.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he tsked, shuffling closer.

He kept half an eye on the tail, remembering something about it being venomous. While being high off his ass on some unknown substance had the potential to make Cody’s dressing down more interesting, it might also kill him before he got there.

The vornskr growled as he leaned over it, baring needle sharp teeth, and made a snap at him when Boil reached out.

“Ah, give over,” he muttered, batting the attempt away. The little body was light in his hands as he lifted it, careful to let the injured leg hang out as he folded it into his chest. The vornskr made an odd, throaty sound and shifted, almost experimental. Then it huffed, and after a pause laid its head across his vambrace.

Boil rolled his eyes at the display, setting off towards forward command as soon as he was halfway sure he wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.

It was...nice, to have that little body cradled to him, reminiscent of better occasions when Waxer just had to stick his nose into every curious happening and inevitably adopted some struggling lifeform. However much Boil had complained, it had never steered them wrong.

When he got back to command it was to find Cody pacing the perimeter, Potshot perched on a crate nearby. The Commander’s bucket was under his arm. Boil winced. With Cody that was never an accident - usually so he could get the full weight of a glare in, the excavating kind he’d learned from Kenobi and then weaponised so that it pierced straight down to bone.

“Boss!” Potshot exclaimed, pushing off his seat. “You made it!”

“What time d’you call this?” Cody demanded, stalking over. “I was about to -”

Cody stopped short, gaze dropping to the furry bundle against Boil’s breastplate. Something in his expression softened and Boil felt in his heart, panicking as a lump rose in his throat.

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

Boil let his gaze slide downwards to a point far beyond, where two troopers were fighting over a tarp.

“Found it in a trap,” he said, his voice ragged. “Couldn’t - couldn’t let it die.”

He flicked his eyes back to Cody’s face and breathed through the grief and understanding he found there. Cody stepped forward and clasped Boil’s elbow.

“I’m sure Tranq will be able to do something for it.” A little upturn crept into the line of Cody’s lips. “Debrief in fifteen.”

Boil nodded and broke away, tipping his head to Potshot before clearing his throat roughly and popping his bucket off one-handed as he made his way to the medtent. The sun was warm on his face here, the air lighter. A butterfly flew lazily past and the vornskr lifted its head, tracking the motion with large, interested eyes.

Boil smiled, hoisting his bucket under one arm and daring to touch the creature's head with his freed hand. It wouldn’t ever bring Waxer back, but it meant something that this little life continued, because of the choices his brother would have made and all that he had been. Like the phantom touch of the sun still lingering in cooling earth.

It wouldn’t ever be enough. But, perhaps, it was just the right amount to cling onto.

-

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @battletales @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @lussyyung @whatanoof // join here

[infernwetrust]

Eden’s Prodigal Son Part 4- Know No Better [Andy Dolan x Reader]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You weren’t sure what kept you coming back to Andy Dolan. All you knew was that you kept coming back. And it only got worse before it got better.

Warnings: swearing, little bit o’ violence , drug use, fluff, angst, mentions of pregnancy

WC: 2.0k

A/N: Unlike the previous parts, the next couple of parts for Eden’s Prodigal Son will take place in the present with a few significant flashbacks. Thank you for reading!  -Juno

GIF by kissxmedeadly

It never rained much in Eden. But when it did, it poured. Andy sat on the edge of the bed in his home, suitcases packed for yet another few months in LA. Except this time, he would have nothing to look forward to upon his return. Why? Because you were completely done with Andy Dolan. And he knew that.

His ears were ringing, his heart left his chest and went back and forth between his throat and his stomach. How could he be so fucking stupid? His eyes continuously scanned over the last text message that you sent to him and it burned him every single time. How could he?

I hope you have fun with her.

How could he have fun with her? He didn't want her as much as he wanted you. Anyone with eyes could see how obsessed Andy was with you, but he was so fucking stupid. Fear of commitment maybe? Maybe that's what did it? What was suppose to be just a fling from time to time while he was in LA, turned into something more. Something he didn't want. And now he was stuck. And now he's going through the headlines that exposed him.

"Fuck!" He shouted, abruptly rising to his feet and throwing his phone against the wall with all his force. He watched as it shattered into tiny fragments and he was thankful that he reminded to back his phone up the night before. He needed a new phone anyways. For a few moments he finally felt at peace, not being able to impulse look at things.

"Everything alright, mate?" Ben questioned as he barged into the room upon hearing Andy's scream. He looked back and forth between Andy and his broken phone and he immediately knew.

"I need a few of those." Andy stated simply, referring to the bag of green pills that he had in his hand, specifically for Andy, by his request. Ben knew better to try and argue with him when he was in such a state. He obliged, opening the bag and pouring 2 onto Andy's hand. He'd never leave him with the whole bag. And like usual, this was how Andy coped. "Are we leaving now?"

"Yeah.. yeah."

*** "Are you sure you don't want to see-," Hedwig began, but you quickly gave her your answer. No. You did not want to see Andy Dolan one last time despite the intense history. You never thought that you could be this broken, but here you were. You clung to his hoodie that he had left at your place, like your life depended on it. Tears fell heavily from your eyes as you laid your head in Hedwig's lap, the two of you on the couch.

"You told me you fucking loved me!" You screamed at Andy, your fists pounding into his chest, tears steaming down your face, ruining your makeup.

"I do fucking love you, Y/N!" He grabbed your wrists in an attempt to slow you down, but you weren't having it. You managed to snatch one of your wrists from his relatively strong grip, returning a swift and sharp smack to his face.

"Love me enough to get someone else pregnant?!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." Your legs couldn't carry you to your bathroom fast enough. There were too many memories of him, everywhere. You kicked him out of your home so fast that night, he didn't have time to grab anything. You turned your sink, splashing your face with the cooling water. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"It was a fucking mistake!" That's all he could say. Because it was. One drunk and sloppy hookup turned into an unexpected pregnancy for both Andy and his party.

"A fucking huge mistake, Andy Dolan! You have a fucking one year old and we've been together for 6 months and I find out through a news article. For fuck sakes Andy, you didn't think this one out did you?"

"I was going to tell you.." He mumbled, knowing how bad he fucked up.

"Fucking tell me?! It's been a year, Andy!" You shoved him back, watching him stumble to stay on his feet. "I gave you everything."

The tears fell faster than you could catch them and decided that trying to wash them away was a waste of your time.

I hope you have fun with her.

The last text message that you sent to Andy a week ago. He texted you several times after that, almost every day for the next week until you had to put him on do not disturb. That's the thing about Andy. And the thing about you too. He was never able to leave you alone and you the same.

Y/N please talk to me. I miss you. I love you... please. It was a mistake. I fucked up. I know. I should of told you, but I was scared. I'm not even ready to be a fucking father. This was before we even got together and I know a lot of things were said and were done, but we're all human, yeah? Please just talk to me, Y/N. I don't want lose you over this. I know it's a pretty big deal, but I'm not hiding anything else. I promise. I'm sorry...

