#asked a few people this hypothetical and it's been eating me alive ever since

[redhead-reporter]

mj: if we don't help those people, they could die peter: so could you - i CAN'T let that happen

piece of evidence #86353 that, had it been mj instead of may who was teetering on the brink of death, peter would've used up the devil's breath cure to save her. because mary jane watson is THE exception to peter's strict moral code and sense of greater duty. even if it compromises him, even if it hurts other people, he will put her and her safety above EVERYTHING ELSE because she is the one thing he needs and he's too selfish to let anything happen to her.

in this essay, i will-

[omniscientwreck]

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

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The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

----------

The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

[ibijau]

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

Jin Rusong has some questions about his father

Having enjoyed dinner with both of his uncles once, Jin Rusong decided that he now wanted this to happen every night. Nie Huaisang, for once, tried to resist his ward's demand. For a day or two, he found excuses to avoid such a torture until Jin Rusong came to find him in his office one afternoon, demanding more firmly that they all eat together. 

Nie Huaisang, somewhat awkwardly, explained to him that Lan Xichen would probably not like this at all. In response to which Jin Rusong immediately insisted that they go ask Lan Xichen's opinion. 

Lan Xichen opened his door to them with a polite smile, clearly surprised to see both of them when Nie Huaisang still half avoided him, and listened with great interest to Jin Rusong’s request.

"I would love that," Lan Xichen announced, still weak to Jin charm.

Jin Rusong grinned triumphantly at Nie Huaisang who barely refrained a grimace.

“Zewu-Jun, don’t force yourself,” Nie Huaisang complained. “If we give in to all his demands, he’ll be spoiled.”

“And I’ve told you before that I miss having time with you,” Lan Xichen retorted, his smile turning sharper. “Why would I deny A-Song something I want as well? If you do not want this, then we will respect your preference of course," he added. "But don’t pretend the decision comes from me.”

After the argument they’d had just a few days before, Nie Huaisang was startled to hear Lan Xichen still wanted to reconnect. It made him hope for something he knew he wasn’t allowed to want anymore, something they had both agreed long ago needed to be buried and forgotten. So if he had been a reasonable man, Nie Huaisang would have lied and demanded to be allowed to keep his distance from Lan Xichen.

Lying would give a bad example to Jin Rusong though, and he couldn’t do that of course. He had to be honest, not because he had desperately missed the way things used to be with Lan Xichen before his brother’s death, but because Jin Rusong deserved better than to be raised by another dishonest liar.

“Zewu-Jun, you know how I enjoy your company,” Nie Huaisang sighed, giving in. “If really you don’t mind, then I would be very happy to have dinner with you and SongSong whenever it pleases you.”

Lan Xichen’s smile went soft again upon hearing this, before he winced when Jin Rusong shouted in victory.

“Well, he’s yours for now,” Nie Huaisang said, pushing the child toward Lan Xichen. “I’ll see you later. I was working, you know, before someone came to disturb me!”

Jin Rusong grinned without shame, while Lan Xichen chuckled.

“You could bring your work here and take care of it while I play with A-Song,” Lan Xichen offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Tempting,” Nie Huaisang had to admit. “Very tempting. But if I did that, I don’t think I’d actually get any work done, and then Nie Funyu might scold me.”

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Lan Xichen agreed, sounding almost teasing for a moment, before turning more serious again. “It’s good to see you take your responsibilities to heart, Huaisang. I always used to wonder how you could struggle so much when I know how clever you are. I’m glad you no longer have to hide.”

Feeling a deep blush creeping up his face, Nie Huaisang promptly excused himself and ran back to his office, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have said he didn’t want to be near Lan Xichen after all.

-

That doubt only became stronger the more he found himself in Lan Xichen’s company. Because while Nie Huaisang was determined to be polite and respectful and to rebuild their friendship from scratch, Lan Xichen was equally determined to resume certain games they used to play, back before Nie Mingjue died. 

It wasn’t flirting, not quite, but it also wasn’t... not flirting.

Lan Xichen would say something a little too complimentary, followed by a look that lingered a little too long, a smile a little too knowing. Back when they were young, Nie Huaisang used to take it in stride and shamelessly returned the attention, until Lan Xichen became flustered and was forced to drop the game before Nie Mingjue became unable to pretend he couldn’t see what was happening. 

Now though, Nie Huaisang was the flustered one, and entirely unable to respond in kind for fear he’d take the teasing in a direction Lan Xichen couldn’t possibly intend.

To make things worse, spending so much time again with Lan Xichen was reminding Nie Huaisang of all the reasons why he had once hoped their friendship might turn into something else. Lan Xichen was still the same man after all, polite to a fault to everyone he encountered. He even chatted easily with Wen Ning when the fierce corpse came to check on Jin Rusong, who seemed quite happy to chat back even though he wouldn’t say two words to Nie Huaisang if he could avoid it. 

The Lans too had taken part in the slaughter in the Burial Mounds, but having raised the lone child who had survived seemed to balance it out in the eyes of Wen Ning.

Aside from being polite to all, Lan Xichen was also clever and well-read. Nie Huaisang, who hadn’t had anyone to talk about art and literature for ages, found himself debating with the other man more than once, usually until Jin Rusong became bored of the conversation and interrupted it.

Living in close quarters this way was also giving new reasons to feel what he shouldn’t have felt. Seeing Lan Xichen playing with Jin Rusong, or teaching him something, never failed to make Nie Huaisang’s heart race in his chest. Worse still, sometimes Jin Rusong, exhausted from lessons with the Nie disciples and with Jin Yixin, would fall asleep on Lan Xichen’s lap while having his hair pet tenderly, a perfect picture of happiness. 

Lan Xichen would have made a great father, given the chance.

He still might, once he was done recovering from what had happened with Jin Guangyao. It wasn’t as though Lan Wangji was going to marry a woman after all, and someone had to ensure the line of succession was preserved. Nie Huaisang tried not to envy that hypothetical woman who would get everything he’d once hoped for. Just having Lan Xichen’s friendship again was already more than he’d have expected.

It went on that way for a handful of weeks. Nie Huaisang, after years of carefully crafted loneliness, enjoyed that company with more abandon than was reasonable. 

He should have known something would happen to disrupt that fragile peace. 

That night, they were having dinner in his quarters rather than Lan Xichen's. There was no firm rule established, but they tried to alternate so they could both have plenty of time with Jin Rusong in the mornings. 

Jin Rusong who had been rather serious all evening since Nie Huaisang picked him up from where he was playing with other children, and surprisingly silent as well. Nie Huaisang, worried, had asked many times if there was a problem, only for his ward to get more and more upset each time. Trusting it would come out in time, he had decided to drop the issue and chatted instead with Lan Xichen about some sect business for which a second opinion would be welcome.

They were putting away their dishes for the servants to take later when at last, Jin Rusong couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Was daddy a bad person?” he blurted, looking up at the two adults sitting opposite him.

Nie Huaisang nearly dropped the bowl in his hand, his blood turning to ice. He stared at the child who looked back at him with big, pleading eyes.

He’d thought they’d have a little more time before that conversation. Things had been so good, Nie Huaisang could almost have pretended that they’d never again have to talk about Jin Guangyao.

He’d thought wrong.

Next to him, Lan Xichen was equally shaken, but appeared to recover a little better and even managed to smile weakly.

“A-Song, is there a particular reason you’re asking this?”

Jin Rusong shook his head, then slowly nodded.

“When I was playing hide and seek with everyone, I heard some grown-ups talking about daddy,” he confessed in a small voice. “And they were saying how he should have died a long time before, and how awful he was, and how everyone should have seen it.”

“Did you recognise these people?” Nie Huaisang snapped, anger replacing shock.

He’d given strict instructions to his disciples. Nobody was allowed to speak about Jin Guangyao in any way within the walls of the Unclean Realm, precisely to avoid such a situation.

Again, Jin Rusong shook his head.

“They weren’t from here. They didn’t wear Nie colours,” he explained. “Uncle Nie, is it true? Was daddy bad?”

Unsure how to answer, Nie Huaisang glanced at Lan Xichen, only to find him looking back at him, equally awkward.

“SongSong, that’s a bit of a difficult question to answer,” Nie Huaisang said at last, fighting an impulse to open his fan and hide behind it. “You see, your daddy… well, first of all, your daddy loved you. He loved you very much. More than anyone ever knew. And he saved you when you became too sick. But he also… well. Your daddy did some very bad things, yes.”

It wasn’t the answer Jin Rusong had hoped for, and tears started pooling at the corner of his eyes.

“What bad things?”

Nie Huaisang hesitated, glancing again toward Lan Xichen who was still too shaken too speak.

“Things that you are a little too young to be told about,” Nie Huaisang said. “Your daddy has hurt a lot of people. And some people have... died because of him. That’s why there are people who are very angry at him, and who think it is right that he died.”

“But you don’t, right?” Jin Rusong pleaded, a few tears spilling on his cheeks. “He was your friend, right?”

A third time Nie Huaisang turned to Lan Xichen, nearly panicking at the idea of having to explain everything that had happened. This time Lan Xichen took Nie Huaisang’s hand, and looked at Jin Rusong.

“A-Song, we thought that your daddy was our friend,” Lan Xichen explained. “He was very good to us, most of the time. But he also hurt us a lot, and tried to hide from us the bad things he did. Even if he were alive, we could no longer call him our friend.”

His hand tightly squeezed Nie Huaisang’s, who could only squeeze back.

“Do you hate me too?” Jin Rusong sobbed, fully breaking into tears. “If you hate daddy, then you hate me too?”

Both adults rushed around the table to hug him, Nie Huaisang who was closer pulling him on his lap while Lan Xichen knelt next to them and wrapped his arm around both of them. 

"SongSong, we love you so much!" Nie Huaisang promised. "My precious little SongSong, how could I ever hate you?" 

"You are not your father, A-Song," Lan Xichen added. "What he did has nothing to do with you. So don't worry, we won't stop loving you." 

"E-even, even if I'm b-bad?" Jin Rusong bawled, burying his face against Nie Huaisang's chest. "Even if I'm sp-spoiled?" 

"You're not bad, A-Song," Lan Xichen replied. "Not that spoiled either, even if Uncle Nie jokes about that sometimes."

"I spilled ink on your robes the other day," Jin Rusong whined. "And I don't eat food when it's green and bitter." 

Nie Huaisang chuckled nervously. 

"That's just little things, SongSong," he said, carefully petting his hair. "The things your daddy did, they're much bigger things, much worse. You wouldn't do these big bad things like him, and even if you thought about it, we'd notice and ask you to stop. We wouldn't let our SongSong become a bad person, not now that we know what it looks like." 

"But what if…" Jin Rusong insisted, only for Nie Huaisang to cut him. 

"There's no what if. You're a very good little boy, SongSong. Things like what you said are just… Well, everyone does a little bad sometimes, right?" 

"Even you?"

Nie Huaisang froze at the question, thinking of a hopeless young man living in a shed, of Qin Su holding that dagger, of his brother's fierce corpse used as a weapon in a last effort to eliminate Jin Guangyao. If it had been up to him to answer, there was only one thing he could have said. 

Thankfully, Lan Xichen spoke faster.

"We are only human, A-Song," he said. "And all humans have the potential to do good and bad equally. Nobody can go through life without causing harm. And the harm we've caused… It might be bigger than what other people did. But we tried to do good as well, and we've learned from the bad things we did."

“But you’re good?” Jin Rusong insisted.

“We try to be,” Lan Xichen sighed. “There are people who would say we are as bad as your daddy, and others who would say what we did wasn't bad at all, that it was very good. Sometimes, when you're grown, it's hard to know for sure what's wrong or right. It might be…”

Lan Xichen hesitated, his arms tightening around Jin Rusong and Nie Huaisang.

“Maybe someday, when you are older, you will decide that the bad we have done is too great for you to still love us,” Lan Xichen carefully said. “Just as happened between us and your father. We wouldn’t blame you for that choice, and we will still love you, no matter what you decide.”

“No, I’ll always love you!” Jin Rusong cried out, burrowing his face harder against Nie Huaisang’s chest, holding to his waist tight enough to start hurting a little.

Nie Huaisang silently pet the child's hair, trying to soothe both of them at the same time. Such an incident was a grim reminder that someday they would have to fully explain to Jin Rusong what had happened to his father. It wouldn't be easy, but he'd find out sooner or later, and it would be better for the truth to come from them rather than to be overheard from strangers. 

Another day though. 

Nie Huaisang wasn't ready yet to give up on Jin Rusong. 

The three of them stayed like that for a while, hugging on the floor and comforting one another. A few times, Lan Xichen's hands brushed against Nie Huaisang as they tried to comfort Jin Rusong. Nie Huaisang was too shaken to flinch away as he might have done at other times, and so the touches continued, offering him some comfort as well though he wouldn't have admitted it. 

After some time, Jin Rusong started yawning, exhausted by that too emotional conversation. He did not fight when Nie Huaisang picked him up and walked him to his bed. By the time Nie Huaisang was done preparing him and tucked him under his blanket, the child was already half asleep. 

Returning to the main room alone, Nie Huaisang found that Lan Xichen had finished putting away the remains of their dinner. It made him smile in spite of his rattled nerves, and a painful warmth spread through his chest. It could have felt like a very domestic moment, if things had been different. His husband tidying while he put their child to sleep… 

But Lan Xichen would never be his husband, and this wasn't their child, but the son of a man they had murdered together. That was the reality of their lives, and Nie Huaisang couldn't afford to forget it. 

"Huaisang, how are you?” Lan Xichen asked.

Startled by the question, Nie Huaisang looked at the other man to find him closer than before, and staring at him with obvious concern. He shrugged in answer to the question, which earned him a small grimace from Lan Xichen, acknowledging that it had been a silly thing to ask. After such a conversation, neither of them could have felt good.

“I must say you impressed me, Zewu-Jun,” Nie Huaisang commented, trying to distract himself from what had happened. “Such a nuanced understanding of right and wrong isn’t very Lan, is it?”

“Thinking in absolutes has done me little good,” Lan Xichen retorted, bitterness piercing through his voice. “Because I knew Jin Guangyao had done good, I refused to accept he could do wrong. Because Wei Wuxian had done such wrong, I struggled to understand why Wangji saw such good in him. I aim to have more nuanced views of others from now on.”

“How wise of you,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wish I could do that,” he added with a bitter laughter, “but I’m just not kind enough.”

Lan Xichen gave him a long look.

“You’re not like him,” he said at last. “I know you think you are, Huaisang, but it isn’t true. Your methods might have been similar, but your motivations are different.”

“Not so different,” Nie Huaisang scoffed. “And maybe the good he did outweighed the bad, which is more than I can say. Still, he killed my brother, made him die feeling betrayed by all of us, in the exact manner Da-ge always most dreaded to die… He didn’t want to go like our father, and Jin Guangyao knew that, yet he still…”

He shivered at the thought. Jin Guangyao had to know how scared Nie Mingjue had been. Nothing less than terror over dying in that way would have convinced him to accept the help of a man he otherwise no longer trusted. Jin Guangyao knew, and he’d made things worse on purpose.

“Whatever good he did was build using blood as mortar,” Lan Xichen said. “And that will forever taint his legacy. Unless someone fights for them, I fear his watchtowers will end up abandoned, simply because they were his idea.”

“Probably. It’s almost a shame,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “They did a lot of good. Maybe Jin Rulan will try to do something about that… though I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. He has enough to deal with already.”

It really was a waste that common people would lose this system which had helped so many, and in a way, Nie Huaisang took it as another reason to resent Jin Guangyao. If he had played a little more by the rules… or else, since the rules had been stacked against him, if Jin Guangyao had realised sooner that his father wouldn’t change his mind about him, if he had killed Jin Guangshan first and left Nie Mingjue alive…

It had been such a waste of a brilliant mind that Jin Guangyao had spent so much time and effort trying to please a father who never saw him as more than a thorn in his side. Nie Huaisang couldn’t understand it anymore than Nie Mingjue had when he was alive. He never would understand, he suspected. His youth and Jin Guangyao’s had been too different.

“Huaisang, I want to talk about something,” Lan Xichen said in a too careful voice that made Nie Huaisang tense.

“Can it wait? It has not exactly been a very good evening, and I’m thinking of going to sleep early if I manage.”

Lan Xichen hesitated, staring at him to decide whether or not whatever he had to say was worth prolonging that difficult evening. When Lan Xichen eventually shook his head with a serious expression, Nie Huaisang felt his shoulder tense painfully and braced himself for the worst.

“I’ve forgiven you for not telling me about what Jin Guangyao did,” Lan Xichen announced. “Everything else is either not mine to forgive or never required forgiveness, but that is something I did resent you for. I still wish you had told me, but I’m not angry anymore.”

Nie Huaisang stared at him with wide eyes, surprised to hear those words and so touched he half feared he’d break into tears. He had to turn away to hide his face, in case he couldn’t contain his emotions. Gaining Lan Xichen’s forgiveness was simply...

“You’re too kind, as always,” Nie Huaisang huffed, fidgeting with his fan. “Da-ge used to say you spoiled me and I’m starting to think he was right.”

“You know why I used to spoil you,” Lan Xichen softly pointed out. “I still would, if you let me. There’s a reason I’m still unmarried after all, and you know it.”

Nie Huaisang startled.

“I know you’ve had your own reasons for staying single,” Lan Xichen continued, stepping closer. “Far more unpleasant than my own. Still, I can’t help but hope…”

“Zewu-Jun, we said we couldn’t,” Nie Huaisang hurriedly whispered, still avoiding to look his way. “We agreed it wouldn’t be possible to marry, not with both of us being sect leaders.”

“I do remember that day, yes,” Lan Xichen said, coming closer still, his voice so soft it made Nie Huaisang ache.

He too remembered that day, of course. First, because it had been the day of his brother’s funeral, and that alone would have made it memorable. Second, because after the ceremony he’d broken down. Lan Xichen, the only person whose presence he’d tolerated at that time, had stayed with him and comforted him until he calmed down, and then…

It probably made Nie Huaisang an awful person that he had kissed Lan Xichen that day, for the first and last time. But he had wanted it for years at that point, and he had lost so much time with games, making Lan Xichen chase him, playing at flirting, thinking there was no urgency to their little romance. That day, after kissing, they had a long conversation and concluded nothing of the sort could ever happen again, that they would be friends and nothing else from then on.

Maybe it had been for the best that things had never progressed beyond flirting anyway. It really would have made things so difficult if they had made more efforts to move things forward, if they had been engaged or even married when Nie Mingjue died. Leadership of the Nie sect would probably have gone to someone else, someone who might not have noticed what Jin Guangyao had done, or worse someone who would have seen it and tried to openly attack him, which would only have led to more trouble, more death.

And yet Nie Huaisang, selfish in this as in other things, still wished to this day that it had happened that way, that he could have spent that last decade at Lan Xichen’s side. They would have been happy, he was certain of that.

“I’m not saying we didn’t have good reasons to make that choice back then,” Lan Xichen said. “You made some very reasonable arguments at the time. Too reasonable, perhaps. We don’t have to marry to be together.”

“Xichen!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, scandalised enough to look at him again, only to find Lan Xichen smiling as peacefully as if they were discussing the weather. “Xichen, I’m pretty sure this goes against a number of your sect’s rules. In fact, I know for a fact that it does! I could never make you…”

“I think I’ve given enough of my life to my sect to be allowed some infractions,” Lan Xichen noted with clear amusement. “I’ve noticed that Wangji is a lot happier since he allows himself a little leeway, and so I have thought of following his example. Besides, I’m tired of denying myself the things I want. And what I want, Huaisang, is you.”

Lan Xichen said it as if it were an evidence to him, and nothing in the world could be more obvious. Considering how unsubtle he’d been recently in flirting, perhaps it really was that obvious, and only Nie Huaisang could have needed it spelled out this way.

"Won't you regret it if you break those rules because of me? And what if things don't go well? I don't want to risk having you resent me. I can't lose you again, Xichen."

Lan Xichen came closer, one hand cupping Nie Huaisang's cheek with a tenderness that nearly left him breathless, while the other wrapped around his waist. 

"We stayed friends the first time we decided it wouldn't work," Lan Xichen pointed out. "Even through secrets and misunderstandings, we stayed friends. You won't be rid of me so easily, Huaisang, not unless it's what you want."

Feeling nearly dizzy from this closeness he'd thought impossible, Nie Huaisang had to grab Lan Xichen's shoulders, his fingers clinging to white robes as if his life depended on it. Without thinking, his eyes flickered to Lan Xichen's lips, only to see a smile form on them. 

"I've told you what I want, Huaisang. I think it's your turn now." 

"You," Nie Huaisang whispered. "I want you. I've never stopped wanting you, Xichen." 

Lan Xichen's smile widened, warmer and happier than it had been in years. He looked almost too beautiful to behold like this, with that smile on his lips and a cheerful flush on his face. Nie Huaisang tried to look away, overcome with emotion after having confessed this, but Lan Xichen's hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck, keeping him in place as Lan Xichen leant forward to… 

"Uncle Nie!"

Both men jolted apart like schoolboys caught doing something bad and turned to the door of Jin Rusong’s bedroom.

“Uncle Nie, please come here!” the child cried out from inside.

His heart still beating too fast, Nie Huaisang glanced at Lan Xichen who gave him a half smile, then hurried to see what Jin Rusong needed.

His hopes that he might take care of the little boy quickly and return to his conversation with Lan Xichen died when Jin Rusong, fighting tears once more, begged him to sleep with him that night, saying he was scared of being alone. Nie Huaisang gave in of course. He only briefly left his ward to go explain the situation to Lan Xichen who understood and bid him goodnight, then returned to Jin Rusong’s side who fell asleep again clinging tight to him.

There would be time later to continue chatting with Lan Xichen, anyway.

[toomanyfandoms02]

Pregnant? // Spencer Reid x Reader

Fourth blurb! Requested by @drspencr and @reidloversisforever My asks are still open, just check my blurb list ;)

Summary - You are pregnant and worried about telling Spencer.

Prompts - "Pregnant?" & "That is the dumbest reason I've ever heard to have a baby."

It had been a week since I found out, and it was eating me *alive*.

I had been throwing up periodically in the morning. Smells started becoming eerily disgusting to me. I then took a look at my birth control and realized there was an extra pill that I should have taken. And it just so happens that our anniversary was a few weeks ago.

If you know what I mean.

Spencer and I had never really talked about kids. We had been married for a little over 2 years and we both had steady jobs. We has a house that was big enough to house 2 more people.

Yet I was still afraid to tell him.

So I figured I would just work up to it.

-

I sat down at the kitchen table with Spencer, finally finding an opportunity to slip kids into the conversation.

"So what do you think about having kids... sometime." I said, staring at my plate. He paused for a moment.

"Well I think I would rather have a baby than have a puppy I think." Puppies are so much to deal with. He then scooped another spoon full of peas into his mouth. I laughed a little, scrunching my eyebrows together.

"Okay one, that's the dumbest reason I've ever heard to have a baby. And two, that's quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever heard you said." I chuckled, sitting back further in my chair. "But you actually want to have kids one day?" He reached across the table, setting his hand on my much smaller one.

"Of course I do. I want to teach my kids so many things. I have researched the developmental stages of children many times and now I know when to teach them what." He rambled, looking *far* more excited then I expected. "I want them to be a prodigy, but maybe not as much as me." He looked down, his face contorting into a more sad one. "I would hate for them to be bullied." I looked at him with a solemn expression, using my other hand to rub circles on his palm.

"We will make sure that doesn't happen." I sighed. "But for now it's hypothetical! So don't worry about it."

Now I for sure knew that I was going to tell him tomorrow.

-

I ventured to walmart as Spencer was at work. I had ordered a mug online for in store pickup.

I was now sat in the car, staring into the mug that read 'You're gonna be a Dad!' At the bottom of the mug. Spencer always drinks a cup of coffee when he gets home, even with my protest. I ran a few errands in town and once I got home, it was only 30 minutes until Spencer would get home.

I began brewing the coffee anxiously, my hands shook as I poured the coffee and added the perfect amount of sugar, which I had memorized since out first date.

Just as I was putting the last sugar cube in, the door shut and I watched as Spencer hung his coat on a hook.

"Hey babe! Oh! You made me coffee, thank you sunshine." He grabbed my waist from behind, turning me around to kiss him. After I pulled away I set the warm mug in his hands.

He drank the cup *much* faster than I had anticipated.

Was I ready for this?

I did not have much time to think as I watched as Spencer kept the mug raised in the air, moving it closer and farther from his face. Making sure he was reading it correctly I guess. He swiftly set the mug on the counter, eyes wide.

"Pregnant?" He asked. I nodded with a nervous smile. "Yes!" He grabbed me up and span me around in the kitchen, I was caught in a fit of giggles. I pulled the pregnancy test from my back pocket, handing it to him.

"When is the first ultrasound?"

"I set up an appointment for tonight since I was planning on telling you today. It's in an hour."

This should be fun.

-

I had seen so many movies with pregnant people and them getting ultrasounds. But none of them can actually prepare you for how *cold that God damn gel was*. U nearly screamed when she started speadjng it all over. Spencer was holding my hand firmly and staring at the black and white screen.

The nurse began pushing it up and down.

"I'm guessing this is the first ultrasound? Considering you aren't very far along." I nodded.

"Yes! We are beyond excited." I squeezed his hand. He was looking at the screen now with squinted eyes and his ear was leaning towards the computers speaker.

"Well you can be *double* excited now because-."

"Its twins!" Spencer jumped from his seat a little.

"Yes it is!" The nurse confirmed.

"No wonder I'm so hormonal." I commented, touching the side of my stomach. "Are you nervous?" I nudged Spence.

"No. I'm so excited. I can't wait to tell the team!" He was practically bouncing out of his seat. He leaned down to kiss me, holding my jaw in his hands. "This is going to be the best thing that has ever happened to me. And I can't wait to experience it with you." He booped my nose and grabbed the print-outs of our babies.

Oh god.

Three geniuses around the house?

What was I going to do?

[askcharaandfriends]

lets say for some reason the afac tumblr blog show up what reaction ould thay have?

Like everyone from the AFAC blog?? All at once? Well we have a crossover planned but I think *everyone* going over at once would break something. So here's some hypothetical meet up responses based on what I think the characters would do. F[person] is from AFAC. C[person] is from ACAF. F for Frisk. C for Chara. This hypothetical interaction takes place post memelord. This is also assuming Frisk is a little more mellow now and not about to cause trouble immediately but still not fully "reformed" but people are hypothetically chill with them.

F. Frisk: Hello new world! It's good to be here! I wonder what other me is like this time!? I hope they're nice! I bet they're nice!

C. Frisk (appearing in front of them): What are you and why do you look like me but alive and so... sunshiny...

F. Frisk: ooo you're a ghost?? So you died? I'm so sorry! But how does it feel? Is it weird being a ghost? Are you doing ok? Did you ever think about becoming a Skeleton monster? My friend Chara was a ghost and then they became a Skeleton monster! Maybe you can do that!!

C Frisk: (sarcastically) ooo you're human?? So you're alive? I'm so sorry! But how does it feel? Is it weird being made of flesh? Are you doing ok? Did you ever think about dying? Did you consider eating a pie of buttercups?This is you. This is how you sound. Do you think before you speak?

F. Frisk: Oh.... so it's that kind of world, huh? One where I'm in Chara's place and Chara is in my place? Kinda... swapped or something?

C.Frisk: What are you talking about?

F. Frisk: I don't think I can tell you because spoilers, but just know everything will be ok! It'll all work out! Oh! And if Chara makes you a strawberry ghost cake, you should eat it because they worked really hard on it!

C. Frisk: thanks???

***

F. Chara: You're alive? Ok... [thinking] (I wonder if it's like that one time or something else... awe man, I hope I wasn't rude just now. I would find that very rude and make a sarcastic comment. I hope they are not as like me as they look... for multiple reasons)

C. Chara: Um well, greetings. Welcome to this world? [Looks at the Frisks, then looks back at F. Chara] So, your Frisk is alive but you are a Skeleton and you were surprised that I was alive. I'm just guessing here, but I think maybe you're like switched with Frisk or something?

F. Chara [relieved]: or something eh heh...

C. Chara: judging by the fact that you're a Skeleton and not trying to um... hurt people I'm guessing you've gone through some character arcs and now you're cool? Please be cool. My Frisk just did this um... possession thing?? But there were like memes or something and a rainbow dance??? And it was cool but also weird. You're not going to do that here, right? (Though I guess you can't because you're not a ghost anymore... )

F. Chara [cringing from their past]: no. I promise to be good.

C. Chara: oh! Ok cool! We're cool then! Would you... like to see my chocolate stash? It's all magic chocolate, so you shouldn't have a problem with it.

F. Chara [finally relaxing into themselves]: is that even a question? =)

C. Chara: =)

***

F. Papyrus: Greetings! I am the Great Papyrus! You also Look like Papyrus! Is that true? Are you another Papyrus?

C. Papyrus: i am. though maybe not as great. you look good Papyrus. you seem happy.

F. Papyrus: I am! Lots of good things have happened to me in my world! I made lots of friends! I have a boyfriend! I am captain of the royal guard!

C. Papyrus: is that so? sounds nice! you've really got it figured out, huh? i'm happy for you. [He is sincere, but a little sadness creeps in]

F. Papyrus: Thank you Papyrus! But um... are you doing ok? I know I, the Great Papyrus can go with very little sleep sometimes, but you seem like you have gone a very long time with very little sleep. I am sure, as Papyrus, you can handle it. But even Papyrus's need rest sometimes.

C. Papyrus: you know me too well, Papyrus. i do have trouble sleeping at night sometimes. but i try to make up for it by napping.

F. Papyrus: Egad! A Papyrus, Napping! It's worse than I feared! You, Papyrus, and I, Papyrus are going off to have a "self care day"! Literally because we are caring for our "selves"! Nyeh heh heh!