He tried to call you a few times as well, but God knows why he would try to do that. Eventually he just started calling to hear your voicemail, anything, that could keep him closer to you. You caught yourself going through your camera roll one too many times, reliving all the memories.

You should of known. Andy was way too popular, way too good-looking to just settle down. You should of known. Right? Maybe you should of just stayed friends, but like a fool you fell for it. And fell for it. And fell for it. And now it's killing you.

"Y/N..." Hedwig's soft voice spoke from behind the door as you walked out of your bathroom, a sobbing mess. "Can I come in?" God bless her, huh? What would you do without your dear Hedwig? She was always in the middle of you and Andy. She was there for every small moment, every big moment, every argument. She was your rock and you were hers. You opened the door for her, still not able to control all of your sobbing.

In the distance you could hear small chatter. You forgot that tonight you had invited every one over for yet another small get together. But, you didn't know that you would be like this when the time came.

"C' mere." She spoke, engulfing you into her arms, letting you cry it out.

"I love him." You sobbed. "So fucking much."

"I know." Hedwig held you tighter. "He'll regret it. Andy. He's... fuck.." She knew what she wanted to say and although it was true, she could never bad mouth another friend. Burying your face in the crook of her neck, you screamed, letting some amount of stress leave your body for the night.

"I'm so-,"

"No. You're not. You're in love. It's okay to be in love. This is your first heart break. And it won't be your last, especially dealing with Andy Dolan, but the two of you just need some serious time apart." Hedwig cupped both sides of your face in her hand, making you look at her. She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into a hug. "He'll realize how much of a gem he let slip through his fingers. But you have us. And I know we're no Andy, but we love you just as much."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

*** "Jesus Christ, mate." Ben growled, aggravated with Andy's intoxication as they traveled through airport security. "The no-fly list suits you well right about now, doesn't it?"

"Fuck off, yeah?" Andy chuckled, running his hands through his hair as he clumsily put his things in a bin to go through the scanner, nearly knocking the stack next to him over. Ben sighed, furrowing his eyebrows and he got his things together as well. This was the first time airport security scanned two people in the body scanner at once, Ben having to physically hold Andy in the position they requested. Embarrassed, they couldn't leave the area fast enough to start walking towards their gate.

"You fucking listen to me. And you listen to me good, aye." Ben spoke, abruptly dragging Andy into a nearby family bathroom, locking the door behind him. He slammed Andy up against the bathroom wall, spraying the water bottle he was carrying in his hand all over his face. "Wake the fuck up, okay?" He slapped him around a few times, Andy not sober enough to even attempt to fight back. And even if he wanted to, he deserved this. "Wake the fuck up, Andy Dolan." Andy choked slightly on the water that managed to get into his mouth, spitting it back up and coughing.

"Fu-,"

"Fuck off. I know, hm?" Ben opened another water bottle, spraying it on him as well. "You want to know the one thing you're good at? Driving people the fuck away.." Ben held Andy by his now soaking shirt, glaring into his eyes that screamed nothing but pain, regret, anger, and sadness. "Everything you have now, Dolan. I HELPED YOU GET. It's not just about you okay, dick head? As your agent this is MY life too and you are on track to fucking ruin it."

Andy was silent and in a daze. The bathroom was spinning and he swore he was looking at Ben 4 times, but all the words were registering. Ben was right for the most part. Andy was good at driving people away. People that weren't you, but now look, it is you. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes and he could feel his throat swell with sorrow.

"Your public image matters. Remember that. And for fuck sakes, mate. You don't fucking need her." Ben continued. "You're a fucking superstar. You can have any one you want. Mad at you because you got some irrelevant broad pregnant and the two of you weren't even together?"

"Stop.." Andy growled.

"No. I'm not going to fucking stop. She's done nothing, but distract you. That's all she has ever always done. I'm sure she's had her fair share while you were away. Did you ever think about that? She just got lucky to not get knocked up by the next bloke, huh? People make mistakes. You need to get over it. And she needs to get over it. You have a fucking full career ahead of you."

He let Andy go, rummaging through his bag for a new shirt for him to match the current style of his outfit. When he got re-dressed, his administered eye drops for the now teary-eyed man whose eyes were covered in red streaks. When the opportunity presented itself, they finally made their way to their gate, no conversation between the two of them until they would land in LA.

*** "We should get married y'know." You suggested to Andy, snatching his attention away from the joint that he was rolling.

"I'm sorry.." He chuckled. "But what? We should what? Y/N we're 16."

"Hear me out first, silly." You giggled at your idea.

"Okay, crazy. I'm listening."

"We only get married if we can't find the one. Someone has to be responsible for me when I die. And and. There are some pretty good benefits to being married." Andy glanced back and forth between you and his joint before he busted out laughing. "You're laughing, but it's such a good idea!"

"You really are crazy, you know that?"  He handed you the joint and the lighter, always letting you have the first pull now that the two of you started smoking together. "But of course, Y/N. As long as we don't find the one. I will marry you so that someone will be responsible for us when we die. And for the benefits."

"I knew you'd understand."

But you are the one.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @9layerdevilfoodcake @ferndolan @dorklydefined @littledemondani @king-with-no-crovvn @chicaluna2410 @waitinvain

[s11e17]

wehhh so i'm working on this big spn wip and as some of you may know i abandoned a big one a few years ago (i am working on it again hopefully to finish it finally bc of everyone's nice comments but i don't want to give anybody false hope!!) so these days i only post once i've got the whole thing down. BUT i have no motivation to finish this other one so i'm just going to post this excerpt here for Validation™ lol read on if you want to see sam angst

Sam decides to take a desert route back, hopes for the bitter and blistering heat to burn out the persevering cold in his bones. On a sharp right just before Twin Falls, Sam veers southward towards the Nevada border. He keeps driving down, crosses 80 and waits for a good place to turn eastward.

From up where the eagles can see, Nevada is pockmarked with greenish fissures made of brown-green mountains and wet farmland, like mold biting through a loaf of bread. Sam’s nearly fifty year old Torino rattles down along wire-thin highways with presidential names underwritten by numbers. He wonders if the concession to American tradition came before or after the numerical classification, if Eisenhower’s real name is Route 80 or if it’s the other way around.

At the intersection of 80 and 93, where Eisenhower meets Lincoln, the Nevada State Department of Transportation makes itself known with a building and a tree the size of an anthill compared to the vastness of the desert. To the north, a farm’s sweeping green circles like radar scanners interrupt the sandy white ridges overlooking Nevada’s moldy fissures. Military outposts, all of it, strategic camps set up to surveil the unclaimable desert.

The DIY Enochian anti-possession sigil he inked in just above his hip itches. Sam shifts in his seat.

The sky darkens — or it’s been darkening, already, and Sam’s only just noticing — and Sam glances at his rearview. Dark storm clouds gather behind him, covering up the sun. The thing about flat land like this, open country, is that you can see the storm coming miles away. A column of clouds hails down twenty miles behind him. The lightning makes him flinch, and he looks back to the road, clear ahead of him.