C. Papyrus: good one, Papyrus. ok. you know what, yes. i will take you up on that "self" care day.

F. Papyrus: That's the spirit, Papyrus! You are looking better already! Nyeh heh heh! [F. Papyrus scoops C. Papyrus up and runs off]

***

C. Sans: There they go... Looks like fun! Do you wanna do that too?

F. Sans: nah. let's just... hang out for a sec. so, you're me, huh? i heard there was a lot of us out there- many much Sansi. how do you feel about that? knowing that there are so many other versions of "you?" not knowing which one is the "real" you. realizing you might not be the best version of "you." that you could even be one of the worst-

C. Sans: Hold on there, pal. Your spiraling in negativity. This is also "me" you're talking about, you know? You're going to hurt my feelings.

F. Sans: oh! um... sorry. i didn't mean it like that. it's just weird to think about i guess.

C. Sans: It's ok, Buddy. I'm thinking maybe you have your reasons for thinking like that. Some bad things that happened in the past, like what happened to my brother. He gets like this sometimes. I will tell you what I tell him: Sometimes bad thoughts come because of what happened and that's ok- normal even. Having bad thoughts doesn't make you a bad person. Just don't dwell on those thoughts too long. When you realize you are having bad thoughts you should take a step back and examine them. Then shoo them away with thoughts about things you like: your brother, for example.

F Sans: that's... really good advice. thanks, me.

C Sans: No problemo, amigo. We're both pretty Sansational after all!

F Sans: eeyyyy! [Finger guns]

C Sans: Eeyyy! [Finger guns]

***

F Gaster: I have seen many Gasters from my time in the void (and one in person). They varied vastly in form and personality. You however, look a lot like me except...

C Gaster: i am a ghost in a cloak? yes... i see your Hermann is like this as well. so you experimented on your own wife?

F Gaster: Did you have to say it like that? I was desperate!

C Gaster (in a more informal accent): relax, mate. i was only jokin'. i would do the same thin' in your place. ( i mean i am you after all, ain't i?) i already forgave my wife for what she did to me, so i'm not about to give ya a 'ard time. it must've been rough, imagining livin' without her. you did what made sense, even if it didn't make sense. does that make sense?

F Gaster: um...

C Gaster: brilliant! how about i make you some orange tea? i know i like that.

F Gaster: I did, but I had a rather unfortunate accident involving said tea, and I haven't liked it very much since.

C Gaster: let me guess, piranhas?

F Gaster: How did you know??

C Gaster [nods sagely]: my Hermann had the same exact problem not too long ago, except our piranhas are fond of lemons. hate oranges though. maybe you should try orange tea again, if you are going to be staying a while- just in case.

F Gaster [thinking of the lemonade he had earlier]: Yes ok, let's try it then.

C Gaster: Great! you can give me your insight on my latest scifi idea! i'm thinking it will be a buddy comedy about this one guy and his doppelganger from another universe and their hilarious hijinks and misadventures!

F Gaster [nervously]: Greeeaaat...

***

F Hermann: Ok, Ok, So you're like me, but like a science nerd like mí amore, sí?

C Hermann: Cierto. I guess you are an author/ comedian like my husband? However... he writes scifi. If I was an author, my preferred genre to write would be...

F Hermann: ;3

C Herman: Mira a tú cara! It is that, isn't it?!

F Herman: ;3

C Herman: nice. Podemos leer eso? -3- you did bring some of your books, didn't you?

F Hermann: I thought you would never ask. I have a few of my favorites in my phone's box .

C Hermann: vamos a mí cuarto. Just so we can talk about it without...

F Hermann: of course. Let's go.

***

[I hope my spanish was good. That's all I will do for now. It was a lot of writing, but it was fun]

[septicbro1005]

I am an Addict, But I Get Paid to Indulge in my Habit

A/N: Sad Kirishima thing with implied Kiribaku. I just heard a song, got hit with the biggest wave of inspiration, so I’ll work on it between breaks in homework assignments. Ready for some good ol’ sad shit? Great. Based off of “Art is Dead” by Bo Burnham. There will be cursing, self-deprecation, depressed / anxious thoughts, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, etc. If this shit is not your cup of tea, go onto whatever the hell else you’d like. Cool? Cool.

Eijirou Kirishima hasn’t really been the most confident person in the world. Hell, probably not even the most confident person in Class 3-A. No matter the facade he put on, his inferiority complex has always bit him in the ass at the worst times.

Does he ever show other people how he feels when that happens?

Of course not!

He’s Eijirou Kirishima! The Unbreakable Red Riot! Nothing will ever make him break! He’s the toughest, manliest man out there!

Yet, behind closed doors, there are those days.

When the voice in his head screams. When a loud noise makes his heart race for the next thirty minutes. When his fingernails dig into his shoulders as he takes deep breaths. When the second he does something wrong or that he feels is wrong, he clams up and is flooded with guilt. When he doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and only replies with the fewest amount of words possible. When the fake smiles and the fake affirmations come to the surface.

Then the memories come in.

They flood in faster than he can stop them, and he’s stuck thinking about those things until he finds something else to do.

So that’s why he asked Jirou, in their first year, about music. Happily, Jirou taught him to play the keyboard, which he grasped quite quickly. In fact, by their third year, he was writing his own songs.

Of course, his lack of confidence never allowed him to put them out to the world for people to see.

But, he anonymously goes to a cafe near campus and plays his music there. Every weekend he can.

He’s somehow become a hero in training by day, and a comic musician by night.

This results in little to no down time, what with all of his classes, studying, creating new music, and anything else along those lines.

And there’s one song he’d been working on since he began writing his own music. He’s put his heart and soul into it. He’s practiced it, he’s practically perfected it.

Since he started his gigs at the cafe, he’s been debating on whether or not to throw it into his set list. And every time, before he can even make a joke to introduce the song, he pauses.

He can’t.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t think properly. There’s only a few thoughts that swirl in his head, until one voice in his head yells at him to move on.

And so he does.

There was one night, however, that he had an exceptionally shitty day. He almost entirely flunked a quiz, he passed out during training because he didn’t eat lunch, and Bakugou was nowhere to be seen.

Eijirou has no idea how or why Katsuki Bakugou affects him so much. Yet, whenever something happens to the ash blond or the ash blond isn’t there, he’s filled with anxiety and even a bit of jealousy.

Which makes Eijirou hate the way he felt that day.

So when he came into the cafe that night, his beanie shoved low onto his head and colored contacts on, it was much harder to fake his entertainer’s smile.

He started with a couple of jokes and dumber songs, with only some meaning behind it.

And as he finished the third song, he heard the door open up to the cafe.

He’s grown used to people walking in part way into his shows, it doesn’t offend him. Not like it really should. He’s not doing it for money. He just wants to release his feelings in the form of music and comedy.

                                                          ~~~

Katsuki Bakugou was a frequent customer at a cafe close to campus. He had been since he was a second year. He’s always loved going on the weekends, when the entertainer is there.

He never heard a name from the man, and it seems no one else has either. He asked the manager, but she said she was sworn to secrecy by him.

So, he hears the wild applause coming from the cafe, and felt a small grin bloom on his face that grew once he entered.

The man sat in front of his piano, drinking from one of the coffee cups from the cafe. The cafe bought a piano for the man a few weeks after Katsuki began to frequent the place.

Customers erupted with clapping and laughter as the man turned from the piano.

“Okay. Next, I’ve got a poem for you guys. It’s called ‘I Fuck Sluts’,”

A woman in the crowd screamed.

“Not a roll call, but thank you,”

                                                        ~~~

The night was almost over, one song being the last thing in Eijirou’s set list.

He’s kept it to himself for far too long, He was gonna burst if he didn’t say something.

“This next song honestly isn’t funny at all, but it helps me sleep at night,” he managed to push out, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants.

The anxiety in his voice would be obvious to any of his friends. None of them were there, though, so he doesn’t have to worry.

Katuski watched the performer closely, watching his nails dig into his knee for a moment before bringing them up to the piano keys.

His fingers moved quickly and gracefully across the keys, causing a swift yet elegant melody to float through the air.

Katuski watches as the performer looks out into the audience, taking a clear breath in before turning back to the piano.

“Art is dead. Art is dead. Art is dead. Art is dead,”

Eijirou’s voice carried through to the ears of the crowd, one or two weak cheers coming from the audience.

Katsuki appreciated the performer’s voice, being so soft and soothing, no matter how dark the lyrics were.

“Entertainers like to seem complicated, but we're not complicated. I can explain it pretty easily,”

The performer looked like he was glaring holes into somebody, brows furrowed and shoulders stiffer than usual.

Eijirou was tense.

There was no going back. No stopping now.

“Have you ever been to a birthday party for children? And one of the children won't stop screaming,”

They way that line was sang sent shivers through Katsuki. Hatred was evident in his voice, but the question was who it was pointed to. This hypothetical child was clearly a stand-in for somebody.

“'Cause he's just a little attention attractor. When he grows up to be a comic or actor, he'll be rewarded for never maturing. For never understanding or learning that every day can't be about him. There's other people, you selfish asshole,”

Katsuki frowned as the crowd laughed a bit.

Eijirou’s heart beat erratically in his chest, having to take deeper breaths to continue singing properly.

The hypothetical child was one he hated.

“I must be psychotic. I must be demented to think that I'm worthy of all this attention,”

The hypothetical child with shoulder length dark hair, red eyes, sharp teeth and a worthless Quirk.

“Of all of this money, you worked really hard for. I slept in late while you worked at the drug store,”

The hypothetical child who was greedy and ungrateful.

“My drug's attention, I am an addict. But I get paid to indulge in my habit,”

This hypothetical child who grew up, dyeing his hair firetruck red and putting on a mask of confidence.

“It's all an illusion, I'm wearing make-up, I'm wearing make-up Make-up, make-up, make-up, make...”

Katsuki noticed the performer’s voice sounding far more choked up, and he felt his own grip tighten on his coffee cup.

“Art is dead. So people think you're funny, how do you get those peoples money?”

Eijirou’s hands shook as he played, praying to every god that he wouldn’t miss a key and mess up.

Because then the audience might see this isn’t a joke.

“Said art is dead. We're rolling in dough, while Carlin rolls in his grave, his grave, his grave,”

Katsuki went to the coffee counter to go get a refill on coffee, not wanting to take his eyes off the beanie clad performer.

“The show has got a budget. The show has got a budget. And all the poor people way more deserving, of the money won't budge it,”

Eijirou’s had a complicated relationship with money in his life. He started his life with a good amount of money, which then dropped substantially when his Quirk activated.

It wasn’t because of that, but he’d always thought it was his fault for developing a Quirk.

But as he got older, his financial state got much better. He could afford luxuries. He could afford dyeing his hair consistently. He could afford to go to Yuuei.

But then he felt guilty when his parents paid for his braces. He felt guilty when his parents paid for him to go to Yuuei. He felt guilty when his parents paid for a therapist after his mom thought he developed depression. He feels guilty when his parents pay for his medication.

He wants to pay them back, he just doesn’t know how.

“‘Cause I wanted my name in lights. When I could have feed a family of four for forty fucking fortnights. Forty fucking fortnights,”

Eijirou realizes he’s allowed to feel bad for himself. He knows that.

But it’s hard to feel like shit when you know there are small children who can only eat a meal or so a day, because their family lives in poverty.

There are people dying from cancer out there.

There are people who run a razor across their wrists almost daily because they no longer want to be alive.

There are kids who look at the knife block in their kitchen and think about which knife would kill them the fastest.

Because he used to be that kid.

He used to pull the big knives out of the knife block when his parents weren’t home and would think about how quick and easy it would be to make his family’s life so much easier.

Just a few stabs, and they don’t have to deal with me.

“I am an artist, please god forgive me. I am an artist, please don't revere me. I am an artist, please don't respect me. I am an artist, you're free to correct me,”

Katsuki had gotten his new cup of coffee and practically squeezed the coffee out of the cup when he looked at the performer.

His hands were shaking, his cheeks were flushed, and tears streaked down them.

“A self-centered artist. Self-obsesed artist. I am an artist. I am an artist,”

Eijirou hated the warm tears trickling down his face as he sang. He despised it. All he wanted was to finally put this song out, and just be free of it’s almost deathly grasp.

“But I'm just a kid. I'm just a kid I'm just a kid. Kid. And maybe I'll grow out of it,”

Forcefully, Eijirou pressed on the keys with their finishing notes, drinking from his water.

Hardened fingers dug into his leg as he told everyone to have a good night, packed up, and left.

As he exited the warm cafe, he shivered under the fluttering snow. Releasing a sigh, it quickly fogged up.

“Okay, back to--”

“Oi,”

Katsuki watched as the performer whirled around.

“You alright?”

Eijirou sat there, unable to speak.

Katsuki Bakugou went to his show.

Katsuki Bakugou saw him sing his most vulnerable song.

Katsuki Bakugou watched the unbreakable break.

“Fine. You need something, sir?”

“I need to know you’re okay, Shitty Hair,”

Hearing the nickname confirmed Eijirou’s fears, and he shook.

“Ha. So you did recognize me, huh?” Eijirou laughed weakly.

Katsuki felt his brows furrow in a way they don’t normally.

“Wanna talk back at the dorms?” Katsuki offered before taking a sip of coffee. “I’m willing to listen to you,”

Eijirou felt the lump in his throat swell and his eyes spring with tears.

“Yeah... sure,”

A/N: I actually like how this came out! It’s sorta shitty, but not incredibly so! I’ll put this on my Wattpad and my AO3 later, so if you vibe on there, then vibe on there. Peace out! Stay safe and healthy! - Septic / Spark

[lurafita]

Mob boss Tony x Baker Peter

Prompted by anon ask: click me

Because we all love mob boss Tony AU's and everyone needs to write one at least once.

-Insert title here-

The first time Tony had stepped foot into 'Ben & May's little Bakery', it had been 5:30 in the morning, and he had just executed a traitor.

Tony liked to take little strolls after especially gruesome bouts of violence (which Adrian's death had undoubtedly been. The maggot had dared to steal from him, and Tony had felt the need to make Toomes an example, for anyone who might entertain the thought of taking something that belonged to Tony Stark.)

The warehouse, in which Toomes had died a slow and painful death, had been in Queens, and so had Tony, when only a few blocks away from the grizzly scene he had left his people to clean up, it had started to rain.

Cursing up a storm, the notorious leader of the Stark family, the biggest and most dangerous crime organization in the United States (and possibly beyond), had ducked into the nearest open store.

He was assaulted by the warm, sweet and wholesome smell of freshly baked goods and recently ground coffee beans, as soon as the door closed behind him. A bell chimed, signaling his entrance, and a distinctly male, but softly pitched voice called out from the back

“I'll be right with you! Just one moment, please!”

Tony took the time to look around a bit.

The place was on the smallish side, but very quaint and comfortable looking. Some sitting booths and little tables and chairs all around, leading up to the traditional counter, that showcased a mouthwatering assortment of pastries.

The interior was kept in soft, pastel colors, with cleverly placed lights on the walls and ceiling that brightened the place up, without making it too grating on the eyes.

As he ventured closer to the counter (that in typical bar fashion, had some high chairs in front), his gaze fell on the marvel that was the coffee machine. Stainless steel, clearly multi-purpose for the preparation of different hot beverages, built-in grinder for fresh beans, and a high pressure nozzle for specific drinks.

God, judging from the machine alone, this bakery just had to have good coffee beans. And while Tony didn't usually have much of a sweet tooth, he couldn't deny that the brownies in the display had him nearly wetting his lips.

“I'm so sorry for the wait! I needed to get the rolls out of the oven before they burnt. So, what can I do for-”

Now Tony actually did wet his lips. A slight, but lean body, a bit on the short side. Slim hips, narrow shoulders, and yet despite what appeared to be a rather fragile stature at first glance, there were some clear signs of athleticism. Chestnut brown, fluffy looking hair, wide and innocent seeming eyes. Pale skin that only served to accentuate the blush currently spread over it.

He looked young, maybe college aged? Tony didn't think he was looking at a teenager (though that would hardly be an obstacle for him), but the man had a slightly boyish appearance.

The young man that had come out from the back in a flurry of motion and heavily flushed face (probably due to having been around the high temperatures of the bakery's ovens in the back), stopped short, mouth hanging open, when he saw the head of the Stark family waiting at the counter.

The reaction wasn't uncommon. Tony Stark being the boss of possibly the greatest mafia family was pretty much an open secret, mostly due to the fact that he was the prime suspect in every major police investigation.

But since no one had ever been able to produce any proof to convict him of the various and many crimes he had been accused of (some of which he actually had committed), well...

It was a bit like Schrödinger's Cat. Just as the cat could be thought of as both alive and dead, Tony Stark was both guilty and innocent. At least until the day that definitive proof of his crimes was presented. (Not that it ever would be. Tony was far too good at his profession to make such mistakes. And besides that, he had some very high ranking officials in his pocket, should things ever turn dire.)

Didn't change the fact that due to the many investigations that had been made upon his person, most of the public were more than a little wary of him. Sometimes being feared was fun. Other times, like when someone was possibly so shell shocked by his very presence, that they might mess up his order, it was annoying.

“A coffee, dark roast, as strong as you can make it. And one of those brownies. No cream on anything.”

For a moment, the younger man didn't move a muscle, but just as Tony thought he would have to repeat himself, the brunette shook himself out of his stupor and quickly started on the order. Tony was a bit taken aback as he watched the younger man operate the machine and plate a big, moist looking piece of the brownies with practiced ease.

The surprise and slight fear from only seconds ago seemed to have vanished from the brunette, which was unusual to say the least. People didn't just stop fearing Tony Stark for no apparent reason.

When the man, Peter – if the name on his apron was to be believed, set down both the fantastic smelling coffee and brownie in front of him, Tony couldn't help but say

“Now, don't get me wrong, sweetheart, because I certainly don't want you to panic, but most people I meet react much less... let's say casual, to my presence. May I take it that you aren't afraid of me?”

He honestly didn't know what he wanted the answer to be. Dealing with panicky and stuttering people was annoying and a waste of his time and patience. But thinking that he might be losing his edge was unacceptable.

Peter shrugged lightly, a half smile, half grimace on his lips. (And what pretty little lips they were.)

“Haven't made up my mind about you, I guess. On the one hand, the probability that you are every bit the dangerous man people say you are is very high, and I'm not exactly a fan of violence. Or guns. Or crime in general, really. But on the other hand, I believe in ‘innocent until proven guilty’ – and so far, you haven't been proven guilty. “Then there is the fact that ever since you and your... 'business partners' have come to New York, gang violence has actually gone down.” Peter leaned sideways against the bar opposite from where Tony had taken a seat on one of the bar stools, crossing his arms over his chest, a contemplative look on his (pretty) face. “I've seen this in wild life documentaries. When bigger and badder predators take over a new territory, various of the smaller and weaker predators either flee, or get killed by the new arrivals. ”There has been a distinctive lack of drug dealing close to my campus, lately, and walking my aunt home most nights doesn't even require us to go the long route, since there are hardly any street gangs out and about anymore we need to stay clear off.” Then Peter frowned a little. “Which, if it really is due to your presence in this city, that I don't have to fear so much about my aunt's safety anymore, I might actually have to thank you for that. Of course, that would only be the case if you really were the leader of, what everyone says is pretty much, the mafia.” Then he shrugged again. “So, yeah. Undecided.”

What a delightfully simple and yet complex way of thinking.

It was true that Tony had had his men taking care of all the little street gangs, when he first decided to branch out his organization from Italy to New York. He didn’t care about the individual criminals or dealers or murderers in this city, but there was simply no sense in allowing smaller groups the chance to grow into what might one day become a serious threat.

And as an additional benefit, the very act of removing these other ‘predators’ - as Peter had said, actually scored him some points with the general public. Well, the ones smart enough to connect the dots, at least. And Peter, delightfully pretty Peter, seemed to belong into that category.

Tony took a sip from his coffee cup (and oh, those were definitely good beans), and then grinned at the younger man.

“So, hypothetically speaking, if I were the reason for the absence of all those pesky little gangs around here, and consequently your and your aunt’s relative safety, how would you go about thanking me?”

He took a bite of his brownie, (which was just as supple, soft and delicious as he imagined Peter would be, when he took him to his bed to devour him), as he kept his eyes trained on the younger an across from him. Who seemed to be seriously contemplating the answer to Tony’s question.

And again, this threw the mob boss a bit. Peter looked like every bit of the shy, virginal college student, that would blush and stammer horribly, when being asked something as suggestive as this. Tony had put a very deliberatly seductive tone into his voice, after all. Which meant that either, Peter was more experienced and nonchalant about sexual acts than Tony had pegged him for (which could be fun in it’s own way), or, (and that thought was exciting enough that some of his blood was already starting downward) Peter was so inexpirienced and oblivious about these things, that the meaning behind Tony’s words had flown right over his head.

“Well, the obvious answer to that would be to let you eat and drink for free, here. But you are very clearly not hurting for money, so I don’t think saving a few dollars whenever you visit, is something you would find particularly rewarding. So, while we are still speaking hypothetically, how would you want me to thank you?”

Oh.

Oh, what a precious, precious little thing. How was it even possible for the cute brunette to be this smart and observant, and yet so naive and oblivious?

How curious, how intriguing, how fucking attractive Peter was to him.

All those sinfully delicious thoughts running through his head right then. All the things he would do to the college student (and part time baker). All the things he would make him feel. He would take him to his mansion, and have him in his bed for their first time. In his shower, the morning after. Draped over his couch, later that very same day. Tony would spread the nubile looking thing over every surface in the many rooms of his home. He would have Peter in his car, in his office, over the fucking counter his was sitting at right now. 

His little baker could make all the delicious looking cakes and pastries his heart desired, and Tony eat them off of his naked body, maybe even dribbling some chocolate sauce over him.

Tony had never had much of a sweet tooth, but the images flashing through his mind had him almost salviating and craving it all.

But.

“I don’t know. The coffee here is pretty good, I might come back for a cup quite frequently.”

Haste makes waste.

“And I might want to try some more of your baked goods.”

He would have to pace himself.

A last fork full of brownie was washed down with the rest of his coffee, as Tony stood from his chair and reached into his inner jacket pocket.

“Are you always here this early, sweetheart?”

Again the younger man seemed oblivious about the endearment, but this time it might have something to do with the two 100 dollar notes that Tony slid across the counter.

“I... I uhm,.. yeah, I. Yes, I open the place up at 5 o’clock every day, and then my aunt comes in when I have to get to my classes... Sir, you really don’t have to pay for ... this is too much.”

Tony just smirked at him, as he turned casually towards the exit.

“It’s a tip. I’ll be seeing you, Peter.”

And when he would finally claim his prize, it would be the most delicious morsel of them all.

______________________________________________________________

I’m thinking of turning this into a mini-series. Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know yet. But who knows, maybe I will finally get a decent bit of smut written in.

Oh well.

Hope you liked it, thanks to anon for the original prompt!

[xiufaery]

Stitches ↠ six

svt gang au

masterlist

a/n: i’m really sorry for disappearing, i found a new job which is better but still really tiring, and i’m also working on university applications rn. i’ll try to update more frequently but idk when i’ll have the time. thank you for still supporting me and reading this story, i really appreciate it!!

CHAPTER SIX : ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER

Over the following days, Naeun found herself spending more time with Mingyu. At first, it was mostly Mingyu who would call and ask if he can come over, but after a while Naeun began calling and texting him every free moment she had. Her job didn’t leave a lot of time to make new friends, and although her colleagues were nice, they didn’t have a chance to meet up outside of work. That left Mingyu as her only friend in Seoul, so naturally he was the first person she reached out to when she didn’t want to be alone. Usually, he had no problem with it—until now.

‘Hey, are you ok?’ she texted him as soon as she got home from work. Mingyu hadn’t shown up to walk with her like he always did, and all of her texts and calls throughout the day have gone unanswered. She stared at her phone, waiting for it to ring, or at least to get a text back. One minute passed, then another, and another…

What was she doing? She wanted to smack herself for acting so desperate. He had a life of his own, he couldn’t spend every single moment with her. She should give him some space.

Five minutes have passed with her staring at her phone and contemplating, before she decided to get up and do something more productive with her time. Like, take that hot shower she had been dreaming of ever since her shift started this morning.

It was a long day. She was already feeling down without Mingyu’s bright smile and boundless energy at all times of the day. It had become routine for them to bicker and make fun of each other on the way to work, so this morning felt dull and boring without it. Then, when she arrived at the hospital, all hell broke loose. Thirty-seven people arrived at the E.R. at the same time, all suffering from severe burns after an explosion in the factory they worked at. Having to treat so many people while also trying to calm down the panicked family members that flocked to the hospital, had worn her out both physically and emotionally.

The hot water felt exhilarating, relaxing her muscles and washing away all the tension in her body. This was the moment she’d been waiting for all day, the one silver lining in this hellish shift—going home, taking a long shower, and stuffing her face with food until she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Of course, her plan was forgotten as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom. The moment she heard the sound of a new notification, she raced to the living room, snatching her phone from its place on the couch. She had a new message from Mingyu:

‘I’m fine. Busy. Talk later.’

One message. One line. Not even a complete sentence. She knew that Mingyu didn’t owe her anything, but she thought she at least deserved a grammatically correct sentence. Nevertheless, she pushed her irritation aside to send another text:

‘Be safe.’

Message received. He left her on read.

She heard her stomach growl, reminding her that she didn’t eat anything today. But how could she eat when her stomach was twisting with worry and fear? She shook her head hard, as though she could shake all of her thoughts out, but it was no use. That one message left her head reeling with questions she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to. What was Mingyu doing? What is ‘busy’ in gang terms? She desperately hoped that there won’t be another mortal wound for her to treat.                                                                              

↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠ ↠

The next few hours went by frustratingly slow. Naeun tried to distract herself in many ways—eating, reading, pacing, screaming into the void—but her mind always went back to the same thing: what the hell is Kim Mingyu doing?

“Hey, Sejeong?” “Naeun!” Sejeong’s voice on the phone sounded as cheery as always, managing to bring a smile to Naeun’s face. “How are you? Have you change your mind and decided to come over?” “No, not tonight,” she told her. “Sorry.” “Oh, it’s fine. Why did you call?” “Well, uh, hypothetical question…” Naeun started. “Hypothetically, if there was someone that I’m very close with, like in contact with them 24/7, and then they suddenly disappear without a word. Should I start freaking out?” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Is this about Mingyu? The guy that you’re totally not dating?” “No!” she exclaimed. “It’s not about Mingyu. Or about me. Totally hypothetical, asking for a friend.” “Alright,” Sejeong drawled. “Well, hypothetically, maybe this hypothetical person is just busy.” “That’s what he said,” Naeun added. “Supposedly. Hypothetically.” “Then there’s your answer. Mingyu is just busy and you need to chill the fuck out.” “It’s not—OK, fine, this is about Mingyu.” She admitted. Sejeong laughed. “I knew it! You’re way too obvious, honey.” Naeun rolled her eyes. “Fine, so maybe I shouldn’t worry so much, but he’s been glued to my side for the past week, and his job is dangerous so I’m worried because he’s an idiot and—” “Naeun,” Sejeong cut her off. “breathe.” “But—” “Breathe.” She repeated more sternly. “How long has he been doing this kind of work?” “A while.” “And nothing happened yet.” The memories of their first meeting flashed before her eyes, and she winced. “He’s…still alive.” “Great! I’m sure he’ll stay that way for a while. He’s not a child, he can take care of himself.” Naeun let out a heavy sigh. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry for bothering you.” “It’s fine, sweetheart, I understand that you care about him…” Sejeong kept talking, but the only thing Naeun heard was the sound of the doorbell. She ran to the door, looking out through the peephole. “It’s him,” she said, almost giddy. Thankfully, Sejeong didn’t mind being ignored and cut off. “See? I told you he’s fine. Go kick his ass; I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yeah, thanks Sejeong.”

It took her less than a second to hang up the phone and throw open the door. The sight of Mingyu standing in front of her, more or less uninjured, caused her shoulders to slump in relief. That is, until she remembered that she’s mad at him.

Mingyu raised his hand in a hesitant wave, giving her a sheepish smile in return for her intense glare. When he noticed her eyes focus on the burn on his palm, he quickly put it down. “Hi.” “Hi.” Naeun repeated, almost emotionless. “Hi. Hi? You made me worry for a whole day, and all you have to say is ‘hi’?” “Uh…” Mingyu was clearly expecting a warmer welcome. “I’m kind of scared to say yes.” “You should be!” she seethed. “Then no. My answer is no.” he said quickly. “Kim Mingyu, you are unbelievable!”

She kept yelling at him for at least half an hour, even after she had let him in and they settled on the couch. Surprisingly, he stayed silent and kept nodding and agreeing with her. She didn’t know if he really regretted it or he was just scared of her anger—it took a lot to make her mad, so when she finally exploded it could be terrifying. His tactic worked, however. Slowly, she felt her anger fade away, being taken over by relief so strong that it made her burst into tears.

That seemed to freak Mingyu out even more. “What’s going on?” he asked frantically. “I’m sorry, alright? You’re absolutely right and I’m so sorry.” Naeun shook her head, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “I’m just glad that you’re OK, dumbass.”

Mingyu didn’t answer, just hugged her back even tighter. He’d never tell her that she was right to worry, that he really was in danger, instead just whispering, “Yeah, me too.”

[alexandrasavior]

Alexandra Savior AMA !!

COMING IN HOT BITCHES!!!!

Hi Alex! How much of the instrumentation was figured out before heading into the studio? Did you just bring in bare minimum demos and then fleshed them out in the studio? Or did you have most of it prepared and just recorded it? I really loved the album by the way!

Thank you! It was different for each track. A lot of the songs I had full fleshed demos that my band and I had recorded in Portland, and Sam Cohen and I worked around those. Some of the tracks like "But You" I had some Garage band demos I made on my own that we worked around, and some of the tracks like "Soft Currents" were just raw iPhone recordings of me playing and singing, and Sam and I worked out together in the studio.

Your music has some really interesting chord progressions and melodic phrases. To what extent do you consciously apply music theory to your songwriting, and how much just comes naturally from ear and instinct?

To no extent :/ I am not super skilled in music theory, I just play around until it seems like it makes sense to me

You described your desire for Belladonna of Sadness to sound "murderous", and I thought that darkness and dangerous feeling really shone through. What adjectives would you powerfully ascribe to your sophomore album? What tonal differences were important to you while recording?