And then, too soon, the storm comes over him. He shouldn’t be out here in this weather — good God, he shouldn’t be in anything metal in this weather, that’s for damn sure. Lightning comes down half a mile ahead of him and Sam pulls over, gets a tarp out of the trunk and huddles down ten yards away, waiting for the sky to strike him.

Rain clatters over him, loud, ungenerous. The thunder’s so goddamn loud he feels it in his bones. He peeks out of his plastic home to look at the sky.

It’s pink behind the clouds, the hidden sun, maybe. The stormclouds tower like gods, greater statues than Sam’s ever seen, than any place he’s ever been. Everything is red. That’s the trick of it, of the desert — there’s nowhere to hide on the bare and raw earth.

Rainwater rushes past his feet. The stream picks up, turns into a brook — and then into a river, barreling under that Torino, cutting a new road. Sam hides from it all, hunched under his tarp.

It's warm, but Sam's cold. That's the worst of it: that the water is warm, or rather that the water is cold on a hot day which is supposed to even out, but he's still freezing. Sam has been cold for so long he isn't even human anymore, a cold-blooded creature so low-down even the dogs won't fight him, 'cause there's nothing left to fight. Not much for anyone to chew off these bones. The water makes him ice. The water cracks down sharp on the plastic, an inch away from his eardrums, the water pours heaven down and makes him shiver, and the water doesn't make him clean.

Sam closes his eyes. It's so loud. Thunder roars and he flinches at the sound of it, the feel of it, opens his eyes and looks at his feet and sees red mudwater sluicing by and thinks, that's my blood. My blood is running across my body which is the sand. Sam's blood pools around his car's tires. His car is waiting to be struck by lightning.

He shivers under his plastic and the rain keeps coming, endlessly. An inevitable brute. The rain is his father. Lightning, and then one-two-three seconds later, thunder. "Fuck off," Sam whispers, teeth chattering together, and his face is wet even though he hasn't moved out from under his cover. What he can see of the sky is more purple than pink. "Fuck you," he says, louder, trying to speak the warmth back into himself, the heat, the fire. Dean's fire. The fire Dean has in him that makes him throw furniture when he's mad, that makes him punch walls and break bottles. The fire Dad stoked in Sam's older brother without an exit sign, the fire Sam used to have. Sam wants that fire back. Can't he have it? Dean doesn't need it, Dean doesn't want it— it's Sam, Sam's the one who needs something, anything in him that's his and his alone, see, he'll even take a hand-me-down.

The clouds die off and the rain stops. The sun comes back. Sam's blood shudders next to his car. Sam carries the tarp on the crown of his head like a businessman holding a newspaper over his head in Manhattan rain. He shakes it off and puts it in the trunk. The car wasn't even struck by lightning. He didn't need to wait outside.

Once he's inside the car, looking out of the windshield at the endless, inevitable, unclaimable desert, it hits him.

Sam is, suddenly, for the first time in many, many years, very angry.

He looks at his hands which are shaking with the residual cold despite the car's heat and he— he storms out of the car and leaves the driver side door open and he kneels down and he grabs handfuls of mud, presses the mud between his fingertips. His whole body is shaking. He's so angry. He's so angry. He didn't deserve that thunderstorm. He didn't deserve— it itches, the Enochian on him, the brand he took as the lesser curse— the sand is gritty in his palm, he's never felt the earth like this— there's no mud in the cage— he's nothing, he's nothing, he's a dog, he's less than a dog, but he's human, isn't he? Isn't he?

"Fuck!" Sam yells at his hands, his voice cracking with disuse. He hasn't yelled in years. He can't even remember it. What does Sam Winchester have to yell about? "Fuck!"

He looks up, straight ahead at the length of mud that stretches in front of him like an ocean. He looks at that horizon.

Sam opens his mouth, and he screams.

[tiptapricot]

I wrote a fic based on the wonderful @aloofwindbag ‘s Batgirl!Tim AU for their bday and the first two chapters are up! I’ll be finishing it in the next 1-2 weeks depending, so I hope y’all like it :-D

***

The report was on the news that morning. After the weather, and something about a new bowling alley opening on the East side, the anchor moved on to a breaking news segment. Tim wasn’t totally paying attention, the TV was turned down to background noise while he ate breakfast, something to fill the space while his parents were away. Nonetheless, his ears perked up at a familiar name.

“Barbara Gordon, the police commissioner’s daughter, was shot in her apartment last night.”

He froze, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth. He strained his ears to make out the rest of the report. This couldn’t… he couldn’t have heard that right.

The anchor continued, explaining what had been released to the public (barely anything), and finished with, “We’ll be following this story as it develops, so stay tuned,” before the feed switched to a commercial. Tim was already at the door, a daypack slung over his shoulder and a note to the sitter taped to the fridge.

Continue reading on ao3 or under the cut!

***

As it turned out, Barbara wasn’t as easy to find as Tim had expected. It was largely because none of the hospitals would let him past the help desk without a guardian present, but there was also a frustrating lack of news updates. He was carrying out an investigation practically blind, and it was frustrating.

The sitter caught up to him when he stopped to buy a bag of chips a few blocks from Gotham General. She manhandled him into her car, bordering on frantic as she scolded him for going out without supervision. Tim tuned out most of it for the drive home, rolling his eyes as she brought up ‘safety concerns’ again. He’d heard the same speech a thousand times.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled as they pulled into the driveway. He wasn’t, not really. The apology was more of a courtesy and to stop the woman from prying than anything else. He was plenty capable of taking care of himself without some nutty college student looking over his shoulder.

The sitter let out a long sigh and gave him a strained smile. “Just don’t do it again, Mr. Drake.” She said. Tim nodded and got out of the backseat without another word.

They spent the rest of the day inside. The sitter ordered food and put on a movie like she always did, but Tim wasn’t interested. He couldn’t stop thinking about Barbara.

She had to be fine, right? She was Batgirl, she was super strong and cool and awesome and she’d been hurt plenty of times, but she’d always come back sooner or later. Maybe Tim just had to be patient. He could wait. He could.

He spent the night lying awake with a police scanner propped up next to his pillow, listening intently for any reports of a girl in a cape.

There were none.

***

A week passed and Batgirl still wasn’t back on the streets, then two, then three. Even after Barbara was released from the hospital (discreetly, with almost no news coverage) there was nothing. At the month and a half mark, Tim had had enough. He was going to get to the bottom of this, and he was going to do it now.

His parents had gone on another spur of the moment business trip and they’d hired a different sitter than usual. She didn’t know Tim like the last one had, didn’t guard his door or lock his windows. She just tucked him in, turned out the lights, and half an hour later Tim heard her car pull out of the driveway. No one to catch him leaving, it was the perfect time to sneak out.

He gathered a few things first. His camera, a notepad and pencil, a bottle of water, a thick hoodie, and a wad of cash from the drawer in his mom’s room. He wasn’t supposed to know the stash was there, but it wasn’t exactly hidden either.

Barbara lived over in Old Gotham, in the clocktower near Wayne Enterprises. It was on the opposite side of town from Tim’s house, but if he rode his bike a few miles down the road and across the bridge he could catch a cab and take that the rest of the way. If the driver let him on, that was. Most Gotham cabbies didn’t care how old he was, as long as he paid them, but there were always those odd few that would mistake him for a runaway and try to take him to social services. As if. He was only two months shy of eight and a half now, not some baby. If he ever wanted to run away he’d be much more discreet about it.

It was a cool evening when he stepped outside, the streets and concrete damp with rain and the swelling clouds overhead promising more. Tim coasted down the driveway on his bike, water pattering against his sneakers, and out the gate to the main road. He stayed on the hard shoulder, flicking his handlebar light on when the first few cars came into view.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made the trip to Gotham. He’d been sneaking out a few times every week to go bat-watching ever since he was old enough to work a camera.

He’d never told his parents that though, and he didn’t know if he ever would.

There was a box of faded Polaroids and undeveloped film stuffed under his bed, full of blurry photos of capes and masks streaking across rooftops. Some of them were clearer, shots he’d gotten by climbing up fire escapes or ducking behind dumpsters to observe a fight, but each one was special to him.

The bats had shaped his childhood. They were guardians and mysteries wrapped in Kevlar suits, something he could look forward to when the house was boring and empty. He’d been following them for years, it was how he’d worked out their identities, and it was precisely why the mystery surrounding Barbara worried him so much.

It started raining as Tim turned onto the bridge, a drizzle that quickly turned into a downpour. He shivered and flipped his hood up, leaning closer to the handlebars.

About a year ago, Robin had gone missing too. A week or so after the disappearance, the news had reported that Jason—Robin—had been in a nasty car crash. Nothing else, no specifics, just that he was in critical condition at one of Gotham’s hospitals. He was eventually released, but Robin hadn’t appeared again for almost seven months after the fact.

The whole situation was eerily similar to the current one. That should’ve made Tim feel better, in theory, since Robin had come back in the end, but it didn’t. Something felt off this time, but he couldn’t place what. Maybe it was because Barbara had been released much sooner than Jason, yet still wasn’t back on the streets, or maybe because he was just paranoid this time around, he didn’t know. Either way, whenever he thought about it he felt… weird.

He couldn’t quite explain the feeling, a worry that twisted in his gut and made him feel queasy and sad. Batgirl was his hero, or one of them at least. She was gorgeous and powerful and awesome and he looked up to her. He didn’t know what he’d do if she never turned up again.

He had to get to the bottom of what was going on. If not him, then who?

Tim rode off the bridge and onto a sidewalk, weaving around a few pedestrians before swerving into an alley. He got off, unclipped his helmet, and shoved his bike in the small gap between one of the dumpsters and the wall. It was the best hiding spot he’d been able to find over the years, and it had only taken three stolen bikes to find.

He managed to flag down a cab after only a few minutes, smiling to himself when the driver grunted nothing more than a brief “Where to?” as he slid into the backseat.

“Gotham Clocktower please,” he replied.

“‘Aight kid.” The driver mumbled.

Tim stared out the window as they drove, watching raindrops slip down the glass. Gotham was kind of pretty at night, when the buildings blended with the sky and didn’t feel as huge and ominous. Sometimes, if he could make them out, he would read the words on the street signs under his breath. He wasn’t doing that now, of course, this driver didn’t seem like the type to appreciate that. Instead, he scanned the rooftops, hoping to catch a flash of cape or boots between the gargoyles. He knew he probably wouldn’t, the Bats were rarely ever out this early, but it was worth a shot.

When they pulled up to the clocktower it was pouring even harder. Tim handed a wad of cash to the driver and thanked him before getting out, groaning as he stepped right into a deep puddle. He sighed and tugged at the straps of his backpack. The sooner he could get inside, the better.

Tim looked up at the clock face towering above him. He was nervous, but excited too. He was finally going to get his answers, and get to talk to one of the Bats for the first time. He could do this. He could do this. Squaring his shoulders, Tim walked towards the entrance with determination, and stepped through the double doors.

Ch. 2

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

Aries

Watching Internet Arguments evolve in real time is an interesting thing; you get to watch how people both do and don’t understand a topic while clearly ignoring the little red squiggly line under every spelling mistake they make. Just sit back and know that you’ve done exactly what WOPR suggested: The Only Winning Move Is Not To Play.

Taurus

We told you about the re-issued Lamborghini Countache and you just HAD to borrow one, didn’t you? Sure, you could have outrun the police in that sucker, but did you HAVE to scrape the rims on the curb straight away?! Why not just put an evil villain mustache on the Mona Lisa or give The Statue of David a circumcision while you’re at it too? You monster!

Gemini

There’s nothing wrong with staying home this week. You've got popcorn, butter, salt, a wok, and so many Blu-Ray movies you haven’t watched yet that you might as well enjoy it. And since it’s summer, just put on a bathing suit and you can lay out on a lounger while it rains, imagining you’re under a waterfall.

Cancer Moon-Child

For most people getting local fauna to eat out of their hands would be an impressive feat. The only reason the local deer population eats from yours is because you sweat a lot and they’re licking all the salt off. To that end, stay hydrated and eat well.

Leo

Keep sweets out of your house this week. The temptation to eat them and stock up on calories for the winter is a bad idea. Instead buy a heavy-duty deep freezer, a couple cords of firewood for heating and cooking, and a radio scanner to hear when someone’s hit a deer. Remember roadkill is free range, virtually free, and almost ready to eat since it’s already pre-grilled.

Virgo

Time for you to better understand finances, Virgo. Which costs more; a gallon of inkjet printer ink, or a gallon of thoroughbred horse semen? Here’s a hint: If a gallon of printer ink explodes in an office, they’ll clear out the whole office and get corporate HazMat folks to clean the stuff up. If a horse explodes in an office, chances are there’s a LOT more paperwork involved including asking Phil why he thought bringing his horse into work was a good idea.

Libra

You’ve got your choice of jobs today, Libra. You can either A) go back to H.R. investigating the operational rules regarding emotional support animals in the workplace, B) join the Maintenance Crew to clean up any workplace spills, or C) start your own mall kiosk business where people can charge up their devices while they walk around shopping. Call it “Charge ‘n Charge”. Remember i-Devices have to pay 1/3rd more.

Scorpio

Being a home brewer has not ended well. It’s one thing to learn how to clean the smell of fermented bread out of short-pile carpet, and wall paper, and drop ceiling panels, but it’s a whole other thing to remove all the broken glass shards from same. Mason jars are NOT used for home brewing for a reason!

Sagittarius

People in the U.S. don’t understand why “Ketchup Chips” are a THING in Canada, and never give a thought to french fries with ketchup. The folks in Canada don’t understand why Malt Vinegar isn’t a staple condiment in the U.S., but always shows up in fast food fish shops. If both sides could just come to an agreement about food, maybe our two countries would be a little nicer to each other. As an aside, how long DOES it take to roast a 5 Kilo Canada Goose? 3 hours at 190c.