I like this question! hmmmmmm. “honest"

I'm pretty new to your music, but, everyday I can't stop myself from liking it more. My two current favorite songs are “The Phantom” and “Bad Disease”. I've seen that many people prefer other songs from the album, so that made me think. What is your personal favorite song from your new album? Thanks!

“But You”!

Hypothetical: You’re making a new album and need to assemble your dream band. Anyone dead/alive. Who are you choosing?

My best friend Emma, my boyfriend, Mel, and like my therapist

Is there anything that you do in terms of practice when it comes to vocals/guitar/songwriting to improve yourself? Interested to hear

Try to play everyday

I'd love to know if you've got any cool, hidden talents that you haven't shown in public. Also I badly want to know who's done the cover for both “Saving Grace” and “Crying All the Time”.

ME! I painted them

What are your tips for marketing your music and getting more people to stream/buy your music?

I am lucky because I have a team that guides me through social posts, and a publicist. But don't post pics of your butt

Your music and music videos have so many cinematic elements to them. Does an affinity for film influence your music? If so, do you have some favorite films you can mention?

yes! Bonnie and Clyde, Rosemary's Baby, Don't Look Now, Fargo, Daisies

I've seen a few people comparing your latest work with Lana del Rey's. Do you listen to her? Was she really an inspiration for the record?

I like Lana she's talented, I understand the comparison in some ways , people tend to compare things naturally. But, no she wasn't my personal inspiration in any conscious way

Did you make a conscious effort to distance yourself from the sound of Belladonna of Sadness with this new album?

No, I have gotten mixed feedback some people say its the exact same sound, some say it is different, I just created what came naturally to me and used sounds that I am personally drawn to.

If you were to try to make someone a fan of your music, but could only show them three of your songs, what songs would you show them?

oooooh! hmmmmm. “But You”, “Audeline”, “Crying All The Time”.

Excuse me Ms. Savior - I fell in love with your duet "We're Just Making It Worse" many moons ago. What can you tell us about that song?

Thanks! Well my homie Cameron Avery wrote that tune, he just asked me to sing on it and I was glad to!

What do you think was the biggest difference between writing The Archer and Belladonna of Sadness?

i was alone

What advice would you give to up and coming musicians in the LA scene? Any Dos or Don’ts? Thank you :)

Don’t be gross and creepy! Don't worry about that hipsta shit. Do be nice and make your own shit!

What is the most unusual thing that you do to help you write or to help you get some inspiration?

Stalk all my exes’ new gfs on insta and then eat an entire chocolate cake

Will we ever get to hear your version of “Miracle Aligner”?

probs not

When does the vinyl for The Archer ship? I am hoping to get one of you drawings with mine!

First batch tomorrow 1/17/2020. Second batch Tuesday 1/21/2020. Thank You!

I saw a clip from a concert you gave recently. It was you with a couple of bandmates singing something acapella. What's that song? Is it yours? It was gooorgeous. Any chance you're coming to Barcelona?

"The Oak and The Ash", an old celtic song. I will be playing Sala Nau May 13th!!!!!!!!

Can you talk about the differences in recording your first album while signed to a major label and this album while signed to a indie label? I know you’ve spoken about why you left Columbia, but I was wondering how your personal process differed this time around, especially with different resources and personnel?

Yeah it was a lot less pressure making this record, I had more say and more freedom of expression.

You said in an interview that you wrote the songs for The Archer on piano or guitar and brought them to the studio recorded on your phone. Would you ever consider releasing these as bonus tracks? 

I might ya! They’re probably a lot less interesting than you think

Do you have any tips on how to overcome writers block/find new ways to approach writing ? I've been struggling a bit lately... Have you been reading lately? If so, what books would you recommend ? :)

Just be kind to yourself, do what is natural, don't beat yourself up. I just re-read "My Year of Rest and Relaxation" by Otessa Moshfegh, now I am ready " Conversations With Friends" by Sally Rooney. I would recommend any Joan Didion, also I enjoy Salingers "Nine Stories"

This album feels a lot more personal than the first one. How would you say it compares in relation to how you expressed yourself as an artist?

I was very insecure while writing my first record, and I was co-writing so I used a lot of techniques to shelter my own opinions and feelings, in The Archer it was just me, so it was more of a journal entry than a big fancy record

Which artists did you grow up admiring, and inspired your style? Also, do you have any poetry recommendations, seeing how all your lyrics are poems in their own right?

hmmmm. ok Hilary Duff, Elvis, The White Stripes, Billie Holiday. Poetry: I don’t read much poetry but I like Rimbaud and Sylvia Plath

How did you feel when you found out “Risk” played on True Detective?

I cried

On Belladonna, what inspired the lyrics and melody for “Till You're Mine”? That song is always on repeat in my household.

Thanks! I would say my own insecurities and jealousy towards a specific woman in my life

Do you write the melodies as well as the lyrics or is it a collaborative effort?

For this record I wrote the melodies, lyrics, and chords for every song aside from "The Phantom" which was a collaboration with Sam Cohen.

What inspired you to make this new album?

I just make songs, and each song was inspired by something different, but mostly I needed to show people I WRITE MY SONGS

Do you have plans to sell more merch? I would really love to get my hands on signed stuff or one of your drawings/crafts.

yes workin' on merch now! <3

As a budding songwriter and musician myself is there any advice or wisdom you could pass on when it comes to making a career out of it?

I think writing as much as you can and trying to write honestly is important. I was lucky in a strange string of events that started my career, and every dream is different, but I suppose just keep writing and releasing your songs wherever you can

Often when I listen to music I tend to relate the song to places I've been to or places I'm at while listening. Is it the same for you when you write your songs? Do you think about a specific place for each song?

Yeah totally!

Would you ever be interested in collaborating with another artist on their record?

Yeah! Depends on who, I have always wanted to sing on a rap song.

Collab with Weyes Blood coming anytime soon?

i wish brah

Any tips on staying sane with dating apps?

don’t do dating apps

Romance is a topic which you touch upon in both of your albums. Do you have any words or phrases that have helped you through a difficult time, both in dealing with or exploring relationships past or present, if so what are they? What is your favorite set of lyrics ever, i.e. phrases etc.

"fuck hem he's a deck", "Kathy's Song" Simon and Garfunkel, "I Remember" Molly Drake

Do you use more real life experience or do you use more imagination/creativity when writing lyrics?

Depends how boring my personal life is at the time haha

What's your favorite Beatle, favorite Beatle album and favorite Beatle song?

Georgie boy <333333333

Are there any plans to record/release that “political song” with the violin that you played at Homiefest last year? For a third album maybe? Thanks, loved you since 2015 when I first heard that “Risk” demo for True Detective. The Archer is a masterpiece no bullshit.

maybe! lol

Where is the love for Chicago? How come we haven't had any shows yet?

Give me a break homie I don't plan this stuff! Would love to come to Chicago! It all depends on timing and $$$$

What was the most challenging song to write on this record?

maybe bad disease

Will there be more music videos?

I dont think so :/

I noticed for both of your releases, theres been a decent amount of time.. between when they were recorded and released. Have you found this frustrating more than anything or is it nice to have time to sit with the album?

Well, sometimes it is hard to move on and write more, with so much time between the final touches of the record and the actual release.... But, it ebs and flows and its out now so its no difference to me now

Who are some artists/bands that you personally enjoy listening to?

Jessica Pratt, The Jhamels, Molly Drake

You also seem like a prolific painter, who would you point to as inspiration/muse? My best guess would be Picasso.

Alice Neel 100%

When you feel like you’re stuck when you’re writing a song, what do you do to get around it?

I stop writing for a while, don't force it. Everyone's process is different so I try not to beat myself up too much about it

When Kevin Parker hit reddit someone asked him about if he can upload a new song and he did so... Can we hear a new song ?

If Kevin Parker jumped off a bridge WOULD YOU ?!

Who's your dream musical collab? If you were to make a soundtrack what director would you work with?

dream collab: Snoop Dogg, director: Quentin

Can you say a little bit about the creation of the album art? It's understated but there is definitely a mood there!

my dear friend Dana Trippe took the photos, and my dear friend Aaron Mitchell did the fonts

Noticed your music has a very “old horror movie/spaghetti western” vibe to them. Any films/soundtracks that inform your sound you’d recommend?

ooooh Anything Coen Brothers or Wes Anderson

How much was growing up in Portland an influence on your music?

I would say the rain had a lot to do with my melancholy, but also the music scene in Portland has always been very DIY and rock-based so “ guess that influenced me in some way.

What’s your favorite song of your’s lyrically and your favorite song to perform?

fave lyrically: Bad Disease, fave to perform: But You or Mystery Girl

The whole record was amazing but “Soft Currents” keyboards are really something else, are you planning to write more on the piano?

thank you! yes been writing a lot on the ole ivories

I love how a lot of your songs sound very cinematic - would you like to get into movie music in some capacity? Either scoring or soundtrack?

Awh hell yeuh

Is there a particular song that you're most proud of?

But YOu!

What would you say is your favorite guitar that you own and what is your dream guitar to own?

I am not much of a gear-head though I would love and old nylon string

Do you think that “Risk” will ever be made available on Spotify and Apple Music?

Unfortunately, because it was released on T-Bone Brunette's label, there was a legal situation that made me unable to release it separately. :/

Will you be making more of those amazingly weird embroidered underwear for your new tour? Obvs need some Savior swag on this tush.

I wish! I don’t have a sewing machine anymore but I will be selling my lil boxes online soon

Any chance for a show in Toronto? I'm a big fan, and I introduced my mom to your music and she absolutely loves you (her words) so I'd love to take her to one of your shows

hahah awh <3 None planned at the moment :(

What song on The Archer was a struggle to finish? Or were they all easy?

easy peasy lemon squeezy

Don't want to take away from your latest release (because it is an amazing album) but was there a reason you decided to not work with Alex Turner or James Ford for any of the new songs, writing or producing?

-__-

Since both your albums have been about relationships mostly, would you ever consider making a political song/album? What is your stance on that old debate?

I write what comes naturally to me

What should I name my snail stuffed animal?

gail

Why didn’t you get a proper promotional run from Columbia for Belladonna? It’s an amazing album but I just found out about you through The Archer (which is equally amazing).

I can't really say, but I don’t think I was ever gonna make the kind of $$$ Columbia wanted

Would you like to tour South America at some point in your career?

awh hell yeuh!

Is there any particular era/motive which inspires your music visuals (album covers, music videos)? All the best from Split, Croatia!

70s!

Based on your Spotify stats, what are the countries that listen to you the most?

IDK! France seems to be very supportive

Any artist that you like that you could recommend?

Jessica Pratt, Sudan Archives, Vagabon

What's your favorite thing to draw/paint?

women

Who is your favorite artist / what is your favorite album at the moment, and how would you say this impacted on how The Archer sounds? Also please come to the North of England 😂

I AM!!! CHECK MY TOUR SCHEDULE AND COME BB!! favorite album rn "The Colour Green" by Sibylle Baier

What’s playing in your head now?

the click clacking of a mac keyboard

How do you like your coffee?

a lil bit of almond milk

Will The Archer be getting a cd release?

no :(

That's all folks! Thank for all of the questions, and most of all thank you so much for listening to my songs, it is a dream come true <3 Come see me play at my upcoming shows ! Can't wait to see you there <33333 amour my homies

[thedoortohellisblue]

Part 2

Finally finished Part 2! I’ve been having a hard time figuring out the plot but I think I’ve figured it out! Enjoy!

Throbbing. That’s what his head feels like. A pressure that comes and goes, almost like the waves during a high tide. And then it’s back into the dark abyss.

There’s a buzzing, subtle, as if it was a hundred miles away, the sound of voices, anxious and unnerving. Then it flows away and it’s quiet once again.

Beep.beep.beep…. Draco can tell that’s the sound of his heart on the monitoring spell. He fights to open his eyes, but it’s like they are forced closed, something pressing down on them.

He continues to drift in and out of consciousness, half wanting to try to stay awake, half wanting to succumb to the peaceful darkness.

Then, everything comes all at once, all the sounds, the beeping and whispering flood his ears and suffocates the quiet shadows in his mind. The throbbing, in rhythm with his heartbeat, is just behind his eyes and he can barely open them up. Harry. And Draco shoots up from his bad, hospital blanket tangling in his still asleep limbs. His eyes open up slowly and in a raspy, frantic voice he calls out,

“Harry.”

Hermione rushes to his side, “Hello, Draco, I’m so glad you’ve woken up. I’ve called Pansy and Blaise and they’re coming to see you soon.” Her voice forcefully cheerful, but her eyes were still those sad shade of brown, like the earth after it rains.

Draco doesn’t hear anything she says, and just croaks out, “Harry.”

“I know, I know. He, well, he’s still in his coma,” Oh Merlin, it wasn’t a dream, “But he, I think… no, I know he’s going to be okay.”

“Take me to him.”

“Draco you’re tired, Nate told me you just came back from a 2-day shift and you just can’t let yourself go, you need to rest.” Her voice was stern, no room for negotiation and most of the time Draco would have not argued with her, especially when she had that look in her eye, the ‘ If you don’t do what I say I have 100 hexes that will make you do them’ But right now, Draco didn’t give a fuck, he needed to see Harry.

“I don’t care, Granger, If you’re not going to take me to him, I’m gonna go there myself and Salazar knows If I can even walk right now but I’ll do it anyways.”

Hermione contemplates it for a few seconds, but when she sees that hopeless look on his face, his grey eyes swirling with unshed tears, like two small puddles in the rain, she heaves a sigh and says, “Okay.”

She knew Draco would never agree to rest without being next to Harry. So she called Nate in and told him to set up a comfy chair for Draco next to Harry’s bed.

~~~

It’s been three days… three bloody days and nothing.

Pansy visited, yelled at Draco to eat something and rest, angry at him for not taking care of himself.

But the thing is, he didn’t care. All he thought about was Harry. Hours staring at his closed lids and their intertwined hands. Hours hearing the beeping and frantic demands to rest from his friends, but not really listening to anyone, it was like everything lost focus and there was a fuzzy blanket placed on the world around him. All he saw and thought about was Harry.

Draco didn’t have anyone other than Harry. His father in Azkaban, one foot already in the grave, his mother who fled from England after her acquittal lived in the continent and so did his friends, Pansy and Blaise, who didn’t want to face the prejudice towards Slytherins after the war. So, before Draco reconnected with Harry, his life was shapeless and meaningless, almost like an empty cocoon. But, that changed 5 years ago.

~~~

(Flashback)

(5 years ago, August 31, 2001)

Harry was in his second year of Auror training. After finishing up 8th year, he got accepted into the program and had his whole life planned out. Well, things didn’t turn out exactly like he wanted.

Ron never applied to the program, realizing he wanted to do something else for a change, helping out George seemed like the best thing to do till he figured out what he wanted and two years later, he’s never felt happier.

Ginny came out to him about 6 months after the war, told him that time apart from him made her realize that she had feelings for Luna that she never thought might develop. She was sorry, truly sorry, but she knew that Harry deserved someone better, someone who could fully love him.