Capricorn

Your new eatery, “Wrap It Up”, is going to continue to be a success! Buying supplies from other failed eateries will help reduce costs while you find your proper economic footing. Here’s something else you can do: Find YouTube videos that explain how to recreate various famous foods! Considering the promotion you just ended, PLEASE don’t start with Arby's “Horsey Sauce”.

Aquarius

With the school season starting up again it’s time to review what every student needs. Pencils? Still got about 700 of them from the kindergarten year’s bulk purchase. Lunchbox? Well, that’s more an insulated nylon bag now, but yep, got that. And last but not least, non-skid shoes for working in the kitchen? Yeah, your kid is working the pizza line at college this year. And you? You got old.

Pisces

If you work in online sales, we need you to do something for us all. If your website says, “Shop This Store”, we are expecting that a product we find listed is actually IN THE STORE NOW! No, we don’t want to buy it and have it shipped there. No, we don’t want to buy it and have it shipped to our home in 5 to 7 business days for free. We want to buy it at the store and take it home right there. Is that really that hard to understand? Now you talk to your managers and you fix the damned backend to read the store inventory or so HELP us, we will find a way to replace all your ethernet connections with TOKEN RINGS! And if you aren’t scared by that prospect, then you are NOT sufficiently high enough on the Depth Chart to do what needs to be done. Get someone else to do it.

[silvormoon]

My Hero

A little vignette set in my superhero universe. Juudai’s been giving his all to being a good hero. Sometimes, he just needs someone to give a little something back.

It wasn’t easy, being the most powerful super in the world.

That sounded trite. Worse, it sounded self-congratulatory, a way of boasting that he, Yuuki Juudai, had much grander and more important problems than the humdrum things mere mortals had to deal with. It conjured up images of some movie star or millionaire lounging on their sofa sipping champagne while they talked about how stressful their life was.

And the point was that it wasn’t easy for Juudai, and he didn’t even get the champagne to make up for it. Granted, his life did tend to involve a lot of sofas, but mainly in the, “Can I crash here tonight?” kind of way. The hardest part was that he knew he could change that if he wanted to. He could make himself famous overnight. He could have as much money as he wanted. People would line up for miles to get the kind of treatment he could provide. He could make the world his oyster, if he wanted to, or crush it under his heel, and no one would be able to stop him. That was the whole reason why he worked in the dark, kept his name out of the papers, and slept in a tent or on friends’ sofas and spare beds, earned money doing odd jobs when he had any money at all, and spent a lot of time second-guessing himself.

But he wasn’t doing any second-guessing tonight. Tonight, he had found the hideout of a gang of criminals who had been peddling a bogus drug they claimed would give people temporary superpowers. What it did was to give the user a sense of euphoria, a feeling that they were all-powerful and omniscient. Several people had died from jumping off buildings or doing other equally risky things under the influence of the drug, and Juudai had decided someone needed to put a stop to it.

Just now, he was waiting near the front door of the lab. Yubel was standing over the collection of about a dozen men they’d captured together and was giving them all vicious glares if any of them so much as breathed too loudly. Juudai was aware of a few more who had fled out the back door, but he and Yubel had managed to capture the three ringleaders, so he doubted the operation would be starting up again any time soon. They had been using some specific know-how blended with the application of some unique superpowers to synthesize the drug, and those powers were gone now. It was a shame, really. A power to synthesize chemicals like that would have been invaluable to the medical community. Perhaps if this man learned his lesson, Juudai would let him have it back someday.

For now, he watched as a number of police officers warily approached the building.

“It’s okay!” Juudai called out to them. “My partner and I have things pretty well nailed down here.”

The lead officer edged a little closer. He was eyeing Juudai warily, and Juudai didn’t blame him. Most supers at least tried to look like superheroes when they were on the job. Juudai was wearing ragged jeans, hiking boots, a fleece-lined brown leather jacket that had obviously seen a great deal of life, and a T-shirt advertising a band called Sugar Snow. He looked more like a college student out for a beer than a superhero.

“Doing a little spur-of-the-moment heroing, are you?” asked the officer suspiciously. “Care to show me your license?”

Juudai produced his ID card and flicked it towards the officer, who caught it neatly out of the air.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and ran it through a scanner at his waist. He looked at the results. His eyebrows rose. He scrolled rapidly through the rest of the file, then looked back at Juudai.

“You’re the Haou?” he asked.

Juudai shrugged. “Apparently. I mean, I didn’t come up with the name, but it’s sort of stuck to me now so I figured I might as well own it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I didn’t think you were real,” said the officer, handing his card back.

Juudai shoved the ID back in his pocket. “Yeah, well, I like to keep a low profile.”

“I can certainly understand that, sir,” said the officer, a bit more respectfully. “But I would like to see some proof, if you don’t mind. May I...?”

“Huh? Oh, sure,” said Juudai, who had been through this song and dance before. There were ways that a villain could disguise themselves as a hero, many of them quite hard to detect. S-levels, though, tended to stay stable, so one way of proving a person was who they said they were was to test their blood and see if their S-levels matched what was printed on their ID card. It wasn’t foolproof, since it was possible for two people to have the same S-levels, even if the odds of any two people matching were one in several hundred. Nobody, however, had levels like Juudai. He offered his finger to be pricked, and watched as the numbers on the little scanner lit up. It showed 9999, just as it always did.

“You are him,” said the officer. He was visibly impressed now.

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Juudai uneasily. “Look, we’ve got these guys all tied up in the back, so if you wanna...?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the officer.

Uniformed men poured into the building and started doing official things. Juudai watched a little while to make sure everything was going as it should, then quietly slipped away when no one was looking.

“I wish they wouldn’t always do that,” he complained, woefully regarding his finger. “Just because I’m famous doesn’t give people the right to punch me full of holes.”

“You don’t have to let them do it,” said Yubel.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just not fair. If I had a normal power like flying or punching holes in walls or laser vision, no one would ever ask if I am who I say I am. They’d just go, ‘oh, you’re Wonder Guy, can I have your autograph?’”

Yubel gave him a knowing look. “And you’d want that, would you?”

“Not really,” Juudai admitted. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Do you know what your problem is?”

Juudai smirked. “I’m sure you have a list.

Through all he’d done in the years since he’d left school, Yubel had been his constant companion. Juudai had promised, after all, that they would stay together once they had found each other, and Yubel took him at his word. Through rain and snow, through train delays and cancelled flights, through cheap motels and leaky tents, gang wars and monster battles and helping lost children find their parents, whatever Juudai did, Yubel did too. Even on those days when everything went wrong and they were both feeling thoroughly sick of each other, Juudai was always thankful that he didn’t have to do all this alone.

“I think,” said Yubel, “that you’re burned out.”

“What do you mean, burned out?” said Juudai. “It’s not like I do very much. Mostly we just travel.”

“That still counts as doing things,” Yubel pointed out. “Anyway, you know what I mean. I’ve been watching you. You’re all give and no get. You do all these wonderful things but you don’t stick around to enjoy the thanks, because you’re afraid it will go to your head. Sooner or later, you’re bound to run out of give.”

Juudai scowled. “You know...”

“I know why you do things the way you do. You don’t want the whole world beating a path to your door demanding you give them all godlike superpowers, or take the powers away from people you don’t like,” said Yubel. “I’m just saying, it might be time for a vacation.”

Juudai knew his laugh sounded forced. “I don’t exactly have money for a tropical vacation.”

“Then ask one of your friends. Any one of them would let you stay with them for a while.” Yubel smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to relive your school days for a while. Do you remember all the fun we had? The annual snowball fight, staying up late telling ghost stories, eating popcorn and watching movies in the common room...”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Juudai. He smiled a little. “Those were the good old days. Man, I’d give a lot to have another go at some of those games we used to play in Chronos’s class. Remember the time you got tangled up in that net so bad they had to cut you loose?”

Yubel huffed. “I could have gotten out if I’d wanted to.”

“I know,” said Juudai. He took out his phone and poked at it for a moment. “Hey, you know, there’s a gym close by that has those reinforced training rooms for playing capture the flag and stuff. We could see if we could scrape up a team. And then we could, I dunno, grab a pizza or some ramen or something, and then maybe catch a movie? And tomorrow I’ll call around and see if any of our friends mind having a couple of house guests for a few days.”

Yubel grinned. “Now you’ve got the idea.”

Juudai grinned back. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

Yubel reached for his hand. “You keep me around for a lot of reasons.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Juudai. “Come on. Mission ‘Have Some Fun For A Change’ is officially under way.”

They began making their way towards their destination. Somewhere in the distance, Juudai could hear sirens. There was always something going on in a big city like this, and a part of him itched to be part of the action, but he knew Yubel was right. Sometimes, the person he needed to protect was himself. He was lucky he had someone by his side to remind him of that.

It doesn’t matter how strong I am, he thought. Sometimes I still need a hero, too. He was glad he’d found one.

“So, Yubel, what movie do you want to see?”

“I don’t know. What’s playing?”

“Well, there’s one about this secret agent who...”

“I am not sitting through another movie full of cars exploding. Pick something else!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to see that one!”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Laughing and bantering with each other, they walked away, hand in hand.

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts Fanfic, Epilogue

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo moves on from Radiant Garden.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Still, Ienzo was sad to see Destiny Islands fade from behind them. It was raining here, too, and despite his initial worry about visibility Riku seemed nonplussed. “I’ve flown through worse,” he said. “Try to relax.”

But it was nearly impossible. The thought of going to the basement had his heart beating hard, a slick anxiety chasing away the joy and freedom he’d felt the past month. Ienzo took slow, deep breaths. After so many days in shorts and sandals, his normal clothes felt constricting, and Riku looked odd in his adventure wear.

The flight was both too long and too short. He’d accumulated a small bag of things in his time there--mostly weather-appropriate clothing--but he’d also brought along a few souvenirs that Kairi had helped him pick in an attempt to placate the others of his absence. And some foodstuffs he couldn’t get here. He couldn’t help it.

The day was clear, though cloudy, when they landed, and, Ienzo noted with a strange irony, when he disembarked it felt cold. He scoffed to himself.

Dilan was standing guard at the entrance. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said dryly. “Wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. With a bloody tan , too.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Good day, Dilan.”

The castle felt massive and brutal, though Ienzo noted Aeleus had made some more progress with the paint. Though he’d cleaned his bedroom before he left, it smelled a bit dusty. He set down his things.

Procrastinating wasn’t going to help.

Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Ienzo?”

“I’m… I’m alright.” He found himself glad he hadn’t eaten much at breakfast. “Right. If you would just… give me a moment to change.”

“Change?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be right outside.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. Took two. He went over to his wardrobe, took out the black slacks, the white shirt, the sweater vest. The boots, the ascot. With shaking hands he took his lab coat off of its hanger.

The apprentice garb felt heavy on him, and its fit was different; he must’ve gotten more exercise on the islands than he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he said softly.

Riku appraised him when he came out. “Ready?”

“...As I’ll ever be.”

The walk down to the lab felt long. He realized he hadn’t even checked to see if Even or Ansem would be down there, but when they got down it was empty, the computer asleep, the room in semidarkness. Ienzo didn’t realize he was almost gasping for air until Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

Wearily, Ienzo nodded. He approached the keypad. He typed in the default password, and the door slid open.

He wasn’t sure what he expected--darkness rolling out, running at him--but nothing happened. “I don’t smell or sense much,” Riku said. He drew his Keyblade. “Stay close, just in case.”

They walked down the long, long ramp to the second lab door. The air smelled musty, stale, but not much worse than that, the lights flickering unevenly down the hall. Ienzo felt shaky, weak, already choked up. At first he wasn’t sure if he were seeing things, shadows flickering. Riku surveyed the space warily.

He took slow, shaky steps. The offices were all the way at the end of the corridor, past all of the cells. Their doors were open, unoccupied, but the whole place was in disarray; mattresses torn to shreds, gouges taken out of the floors and walls, sinks and toilets ripped from their joints. “You kept people here?” Riku asked, in a neutral voice.

“...Yes.” He swallowed. “It takes some a long time to fall to darkness.” He imagined, not for the first time, how his subjects might have felt. Dazed, terrified, in pain. He did remember them screaming out--either in anger, in fear, or in grief. He remembered himself giving them psychological profiles as a child--some had thought he, too, was a victim and tried to save him, only for their horror to grow that much more when they realized he was apart of it.

The pain he’d inflicted echoed heavily around the room as the memories poured in. Xehanort, or Even, or Dilan gently nudging him to do this, that, or another awful thing. Wanting to do it without their prodding as well. Seeing his family members do so in turn.

“How many?” Riku asked.

Ienzo swallowed. “A little over a hundred. But… what we wrought here… spread across the world--the seeker of darkness’s artificial Heartless--”

Riku rested a hand on his back. “You were a child. If you were anything like me… they used you.”

Somehow Ienzo made it to the office. It was a large space, with filing cabinets to one side, a few computers to another, a printer in the far back. Chemistry supplies, glassware, and a fume hood were to the center right of the back wall. Black-topped worktables were also towards the back, a Bunsen burner left out connected to the gas line. In a lot of ways it looked untouched, like it was that hectic and horrifying day they’d been turned. A coffee cup sat on the table in the center of the room, its contents long evaporated. Papers were still spread across the desk, someone’s old, moldering lab coat on the back of a chair.

Ienzo’s knees gave out.

“Ienzo!” Riku cried.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was all so… casual. Mundane.

This had been his normal. School days spent here, torturing other people, other kids, because he thought it was for the greater good. What were a few sacrifices for knowledge? To understand human nature?