Harry was happy for them, truly happy. But he couldn’t help feeling like everything he’s worked hard for was disappearing like sand between his fingers, slipping away from him. He felt kind of lost. So he continued where he left off, deciding that at least he could continue his plan and join the Aurors. It was kind of boring at first, everything was just hypothetical and there was just too much lecturing and writing involved for Harry’s taste. But, two years later, he finally got some action. All second-year trainees were given small positions throughout the department, mostly putting them on patrol cause none of the actual Aurors wanted to do it, but Harry didn’t care as long as he was actually doing something.

Well, a month later, he did care, because patrol was the most boring fucking thing ever. Oh gods, like what the fuck is going to happen in the middle of Diagon Alley at noon on a Wednesday! All I get are a bunch of people staring, a few flirting and some asking for a fucking signature! It’s like I’m not even doing anything, what’s the bloody point of having a job if nothing ever happens? Merlin, maybe I should ask them to do something else. Something more exci-

And before Harry could finish his ranting session, in his peripheral vision he saw a flash of red, the telling color of a stupifying charm, hit a target 20 feet away. Quickly turning, Harry sought the person who performed the spell and cast a binding spell, calling for backup to get the guy off the street so Harry could help the victim.

Running in the opposite direction, Harry couldn’t help but wonder why everyone was just staring at the man instead of helping him, and that’s when he noticed the platinum blond hair. Only one person he knew had hair like that, and he hasn’t seen him since the trial.

But right now, Harry wasn’t thinking about that, he was thinking about the rather large amounts of blood dripping onto the street, a large gash visible from where it was cut open against the rough, uneven concrete. Harry picked up Malfoy and apparated to St. Mungo’s instantly.

Needing to stay, in order to take a statement from Malfoy, Harry waited for him to be checked by the Healers and cleared. Pacing around the white hallway, the smell of the metallic blood still prominent in his mind, Harry thought about Malfoy. Thought about the last time he saw him, the way his eyes glinted with hope when Harry gave him back his wand, the brief turn of his lips and a whispered thank you.

Years later, now, Harry still felt his heart flutter at the “what-ifs” and the “what-could-be’s” remembering the time that Hermione told him that maybe all that “obsessing over everything Malfoy does” was all rooted in feelings deeply stored in his subconscious. He dismissed them, told her it was just her books on Freud talking. But that day in the manor, the relief he felt at learning that Malfoy was still alive, the gratitude that he felt when Malfoy didn’t identify him, that was all real to him. And during the Battle, seeing him among the blazing red fires of the Fiendfyre, seeing him when his life flashed before his eyes in the forest, that was all real to him. No matter what, it cannot be argued that Malfoy played an enormous part in his life, and he just couldn’t imagine it without him.

“Auror Potter, Mr. Malfoy has been cleared.”

Startled out of his daydreaming, Harry hadn’t realized that he had been so immersed in his thoughts.

Harry walked in and his eyes immediately drew to the platinum-haired man. Harry didn’t take the time to properly look at him before. He had a white wrap on his head, the cut must’ve been deep. But that wasn’t the only thing. Malfoy’s face looked different, a little softer, of course still the same pointy chin and high cheekbones, but it seemed a bit more… inviting. He was still pale, almost like a fragile porcelain doll, but those defiant brows rebuked any thoughts of vulnerability. But, the most wonderful thing about him was still his eyes, clear, like looking into two ponds, a light gray, like the hour before a storm, and Harry knew that if the sun shone just right, they would be a molten silver.

A cough sounded through the quiet room, and Harry jerked from his dream-like state, embarrassed at being caught staring at Malfoy. He cleared his throat “Hello Malfoy.”

“Potter”

“There are a few questions I must ask as part of the proceedings.”

“I figured, but I’m not going to be pressing charges.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little behind his glasses and disbelievingly said, “Wha… Why?”

“Well Potter, it’s not the first time it’s happened to me, I get why he’s doing it, he’s probably still hurt from the war and well… I’m a physical reminder of what hurt him, it’s natural that they want to… to get some sort of revenge, and even if I do file a report nothing will be done about it.” and then he just shrugged, shrugged! Like its nothing he hasn’t dealt with before! And well, Malfoy didn’t even seem embarrassed at sharing this information, almost like he’s done a hundred times already. He probably has.

Harry didn’t really know what to say, he was silently enraged and somehow felt defeated as well. It’s like everything he fought for, against all that prejudice, just came back in a different form. Do people understand that hate is what breeds these wars? That it feeds and nurtures the seeds of conflict? Why don’t they get it? UGHH I just wanna bang my head against this wall now. He felt so dejected all of a sudden and looked up at Malfoy and said, “ You know what, let’s.. er… let’s leave this interview for another time, do you wanna go have a coffee or something?”

“ A coffee?” Malfoy sneered, “ Why?” He had a suspicious glint in his eyes, it somehow made them look darker. I don’t want your pity Potter.

“ Merlin knows,” Harry rubbed his face roughly “ I need a break, and it seems like you might need one too.”

“Well, okay.” Malfoy blurted out, almost like he was too shocked to think of an excuse.

Who knew that that one cup of atrocious coffee would lead to many more, better ones, of course, Draco didn’t make the same mistake of letting Harry choose the place. Meeting at cafes, changed to lunch meetings and those turned into late night take-out and muggle movies and well, things started to change for the two lost boys…

I’ve decided to name this fic “Two Lost Boys”! 

Don’t forget to check out my AO3 where I will be uploading this fic as well!! Comment what you want to see in part 3!

Part 1

@meandminniemcg @professordrarry

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #200

tw for abuse.