He made an odd, guttural noise. “I’m sorry.” He sounded like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ienzo?” Riku knelt next to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me.”

The tile floor was cold and dusty under his hands. He wanted to rip the file cabinets from the walls and destroy everything--

“Look at me.”

Ienzo did so, breathing through his teeth. Despite it all, there was still somehow tenderness in Riku’s eyes.

“Apologizing can’t help them now,” he said. “But what we can do to help is to preserve the memory of who they once were.”

He felt so incredibly heavy. “I killed them.”

“Xehanort and the darkness made you. Weren’t these guys your only family? If you hadn’t listened, what would’ve happened to you?”

“I’d be alone.” His chest hurt. “I’d be an orphan.”

“It was all you knew. What happened to the Zo who forgave himself on the island?”

Ienzo looked down.

“Huh?” he prompted.

“Do you think I deserve forgiveness?”

“Yes. I do. I think you were a victim too. Just like I was one of my Ansem’s.”

Ansem had said the same thing. The pain bled out of him. Riku let him cry, and mourn the person he could’ve been if not for all this. “Alright,” he said at last. “Alright. Alright.”

Riku helped him to his feet and wiped the tear from his face. “Better,” he said gently. “Where are these files?”

“Over… over here.” His knees were still shaky. He pulled open the drawer. “Help me…” He hefted them over to the scanner. “Digitize them. So they never get forgotten.”

“Right. Of course.”

It was a tedious, annoying task, but seeing the images, the people , get uploaded into the system, Ienzo felt something like relief. Once it was all--finally--done, he checked with his phone and the network that the data was safe. “All these years,” he said softly. “We kept the results, the data, but this was all left here to rot.”

“Easier to forget the price that way,” Riku said. “We can do something with this.”

“I’ll talk to the others. See how they feel. But seeing as all this--” He spread his hands, “Is due to my influence… I think I can guilt them all into agreeing.”

“For some reason I don’t think they’ll need much persuading.” Riku kissed him once, lightly. “Are you ready to leave?”

He looked around the room. He noticed a document on the table with his childhood self’s handwriting. He touched it once, turned it over. “I think so,” he said. “I think so.”

---

“Ansem? Can I speak to you?”

The man looked up from his writing desk, startled to be called his name. “Oh, Ienzo, it’s so good to see you,” he said. “I feel as though it’s been ages. You look so wonderfully well. Did you have a good time?”

“I truly did,” he said. “There was a lot I learned. But I’d…” He exhaled. “I realized something.”

Ansem gestured for him to sit in the opposite chair, so he did.

“I recall you telling me I am one of the victims of what happened here,” he said slowly.

“Yes. I believe that is true.”

“Staying with Riku’s family… seeing what type of life he used to have, what I could’ve had… it… so much of it shifted my perspective.” Ienzo cleared his throat and knotted his hands. “I think I’ve started to forgive myself, but moreover… I… I want to do something to honor those we destroyed.”

Ansem’s face slackened a little.

“Riku helped me digitize the personal files of the victims. I feel like… by accepting responsibility openly… we can give the townspeople closure. Ensure their memories aren’t lost. We can’t bring them back, but using what we’ve learned… we can help the people here move forward. Help heal their hearts.” He spoke quickly, not at all encouraged by his expression. “Please, master. This is because of me. I want to do something--even if it is so simple as a memorial.”

A long pause. Ansem tapped the tips of his fingers together. “That is very wise, Ienzo,” he said at last. “I think it’s a good first move. I think myself, and the others, agree heartily.”

He took a deep breath. “Moreover… I think I would like to leave Radiant Garden.”

Ansem’s eyebrows shot up.

“I know it probably seems selfish--” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “I have so much to atone for. But being there, in Destiny Islands, I… I just need time, I need time to figure out who I can be, before I’m truly emotionally able to do all the work here that I need to. I’d like to move there and attend university.” He bowed his head and realized he was asking for permission. “I want to heal, and experience normalcy, and in order to do that in any meaningful way I have to leave. The memories are too painful. There’s too much unsaid.”

Ansem smiled kindly. “Ienzo,” he said. “Why are you trying to convince me?”

He looked up.

“I think that would be wonderful for you,” he said. “I always thought you were so young to be weighed down by so much. I’m your father. Of course I’m going to support whatever you think you need.”

“Thank you.”

“I just have to ask…” He chuckled a little. “This isn’t just because of the boy, is it?”

Ienzo blinked. “I do love him, but no,” he said. “I’m not going just to be with him. ...Though that will be a perk.”

“You have no idea how much it soothes me to know you’re beginning to move on,” Ansem said. “For the longest time I felt like I’ve damned you. Whatever I can provide--money, an official letter, name it.”

“I still have to figure it all out. They just barely know of other worlds. How would they deal with an immigrant? I don’t think forged papers would be good enough.”

Ansem sat back. “I seem to recall a good friend of your beloved has sway with the mayor,” he said.

“Kairi,” he said. “I completely forgot.”

“You may want to start there. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to introduce you.”

“...Yes.” Ienzo was dizzy. “Yes. That’s a good place to start.”

---

“You’re what. ” Even’s nostrils flared.

“I’m leaving, Even,” Ienzo said. As much as he’d braced himself for this conversation, he was still not looking forward to Even’s reaction. “I just… I need time. I need space. I need to learn how to be me… and I can’t do that here.”

Even sniffed. “The boy’s been too much influence on you. All of the tenderheartedness, the ideas… Life won’t be easy, Ienzo.”

“But it will be normal,” he said. “I think that’s what I need in order to begin to heal. A… controlled environment. A vacuum.”

This made him soften a little.

“ I need to have control,” he said. “And if I stay here, for now, I’ll only be reminded of when I didn’t have that. It’s not forever. Or maybe it is, that is yet to be determined.”

Even sighed. “I see,” he said. “Ienzo… child… there’s so much I have to do to make up to you, and you’re just leaving ?”

Ienzo smiled. “Then support my decision,” he said. “Moreover, with the phones… it’s not as though I’ll never see you again. And we can still work together, as well. I think… one of the things you can help me do is spearhead the memorial with me.”

Even took a breath.

“I know you want to atone just as much, if not more, than I do. Help me accept their pain, Even, and make sure they don’t get forgotten. And that nothing like this happens again.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” He turned to leave, but Even spoke.

“It is… easy, to get caught up in the guilt and the grief,” he said, “And let it paralyze one. So often I feel as though I’ll never have enough time to even begin mitigating the damage I’ve done to this world.” His green eyes were sharp, reddened at the edges. “My mistakes were mine more than yours were yours. Yet…”

“In the end you chose to give up everything in order to stop Xehanort,” Ienzo said. “You deserve to be here. You deserve life too, Even.”

He chuckled. “You have gotten soft, child,” he said. He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “It suits you. But don’t let go of all that bitterness just yet. Use it. Build your new life just to spite us all.”

Ienzo nodded. “I likely shall.”

Even sighed. “I will miss you,” he said. “But I understand.”

“And I you, I think,” Ienzo said.

“Though if you’re going there we must come up with a way to protect your complexion,” he said, snapping into brightness, though Ienzo saw his eyes watering. “I’ll get to it at once. We can’t have you end up with… moles, or worse, you’re so fair.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, Even.”

“You’ll… you’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will if you will.”

Even smiled.

“Truly, Even, you lecture me for working too hard, yet I’m not sure you sleep.”

A beat, a moment. “Take care, Ienzo,” Even said. “I do hope this new life treats you well.”

He nodded. He nearly left, but acting on impulse, he hugged Even once, quickly. “I’ll be back to collect that sunscreen, I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll see you before I leave.”

“Yes, yes, leaving me with more work, as always.” A smile.

---

The apartment had come pre-furnished, but was cramped. The sink leaked. Most of the microwave buttons did not work, and the electric stove heated unevenly. If Ienzo was not quick to shower in the morning, the other flats in the building used up all the hot water.

It was run-down, but it was his, and he loved it.

Riku groaned a little when he got up. “Why,” was all he said.

“I have to get to work,” Ienzo said. “I told you last night I’d be getting up early and if you wanted decent sleep to go home. I warned you.”

He sighed heavily. “To be fair, after what we did, I didn’t think I could move.”

He rolled his eyes and went to go shower. He’d made it for the hot water, though under the wire. When he came back out to get dressed Riku had pulled the blanket over himself, like a burrito. “Don’t you have class to get ready for?”

“Yes, and if I don’t go now I’ll be late.” Still, he didn’t move.

“The last thing I want is for you to become a ne’er do well on my watch,” he said. He grabbed his apron from the closet door handle.

“ Fine. ” He got up and started putting on his discarded uniform. “As long as I can be the first customer. You’re not going to make me wait outside until open again, are you?”

“The last time I didn’t my manager was unhappy.”

“You are the worst sometimes.”

Ienzo smirked. “You still keep coming back.”

The left the apartment together, down the rickety narrow staircase. The sun was just starting to rise. The days, lately, seemed long; but they were full, and Ienzo no longer dreaded them. He found the keys in his bag and unlocked the cafe’s door. “See you in half an hour,” he said breezily to Riku, who just rolled his eyes and sat at one of the outdoor tables.

Most days he didn’t mind this work. Opening the cafe meant he got out of work early, leaving the day open for his classes, or seeing people, or simply existing in this strange city. It wasn’t forever--he had reason to believe he’d be offered a student research position at university, and that would cover most of his living expenses. Ansem had given him money, but he didn’t want to touch it unless he had to.

Sometimes admittedly if he was having a frustrating day--if customers were awful to him or the espresso machine was on the fritz yet again --Ienzo felt his genius was being wasted being a barista. But most of the time, he liked the work, baking and making coffee the most. It was objective, harmless. I wanted normal, he’d think.

He counted in the drawers, put the breakfast pastries in their displays. Warmed up the machines and made coffee. He’d been promoted to keyholder when the manager saw how efficiently he was able to work, and that meant opening shifts. Sometimes on breaks he’d sit with a book and watch the people go by.

He hadn’t realized life could be gentle.

He saw Riku making faces at him through the window, and though he knew it was unnecessary, Ienzo waited until it was six on the dot to let him in.

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Riku said.

“Sure I am. Your usual?”

“You’re bankrupting me.” He placed a note on the counter. He made Riku’s latte and handed him the usual buttered croissant, and before the morning rush, sat with him to have his own breakfast. “So, later,” Riku said. “Couple of us are getting together at Sora’s. You in?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’d love to, but I have to finish that paper. I’ve procrastinated enough.” He seemed to be angling towards a degree in psychology with a minor in literature. He could use this to help people--he was trying to help Sora, who seemed to at least be more willing to open up. It was a start.

“Come anyway.”

“Then I’d have to stay up all night.”

“...Like you haven’t done that before.”

“Anyway, don’t you have a test to study for?”

“So?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’ll come, but I’ll be late.”

Riku leaned over and kissed him. “I should try to grab the ferry. Looks like you’ve got customers.”

---

There were already a few people over at Sora’s by the time Ienzo had done enough schoolwork to justify going. “Oh, you made it!” Sora said.

“And I brought snacks.”

“Yay, snacks!”

“Easy to please, as always,” Ienzo said, and Sora stuck out his tongue.

All of this wasn’t easy, but it was slowly getting easier. Sometimes Ienzo felt he was living a lie, not disclosing his past to everyone he met. As he made true, real friends here, it became apparent that this would be something he had to figure out how to deal with. Darkness still poked out from time to time.

There was some kind of movie playing on TV; Sephie and Tidus were arguing over what to watch. “But this is the good part!” Sephie said.

“I don’t care, it sucks.”

Someone had put on music, an upbeat pop song. Only Riku and Ienzo were of age to drink, but somehow someone had brought some wine. A normal Friday. His phone chimed with a text; a file from Even. Call me. Ienzo sighed and went onto the balcony. “Do I even want to know what time it is for you?” he asked, as prelude.

“This is what we’ve come up with,” Even said. “Can you let me know what you think? If it passes your muster?”

“Even, you know it’s better if these things are symbolic. It’s more meaningful that way.”

“I know, I know, I know, I’ve heard enough from your father.”

“I do look forward to seeing it,” he said. “The notes from the committee were helpful, at least. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Out and about, are you?” Even asked.

“Ah--quite.”

A pause. “You’re eating well, and all that?”

He smiled. “Yes, Even.”

“Because you know I raised you to--”

“I promise I’m getting all my fruits and vegetables.”

“Right. Ah.”

“Go sleep, Even. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“As long as you do.”

He hung up. The moon was full, and it was glinting on the ocean. Ienzo heard the back door slide open. “What are you doing here, all alone?” Riku asked.

“Even called me. He has a new draft of the memorial.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

Ienzo smiled. “It’s alright. I think we’re getting close.”

He offered him a glass of wine, which Ienzo took. “Are you glad you came after all?” he asked him.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I just… I dunno. I want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Well, I am.” He chuckled a little. “As much as I can be. It’s just that… sometimes the darkness still… comes out.” They both nightmared, occasionally. Sometimes Ienzo heard Riku cry out in his sleep for Sora or Kairi.

“It… does.”

“Are you happy?”

“As much as I can be.”

Ienzo nudged him. He rested a hand on Riku’s waist.

“I’m just glad to… have time,” Riku said. “I think I’m understanding that… it’s not all gonna get snatched away.”

“Good. I told you as much, though I know why…” He sighed. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to wake up in that… stark white castle. But then I wake up with you.”

Riku kissed him. “I can’t wait to figure it all out together.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The door opened again; Kairi was smirking. “Alright, lovebirds. Do you want to want to play dominoes or what?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ienzo said, “I’m going to wipe the floor with you all.”

“Easy there, killer,” Riku said.

And they went inside, to the rest of their lives.