If you’re pale, do you get made fun of for it? No. Are you white/black/asian/mexican/etc? White. Ever been to Washington D.C.? Did you get to meet the president of the time? I've driven very close to it, but no. Ever been to NYC Or LA? If so, how were your experiences there? No. Were you adopted? If so, have you met your biological parents? How about biological siblings or grandparents? N/A Ever had an abusive parent or other family member? If so, what’s the worst they did? No, thank Christ. Are either of your parents engaged but not married yet? No. Do you like older or younger siblings better? I have both, but. Hypothetically, if I had to choose one in general (not picking between my real sisters), probably younger. Ever had to take care of a baby sibling? If do, did you feel responsible, or were you just annoyed? No. We're 2-3 years apart, so there's never been a situation like that. Have you ever had a close friend get knocked up early? Can we not say "knocked up." No. Do you prefer baby boys or baby girls? I mean it depends on the kid, but I believe boys have less of an attitude. Are you one of those losers that buys things with the letter of your name? Well they're not "losers?" But whatever, no. I don't see the appeal at all. Have you done any form of martial arts? If so, what? If not and you want to, which one(s)? No, but I'd like to learn some form of self-defense. Would you be willing to let someone you know die if it means you can save an entire village? Lol this is such a Life Is Strange question, don't do this to my emotions. It depends on the person. If you were to write a letter to your future self, what would you say? Something about absolutely never giving up, regardless of the struggle. What are your thoughts on cults? Do you know anyone who has joined one? To my understanding, not all cults are bad... I think. If there are harmless ones, go for it, dude. Whatever you wanna believe. I knew a guy back in school who created one. What is a character trope that you really dislike? (For example, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl) The bitchy, germaphobe priss. Are you a fan of steampunk? If you don’t know what it is, would it be something you’d be interested in looking into? Hell yeah. What was the first job that you ever held? Do you remember how much you were paid (if you’re comfortable sharing)? Sales associate at GameStop. Idr. Would you say that you’re good at understanding people with accents (especially those who don’t have standard Anglo ones)? Most, save for severely southern. And I live where that accent is commonplace. How do you feel about anarchy? Let's not. Society would crumble in days. If you have any, who’s your favorite music artist from the 1970s? Probably Van Halen, but ugh, I love SO MANY metal/rock bands from that era. Do you think travelling is something that every young person should do to gain life experience? I'd say so. See that the world is more complex and varied than you'd think. When was the last time you listened to new music? I've been listening to new In This Moment songs periodically. Listened to "Blood" a few days ago. What word spelled out looks weird to you? Oh, I'm sure there's plenty. Do you require “closure” after things like break-ups or do you move on easily? I've only had one serious break-up, and I didn't even begin recovery until we had our final conversation over a year later that helped me reach closure. Is there a genre of movie that you just can’t watch? Musicals. Do they count as a genre? What was the last song to give you nostalgia? Hm... I"m blanking. But I know something did pretty recently. Have you ever had a conversation with a cab driver? Never been in a cab. Do you have any shirts from vacation/tourist locations? From beaches, which I never wear. I've only received them as gifts. What is one place you would like to go back and revisit? Chicago. Which would you prefer: a homemade gift, or a store-bought one? Homemade mean more to me usually, but as a gift, it obviously depends on what it is. When was the last time you were “under the influence?” I last drank uhhhh. I think at Sara's when her dad almost made me an alcoholic because holy FUCK bartending skills Jesus fucking Christ. How regular of an occurrence is this? Very rare. Have you ever had a relationship last for a year or longer? Twice now. What ended it, or are you still involved? We know the Jason story; Sara and I are still together. What’s the best time you’ve had at a high school sports game? Ugh, I never had a good time. I was just forced to go because Ashley was a cheerleader. If you’re out late, where are you likely to be? I couldn't even try to tell you the last time I was out late. Do you ever visit your mall’s arcade (if it has one)? Ours doesn't have one. Shirts with sarcastic sayings: yay, or boo? Yay. If “yay,” do you have a favorite? Bring Happy Bunny BACK TO THE FOREFRONT OF SOCIETY. If you lost the use of your limbs, would you still want to live? Eh, if it was just one leg, sure. What’s your absolute favorite topic to discuss? Weeps Markimoo. What is your least favorite topic to discuss? Politics and economics. When was the last time you played hide-and-go-seek? I played with my niece and nephew a few months back. They always hid in the same spots, lmao, but of course you gotta go along with kids, so I could "never find them." Where was your favorite place to hide? As a kid, I aaalways climbed into the toy box. Do you have a library card? Do you use it? No. Do you cuddle with your pet (if you have one)? Yup. What college did you want to attend as a kid? NC State. Was that still your choice when you grew up? Well, it didn't have the major I chose back then, but now that it does, that's probably where I'm transferring too after I get my pre-requisites. What sports star or athlete did you aspire to be like as a kid? None. How many colleges did you attend? Two so far. Going to a new one when I get my goddamn transcript from my cesspit that is my last school. Why did you choose the shirt you have on now? It's just a plain, gray tank. I wear tank tops to bed. Is marriage overrated? No? At this point in your life would you want to start a new career? I haven't even begun a career yet. Growing up what were your favorite cartoon characters? OKAY SO EMBARRASSING SECRET I'VE LITERALLY NEVER REVEALED. I was crazy for Ash Ketchum, and when I was young, I added daily to a story I wrote about being a Pokemon trainer; I didn't have Pokemon games because I was too embarrassed to ask back then, so I resorted to making it up. I filled up literally 3+ journals. Back to the main topic, far into that story, Ash became my boyfriend lmfao. Oh man, just answering this brings back such cute memories. Charmander-Charizard was my best friend and look it was just cute okay. What do you think has changed about you since you were a teenager? I'm way shyer. Looking back at high school were they the best years of your life? No. Were you the type of kid you’d want your children to hang out with? Yeah sure, I was genuinely a good kid. Do you look like your mom? Some say. When was the last time you overslept? I can't oversleep when I never have shit to do. What would you do if you could do anything without failing? Skydive, maybe? Do you use your phone as an alarm? If I need an alarm for whatever reason. What country do you live in? The United States. What is your native language? English. If you could meet any famous person (dead or alive) who would you meet? Take a guess. Do you have any piercings? Eight. Do you judge people that have multiple piercings? Fuck off. Do you dress up on Halloween? I WISH I could. I can't afford to buy shit to throw together as an outfit, nor do I do anything special that day, so. It's just a waste of time, save for taking a picture. Do you watch the Olympics? No. Do you like orange juice? So long there's not pulp in it. Have you read the Bible? Very little of it. Do you have a pet gecko? No. Are you scared of reptiles? Not at all. Have you ever seen the show 16 and Pregnant? Take that shit off television. No. Do you like cinnamon on your apple pie? I hate pie. Do you clap or cheer when at a concert? Well duh. Do you use a comb or brush? A comb. Do you eat the crust of your sandwiches? That's what I eat first since with food, I'm always the type that saves the best for last, and while I don't mind it at all, crust is the "worst" part. When you were younger, did you ever do that exclamation point that looked like an upside down triangle and had a really big dot? No. What are you listening to right now? "Whore" by In This Moment. Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Hell yeah I have, don't even @ me, salmonella. Name a city that starts with A in your state/province etc. Asheville. Name a landmark that starts with M in your state/province etc. Idk. When was the last time you gave a horse a carrot? Boy, I have no clue. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. What mountain ranges have you seen? Appalachian. Where would you most like to go in your state, etc that you haven’t been? THE ABANDONED WIZARD OF OZ-THEMED PARK. Deadass might get married there, jc. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Mice. What do you like the songs you listen to to be about? I'm big on things dark-themed, especially in like some fantasy or hypothetical situation, or covering sensitive topics in a beautiful way. When was the last time you said ‘yay’? Yesterday when Sara updated me on her weight ahhhHHHHHHH she's getting closer and closer to a healthy one. Would you be a newscaster and speak to everyone in a hurricane? Hell no. Have you ever seen or touched an iceberg? No. Do you use a toaster or toaster oven? Oven. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? I think Girt when we were watching TV one day in Nicole's room. Would you rather have a poodle or a rottweiler? Rottweiler! Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? Yeah. Where was the last place you stayed over? Sara's. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Not well. Think back to the last time (or a time) when you were in a fight with someone and just blurted out exactly what was on your mind. Did you somewhat regret saying what you said? What happened? When Mom hit me for a completely uncalled-for reason (I can't actually remember what it was, other than it was stupid as hell) last year, I said, "Oh, I can't wait to tell Alyssa (therapist) about this one," and she didn't reply or say another word to me for like hours, maybe not even that night. No, honestly, I don't regret it. You don't slap your fucking kid. Towards the end of your last relationship, how did you know it was over? How did you and your significant other change towards each other? (ex. not calling each other babe, baby, etc.) I wasn't opening up to him any further after four months, and I just didn't feel a romantic connection. I wasn't comfortable. We didn't change much, really, just that we no longer hold hands and he doesn't kiss me obviously. We went back to exactly how we were before, thankfully. Have you ever had a significant other NOT believe you when you said “i love you” to them? Why was that? How did you react? No. Do opposites really attract? Have you ever experienced this? Explain. Sure, for some people. I've never been too attracted to someone too different from me. Has anyone close to you ever drifted away because they started hanging out with a new crowd? Did you try talking to them about it? What eventually happened? Story. Of my goddamn. Life. And only one, my former best friend. Just last year I finally reached out to her, and I guess we're "friends," buuut she only talks to me on her watch. I won't get into that. Have you ever found yourself heading on the wrong path? What happened? Probably, but idr. When did you last not feel accepted? Why did you feel that way? Ha, I'm sure recently. I just about always feel like that. Has anyone had to take your drink from you because you were drinking too much? How did you react? No. What’s your opinion on the world relying on technology too much and not paying enough attention to natural resources? Eek, there're positives and negatives. I totally believe it's possible someday for the singularity to happen, yet at the same time, technology is an almost perfect approach to many tasks, menial or complicated. Have you ever felt like it was just pointless to cry? Did you hold yourself back from crying or did you let it out? Sure, probably. I usually hold it back, typically far more frequently than I should, although on most occasions, crying just doesn't come. I just get a tight jaw and everything. Have you ever had a love/hate relationship with someone? Tell me about it. Meh, Colleen many times. I'm not delving into that story again. Has your pride ever gotten in the way of admitting that you felt weak or were in pain? How so? No. Whose lies have affected you the most? Jason's, although I'll give him enough credit that at the time of making them, he probably meant most/all of them. But they were still lies and broken promises. Have you ever dreamt in another language? No. Who was the last person you met and instantly liked? What about the last person you met who you immediately disliked or got bad vibes from? Hm. Oh, the girl who was in VR class with me. She loved my tattoo, so that sparked a brief convo, and she had awesome ones too. In class, she was funny and relatable and just in general had a very approachable personality. I wanted to talk more to her, but. Shyness and anxiety. ;_; For the other half of the question, I'm uncertain. I'm sure it was some man with my paranoia and distrust. What’s the most interesting news you read or received recently? What about the most depressing? I don't pay much attention to the news unless I just scroll past something on Facebook... and nothing's really coming to me. Ah, checked my FB real quick and I recently shared something about this crow couple that have been together for 12 years; the female has a broken beak, and her mate always feeds her. The most depressing was certainly a dog that was left out in the snow up north, and he was found dead and pretty much frozen in his doghouse. Pretty sure the owner was arrested. Thank fuck for the new law regarding pets being out in the cold. Would you let politics get in the way of a relationship? It would have to be a SERIOUS difference on a major matter that revealed deep, core beliefs. What is one thing someone could say that would automatically make you distrustful of them? I wouldn't mention you have a criminal record around me. I don't care what for unless it was seriously bullshit. What is one way in which you need to learn to control yourself? I need to STOP jumping to conclusions and becoming super defensive when I feel I'm in serious danger of being hurt emotionally. Do you have any friends who are on and off with bfs/gfs all the time? No. When was the last time you almost cried out of exhaustion? It was that and embarrassment. When I was at the airport to go home after visiting Sara, I fucked up in understanding the gate shit, carried my heavy bag ALL the way to the end, ALL the way back to the beginning, and then ALL THE FUCKING WAY BACK when I found the screen that told me my gate. At this same time, my knees were in awful condition and of course the sweating situation was goddamn humiliating. I'm very, very surprised no one asked if I was okay; I can only imagine how contorted and pained my face was, aaaand yay excessive sweating, I was literally soaked. I was very close to crying that day. What's a TV show you hate missing? None. The only situation where I'd be like that is if Meerkat Manor returned. What's a movie/book/TV show/band/whatever you highly recommend? Movie: Forrest Gump; book: Johnny Got His Gun; TV show: The Good Doctor; band: Otep is too underrated. Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? Dad first taught me the "wrong" way, then Mom corrected me in how you should properly do it. What's your favorite picture of yourself as a child? *shrugs* What is something people are surprised to hear about you? I've been told by many people that they're surprised to learn I have just about debilitating social anxiety. I always think I cover it awfully, but apparently I've adapted well enough to it that I can fake comfort decently, I suppose. What was the last bug you saw? Probably a fly, idk. Are there any people you know in real life that you only talk to online? Not off the top of my head... Is it cruel to keep a dog in a cage or tied up most of the time? No shit. About what things are you most selfish? Alone time. I need it. Are you camera shy? Why/why not? Yes, because odds are I will look like a blobfish out of water trying to smile but only succeeding in looking seriously high. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Dropped me like a boulder into a canyon and dashed off with zero intent of breaking up even nearly appropriately. Was anyone rude to you today (or yesterday, if you’re taking this early)? No. What was your favorite sleepover game? *shrugs* Have you ever swore in church? Possibly? Do you have memories from preschool? Some, yeah. Particularly of Christopher and some boy whose name I can't remember being pretty much obsessed with me and always chasing me in recess to hug the fuck out of me and apparently the other boy got in trouble all the time for trying to kiss me. Kinda recently in therapy we dug into my extreme fear of men, people being behind me, and rape (it's too a seriously unrealistic degree), and we think this mighta just been what sparked those fears so early. I also remember I was talkative at nap time, I brought the movie Antz for us to watch and everyone hated it, and I once brought my Snorlax plushy for show-and-tell. I remember making a gingerbread man tree ornament, too. Do you celebrate Earth Day? No, I never really know what to do. :/ I'd love to do even little things like pick up litter, but walking here is pretty dangerous, and we're also in a spot where you' seldom see anything. What is your least favorite thing about your full name? I hate my last name. What’s your favorite kind of Poptart? The chocolate sundae one or whatever it's called? What was the last thing you used sliced bread to make? A sandwich. What does your room look like when you sleep? Still kinda bright with Venus' and Kaiju's lights, Roman is usually in here with me, and Teddy is sometimes. Are your fingers long, or short? Mom always tells me I have Grammy's "long piano fingers." *shrug Do you like your grandparents? She reeeaaally gets under my skin a lot of times, but yeah. Do you like to fly on planes? If I'm at the window seat. What brand name do you think is just way over the top expensive? I'unno, lots. PLENTY of designer clothes shit, though. Like the fuck, most of those things I see are hideous. Do you find it hard to concentrate in really loud places? Yup. Do you tend to get more sleep on the weekends the during the week? They're the same for me. Are you comfortable talking to strangers? No. What’s the most boring game to exist? Why do you dislike it so much? I mean idk. Do you mean board games, card games, video games? I can tell you right off the bat I'm not a card game fan, almost ever. Do you lie about not having extra pens, so you don’t have to lend them? I don't believe I ever did. What’s your favorite YouTube video? What’s it about? Oh boy, I couldn't tell you. Do you get nervous when you’re about to get a haircut? No. What do you do to pass the time when you’re waiting for something? Mess around on my phone. Whenever you take pictures, do they always end up posted on Facebook? No. Can you name something that makes you feel nostalgic from each of the following: a scent, a sight, a sound, a taste, and a feeling? Breakfast cooking (scent), tobacco fields (sight), whippoorwills (sound), those smiley face french fries (taste), excitement (feeling). What is one small thing your significant other does that makes you happy? If you are single, what is one small thing a friend does to make you happy? I love seeing her spaz over something cute lmao. If you could have a dollar for every time something happened, what would it be? Someone pointing out how many meds I'm on. What is something that you wish more people in your life were interested in (a topic, a hobby, etc.)? Ummm idk? What is a feel-good song that you’ve been listening to lately? Well, Epica's "Sacred & Wild" cover always pumps me up a bit. What are some things you enjoy seeing pictures of? m a r k, meerkats, Pyramid Head, Mom legitimately smiling/laughing, Sara with her babies... lots more. Who is somebody from your past that had a big positive impact on you? What would you say if you could speak to them right now? Two of my previous teachers. They always had life lessons to teach and not just English. Have you ever bought something recommended by an ad before? What was it, and were you happy with your purchase? I'm not sure. What is a website that you visit frequently that isn’t a form of social media? Wikis I help edit. Do you watch The Big Bang Theory? I don't watch TV, but if it's on, yeah, I enjoy it. Do you ever listen to country music? No. From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Two. Who is the most complicated person in your life right now? Me. Do you still wear armbands or rubber rings in the pool? No. Are you one of those people who talks to everyone when you’re out? Definitely not. What would be your ideal pet? Something very affectionate, calm, and in tuned with my emotions. Are there any websites you just don’t see the point in? I'm sure there's something. Have you got anything you’ve had since you were a baby? Stuffed animals. Mom maybe has my pacifier somewhere. Is there anyone you’re really jealous of? Envious, rather. Do you hit electronics when they don’t work? No. Do you dislike any certain group of people? Well yeah, like rapists and pedophiles. But "hate" is far more suiting. Have you ever bought anything you really wanted, only to never use it? Maybe? I never really have my own money to buy things myself. Are you scared of fireworks? No. What was the last flyer someone gave you for? No clue. Do movies/books inspire you to change your life in any way? Johnny Got His Gun furthered my will to be a pacifist. Do you read movie quotes even when you haven’t seen the movie? No? What does your favorite bag look like? It has a macabre owl/spider design. Do you customize your possessions? Not usually. What’s a smell that makes you feel ill? (besides the obvious) Gasoline will usually give me a headache if I'm dealing with it long enough. Do you get lonely easily? Yeah. Is your car older than a 2000? I don't have my own car. Where was the last place you wrote a check to/used your debit card? I don't have a debit card. Nor have I written a check. What was your favorite board game as a child? I loved Mall Madness believe that shit or not, there was a Cranium fair thing I adored, I loved Clue a lot when I was old enough to understand it, and I was crazy about this The Crocodile Hunter game too, which I've kept for nostalgia purposes, even though it's been broken for a long time. Who was the last person to give you flowers? I think Tyler. If a stranger asked you to take a picture with them what would you do? That's a big 'ole spooky nope. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Absolutely Internet. .-. How many times have you been to a museum? A handful, I guess. Would you rather be a panda or grizzly bear? A panda. Do you like BBQ sauce? Omg NO. Have you had sex in the past 3 weeks? Well, lesbian intimacy. Do you regularly experience pain in any part of your body? My knees. Did the last person you kissed ever give you a hickey? No. Do you have to see something to really believe it? No. Do you believe everyone is gifted with something? Eh, I dunno. Have you ever been busted for under age drinking? No. Tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. What is it called? What does it look like? I have a stuffed moose on my dresser named Brownie. He's all brown and lying down. What’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? Who knows. What’s your favorite myth? The one of the Jersey Devil. Have you ever used a Ouija board? I am. SO curious. But too afraid to fuck with them lmao. Are you planning on getting tattoos? Which ones? Oh, hunny. I can at least say my next one is most likely to be the Shadow of the Colossus sigil designed as if it's stamped into the ground on my left hand. Do you read comics? What are your faves? No. Do you have any apple devices? If so what have you got? An ancient iPod nano and my old iPhone. Have you ever said something that you instantly regretted? Very likely. Do you get upset when a pet fish dies? I haven't had a fish in forever, but I never really bonded with any I did have as a little kid. Are you a soprano, alto, tenor or bass? A tenor probably, or alto? Do you bruise easily? Extremely. One reason I got tested for anemia (which came back negative). Do you know anybody who is afraid of clowns? Lots of people. Have you ever seen a zebra? At a zoo. Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yup. Then we couldn't have them in high school for whatever reason. If you could do magic, what is the first spell you would learn? Healing. Do you hang toilet paper over or under? Whichever way it just happens to be positioned in my hands when I pick it up. When do you feel the most confident? If a situation arises where my meerkat knowledge needs to be spilled lol. What makes you laugh? Unexpected but funny things destroy me the most. Then of course there're actually good jokes and/or sarcasm. What movie quotes do you use of a regular bases? None. What’s the craziest conversation you have ever eaves-dropped on? No clue. What’s the coolest animal you’ve seen in the wild? I saw a perched owl in the woods while fishing years ago; don't remember what kind, though. It was so cool though, it stared right at us while we rowed past. Also quite sure I got a quick glimpse of a mink along the distant bank while also fishing. What do you wish you knew more about? Politics, so I could actually play a knowledgeable role in it by voting in confidence and such. Do you carry hand sanitizer every where you go? Yes. Do you use your fingers to do simple math problems? Yuuuup. Do you wear foundation? Literally only if I'm trying to look my absolute best. Otherwise, god no, I hate how it feels. Do you get self conscious when wearing a bathing suit? Don't even get me started. What makes you distracted? Music, TV, talking... basically dynamic sound. Do you wear really dark eye liner? I only ever wear black. Are you a fan of Justin Bieber? No. Does your hometown have bad memories attached to it? Yeah, some. How many subscribers do you have on your YouTube channel? Idk. Does snow and ice ever got on the inside of you window panes? I don't think so? What do you do for pain? Soldier through it, take meds, use a heating pad or cold washcloth/bag of ice depending on the type of pain, try to sleep to let it hopefully pass or alleviate. What type of lotion do you use? One for dry skin. What were your favorite clothing stores in high school? Hot Topic and rue 21. Name a YouTuber whom you think acts shallow and superficial. I'm sure there's plenty, like say, the Paul brothers. Do you know anyone who has twin babies or toddlers? A woman I vaguely know through dance has twins. If so, what are their names? Idr. Would you ever want to have twins? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST NO If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? Burnt orange. What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? "Nobody's Home" is still incredible. Have you ever done something and been afraid of getting caught? Yeah. Have you ever had a bedroom that had wallpaper on the walls? I think the house I grew up in had it... Would you ever hitchhike? Why or why not? No, because I don't trust strangers for shit. What color is your stapler? Black. Do you have a desk that you sit at in your room? No. Have you ever completed a weight loss program? No. What was the last thing you were mad at a doctor about? OHHHHH, THAT STORY AGAIN?????????????? Where you live, is it possible to get sunburned&frostbitten in same week? Pretty much. Is your mother a lesbian? No. Are you part Swedish? No. Are you planning to travel outside of your country in the next 6 months? I doubt in six months. Do your parents live in the same city as you? Dad doesn't, but I live with Mom. What genre of books interest you the most? Fantasy. Do any of your close friends NOT have a Facebook account? Yeah, I think. German type foods: delicious or disgusting? I don't really know their cuisine. If you had your way, what color(s) would you dye your hair? I've seen a gorgeous pastel rainbow design on short hair before, and I my GOD I want. Do you like seafood? If so, what is your favorite? If not, what is your favorite type of food? UGH no. I do, however, like shrimp. But that's it. Have you ever eaten a veggie burger? Yeah, it wasn't that bad. I had Burger King's during my vegetarian juncture. If you could master any sport, which one would you choose? Dance. If you could meet any major political figure, who would it be? What would you say to him/her? Meh. Do you play any unique instruments? No. In school, did you take any classes to learn how to play any instruments? Flute, yes. Then after I got my lip pierced, I was moved to the percussion section to learn shit in like two days. Basically, I was useless 'til I realized I could position my lip on the mouthpiece where the ring didn't affect the flow of air much. I later got to a point of taking it out for every band class, though. Idr why; instructor probably wanted me to. Did you actually pay attention in Spanish class? I didn't take Spanish. If you drink Monster, what is your favorite flavor? If you don’t drink Monster, why not? None, because it tastes like literal poison. If you had/have a Club Penguin account, how old were you when you got it? No clue. What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? Wiccan. What ancient culture intrigues you the most, if any? I don't remember any well enough to answer here. Are/were your parents hippies? I don't believe so? Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? Oh lort no. If you had a baby boy right now, what would his middle name(s) be? Victor or Vincent, probably. What heritage does your last name imply? Scottish. How about your middle name? French. And first? English. What is your heritage, anyway? That I know of, Irish, German, and Polish. Were your parents born in the United States? Most importantly, were you? If not, what country? Yes to both. “Happy Holidays,” “Merry Christmas,” or “Merry X-Mas?" I couldn't care less.

[star-going-supernova]

What if demon!Henry became human?

@liliflower137 asked me put this stuff out there from some of our discussions about my Inky Eyes, Golden Heart AU. These are answers to theoretical questions, and I haven’t decided whether or not these events can be considered canon to the AU. This is very long, but it’s separated into sections through specific questions. Hope you enjoy them!  :)

What if Henry became human for a week without knowing that it would only last that long?

Okay, I'm not going to go into how this might've happened, but we'll leave it at this: he's turned completely one-hundred percent human, something that lasts a week but, like you said, he doesn't know that going into this. For all anyone knows, he'll be human forever.

So first of all, Henry was never disdainful of humans. In fact, he does things the human way more often than not, meaning as far as his powers go, he's not totally reliant on them. This is good. He won't be completely lost, given that he's been living on earth since before he even met Joey. In terms of that, while he'd really freaking miss his powers, he wouldn't be lost without them.

But then we get to the bits of being a demon that he was never consciously aware of being different, mainly: his aura.

~ Let's talk about demon auras real quick.

A demon's aura does a lot of things. With it, they can read emotions in the people around them, they can sort of scan their surroundings for fellow non-humans, they can check on their human friend's wellbeing; it can essentially be this additional, intangible limb that gathers information beyond what humans are capable of. We'll call it a Sixth Sense, in addition to sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste.

But then there are other things, more demon-type things, that an aura can do. It registers the Seven Deadly Sins (although that can be better controlled with age), it warns them of nearby religious symbols, it can manifest itself in unnatural ways (as seen in The Demon that Wasn't), it can affect the emotions and thoughts of those nearby (as seen in chapter 3 of Dreams Come True), detect summonings, alter/switch between physical forms, and so on. 

The demonic aura is, simply put, a power source. It’s The Thing that differentiates them from humans. Literally, give a human an aura, they're a demon; take one away from a demon, they're a human— technically speaking, nothing else is necessary to switch back and forth. It's within them, it surrounds them, they can curl it close and stretch it out.

When Henry becomes human, all that happens is his aura is removed. No harm comes to him, there isn't a twisting of limbs or screaming or anything like that. And that's what's so devastating about it: he just lost something that was so intrinsically him, and the world keeps turning, as though no one noticed.

Within seconds of it happening, Henry collapses, everything feeling muted and dull around him. He's gasping, he can't breath, he can't feel anything. He's not Henry anymore. There's no doubt that he would've gone absolutely completely mad, bonkers, cuckoo, insane— whatever you want to call it, he would've been it within a minute or two. If, that is, Joey hadn't been there.

It takes Joey over an hour to calm Henry down enough to be able to breathe and talk. That first day is a nightmare for both of them. Henry can't stop shivering, he's distant, lost, empty almost, and Joey's never felt so useless in his entire life.

Before the first 24 hours are even up, Henry almost absently tries to kill himself. It's not even a true, conscious decision. His body feels dead already, because it wasn't made to be this way. Joey's mind can't comprehend demon antics; Henry's can't comprehend being aura-less. Like a wounded animal, he's given up.

Joey freaks out. He refuses to so much as leave Henry's side after that, going so far as to handcuff them together. The day after, Henry just trudges along behind him, still not fully aware that he's actually still alive. That's how traumatizing it is.

~ So the almost killing himself thing. Immediately after losing his aura, Henry's body basically shuts down on the intellectual level, leaving only the most basic parts of him functioning. He's not fully aware, is what I'm getting at. Think of it as a sort of defense mechanism on his mind's part, like some people do with trauma. He's just sort of... sealed away. “Henry" is basically comatose, while his body and basic instincts run the show. His body then decides that an even better coping mechanism would to be just putting him out of his misery. Joey's apartment/house (who even knows where they live) had a mouse problem a few months earlier, and he still has rat poison in one of the supply cupboards in his kitchen (not near food or cooking utensils though). Joey's just making some lunch or dinner or doing the dishes, whatever, and he absently notices Henry rummaging around a bit. He doesn't think much of it, until he glances over his shoulder and sees Henry about to drink something— but Joey never heard the fridge open. Gut instinct has him race over there and wrench the bottle away, thankfully before any damage could be done. Henry doesn't fight or anything, because he's not aware enough for even the full ramifications of what he'd almost done to hit him. Joey still breaks out the handcuffs, 'cause no way is something like that happening again, not on his watch. Even after his aura returns, Henry doesn't really remember doing it, and Joey doesn't worry him with saying anything.

But then, he sorta starts to 'wake up,' in a sense. He becomes more responsive, takes the initiative on a few things, eats without prompting, and it's when he makes a joke about the handcuffs ("You just couldn't stand to be apart from my shining personality, eh, Joey?") that Joey knows his friend is coming back to him.

By the beginning of Day Four As A Human, Henry's mostly functioning. He still has these sort of blank moments, when his eyes go dead, but the handcuff comes off and he's able to make a true effort.

The worst part to Joey is that he can't give his friend a silver lining. Henry was already doing human things, so it's not like Joey can take him on some grand adventure to show him the Perks of Being Human.

Over the next few days, they learn just how many mundane things his aura provided for/prevented from happening: Henry is abysmal at reading body language, has a tendency to walk into walls when he's not paying attention (which is often), ends up covered in bruises and scratches and scrapes from many little accidents, somehow manages to get lost four times in the studio, and ends up being allergic to peanuts and shellfish.

But the worst is something he doesn't tell Joey about. It's his drawing. No, his aura didn't make him better or anything. On a technical and professional level, his animations haven't changed a bit. But Bendy and the others don't feel real anymore. Every time he drew them, his love and happiness and passion for his work combined with his aura to give his characters the closest things to emotions and thoughts that not-living, 2D drawings could have. They weren't alive on the page (not in the 2D Bendy AU sense) but he could almost feel them in his soul. This is why Joey saw that longing when Henry looked at them; they were already semi-real, but he never thought they'd ever leave the paper.

Overall, Henry would be okay. He'd never be fully over it, never forget what it felt like to be whole, never completely recover from the absence of an integral part of himself, but with Joey's help, he'd be able to survive. The biggest loss to him would be the drawing thing, because it was the equivalent of if they had died overnight or something. He never got to say goodbye.

Naturally, he comes to resigned terms with his new state of being at the end of the week and then wakes up whole again, aura returned. He freaks out, overjoyed, and probably accidentally makes all the plants in a ten mile radius flourish (which pisses him off, to be honest, because he can't even do that when he wants to, what even) with the sheer force of his happiness.

To celebrate, he teleports himself and Joey to Italy, because Joey's always wanted authentic Italian food, and what better way to thank his best friend for being there for him during those trying times than to pop them over to the other side of the world for some good food.

Henry spends an entire day doing nothing but drawing his characters, because they're alive again, just like him.

More humorous take, inspired by Lili:

Hypothetically, lets say that Henry experienced whatever curse or illness or whatever it was that briefly took his aura away before, when he was a kid/teenager. His parents ended up taking him to the hospital since he was so messed up, but after a week, he was back to normal. The doctors were baffled, but oh well. So Henry finds out more about whatever it was, and learns that short of a deal to sell his aura, it can't leave him permanently.

Jump to adults Henry and Joey, and this happens again, and Henry does one of those full body Ghibli shivers and races to Joey's house despite knowing that he'll be okay soon.

Joey screams when Henry literally kicks in his door and shouts, "JOEY, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH MY AURA AND I'M HUMAN NOW."

And Joey's on the verge of an aneurism ("NO DON'T, I CAN'T HEAL YOU") until Henry finally gets around to the part about his aura returning in a few days time. Cue massive amounts of amusement for the entire studio ('cause you bet they'd let everyone know) as Henry proves to be a perfectly normal human, just with terrible human sense (aka, all that walking into walls, getting startled easily, somehow ends up lost for several hours at least four times, and so on).

What if the toons were alive when Henry got turned into a human? Or if it was during a time when the rest of the studio knew about him? Is there anything they would be able (or at least try) to do to help?

If the toons were alive, they’d all stick to him like glue, just as distraught as him over it. Because we might joke about the Dad Thing, but there’s a connection that’s forged between a Creator and Creation with the way they did it, and with Henry losing his demon aura, that connection would vanish, for all of them. There wouldn’t be a soul in the entire studio capable of separating Bendy from Henry during the entire duration, and in a way, that would help Henry massively. Joey’s awesome, and there’s no way Henry would’ve survived that week without him, but Bendy would help in an entirely different way. All three of them would. 

(When Henry gets his aura back, there’s a celebration, but at the end of the night, he does exactly what his and Bendy’s auras have been aching to do, and teleports them to a quiet peaceful place. Neither of them are ashamed to admit that they cry pretty hard over it. The loss had been great and terrible for both of them in ways none of the others would’ve been able to understand. They’re both demons whose main personality trait is kindness, and having each other was a dream come true. Henry losing that nearly destroyed him, and Bendy losing that almost sent him into off-model despair on multiple occasions that only Henry had been able to coax him out of. Being brought back together like this would set off All the Emotions, and they’d need some time to themselves to work through them.)

The rest of the studio wouldn’t really know what to do. They mourn the loss, of course they do, because they know what it means to Henry and they can see how destroyed he is. He’s lost a piece of himself, and they offer space and comfort as needed. Towards the end of the week, there would’ve been secret discussions held between the main employees about possibly making a deal with a demon to get Henry his aura back, no matter what it cost them. Because that’s what you do for family, and Sammy hadn’t quite been as ignorant of that budding lung cancer as we thought, and Norman noticed when he stopped seeing dark and dangerous things on the edge of his vision, and Wally knew that a previously shaky wall was magically sturdy, and countless others. Henry might never have mentioned anything, much less asked for something in return, but that doesn’t mean his Acts of Kindness went unnoticed. After everything he’s done for them, of course they’d be willing to do something so potentially dangerous in return. Thank goodness he got his aura back before they could go through with it.

(As a note: that part listing things Henry has done for them in secret was from another question of Lili’s about deals that Henry made with the studio workers. Let me know if anyone wants to see that part too.)

If Henry had stayed as a human forever, would he have eventually told Joey about the drawing thing?

Not on his own. If he ever did, it’d be because Joey noticed that something was really wrong, and kept pushing until Henry spilled.

After that heartbreaking conversation, Henry would go home, but Joey would stay in his office, thinking.

Maybe… maybe he could bring them to life for Henry. Maybe, with a little bit of magick and— and a Machine…

Besides. What could go wrong?

What about when Henry realizes that he’s not immortal anymore, in the permanent situation?

Immortality was never a super important thing to him. He can get over the fact that he’s not going to live for something close to forever now. Worse for him would be the growing old part, and all the helplessness that comes with that. As discussed, he’s rather accident prone without his aura, and he regularly gives Joey little mini heart attacks because gosh dang it Henry, things can actually hurt you now!

One of the reasons losing his immortality doesn’t really phase him as much as it might’ve is that he knows he and Joey and all their other friends will get to live and die together.

On the other hand, though, if the toons were already created, Henry would go a little bit insane from the thought that he’d be leaving them behind, and in that case, well… he might take some drastic measures à la something akin to the Ink Machine. Someone with all that demonic knowledge suddenly determined to cheat death one way or another? Yeah, that would probably be the worst case scenario.

[sunriseoverastorea]

Pen lies on her back, watching the liquid sky, heavy with crystalline stars and the inky blackness of night, shimmer and shiver above her. On this particular visit, she found a ridge, a strange sort of hill jutting sharply from the amber plains, and though it seemed to crane hundreds of feet into the cosmos, she reached the top after only a minute, or perhaps, even less. Rajya was waiting at the top, standing still as a statue, looking down over her domain. Empty and oppressively silent, yet the charr does not seem to be bothered. As if she doesn't even realize what's missing. Pen remembers what it felt like when Rajya was longing, for life, for freedom, for the sun—that is gone now. By bringing back the part of her soul that was missing, it seems that the charr has become less alive. More resigned. More of a ghost than a restless spirit.

“You think she will like the tale about the disgraced son?” Pen asks, stretching blue fingers into the stars, and stirring them, swirling them into a gale of icy dust. Rajya's ear twitches as she nods.

“Yes. Marea will like it very much. Adventure and dubious heroes were always her favorites.”

“Dubious heroes. Like Raigar and his crew.”

“I never met Raigar. But from what little Marea shared with me, I would not call him a hero. Not an evil man, but not someone who was placed on the earth to do good, either.”

“So, the son is a bit better than the people I know. Perhaps one of the Accord. They have a wild collection of personalities,” Pen chimes with a smile. She allows images of the Astralarium to trickle through her minds eye, sharing them once more with Rajya. The charr had not been present for the entire adventure—she missed the friendly librarians who let her take a book with her, and the journey back to the camp.

“They do. I enjoyed the Accord, in the brief time I spent on their grounds.”

Pen closes her eyes. She sees impossibly tall golden walls rise up around her on all sides, overflowing with ivy vines, the rushing of water in the distance mixing with the nearby chatter of two sylvari. White noise like candy, so delicate and pretty she could pluck it between her fingers and shape it into a bead, and that bead would fall into the passing stream, bobbing along through lush green valleys teeming with bio-luminescent flowers, until finally, hurling off the ridge of a water fall and connecting with the rocks below, the memory shatters, and she opens her eyes, sighing softly.  

“Beautiful. The old headquarters. I was there a few times, myself. But it seems you saw a good deal more than me, Rajya. You, you felt more than me, if that makes sense.”

“It does. I had a knack for feeling things,” Rajya grumbles, pulling her cloak of coarse wool tighter over her shoulders. “Many said it was my greatest failing as a soldier.”

“Really? I thought the pacifism would be far worse.”

“Believe it or not, the feelings came first, and many, many years later, I defected from the legions,” Rajya says slowly, as if speaking to a newborn cub. Pen bites her lip in embarrassment, clearing her throat.

“Right, that does make sense! Well, I have said my stupid thing for the evening. You cannot be surprised at this point. Why don't we change the subject—Rajya, what do you know about revenants?”

“Next to nothing.” The charr's voice has grown cold all of a sudden. The air around Pen's head feels thicker, heavier. She sits up, reaching for a white furred shoulder.

“Wait, Rajya Sleekfur, do not leave me. I have more I wish to ask you! You were well learned in your time, and even if you had little chance to meet a revenant yourself, you must have heard something about them. I want to channel you, Rajya. When I fight. I already have my talents for guns and my highly inaccurate sense of proportion from you, and that has gone quite well, so imagine if I could directly channel your spirit in hand to hand combat? When I use my staff? You knew how to fight with one too, didn't you? You are so much more experienced than I. Allowing you to guide my movements would--”

“--I do not fight.” The answer is sharp and cutting, yellow eyes darting towards Pen's face behind an unpleasant snarl. “What part of 'pacifist' did you not understand, sapling? Twenty years in the home of my race's enemy? You have felt the things I have felt, and you dare to speak so foolishly. As if you are a bouncing baby tree that knows nothing but the Grove and Ventari's teachings.”

Pen shrinks back, withdrawing her hand, clutching it onto the fur around the collar of her coat. “Oh—yes. I, I am sorry. I get carried away, sometimes. I am not all Rajya, after all. I am Pen as well.”

She offers a reassuring smile, but the charr turns away. The charr fades away, melding with the evening shadows before her very eyes.

Pen has discovered that spirits are not quite like the living. They have moments, sometimes hours, even days, where they seem little different. Personalities and memories in a unique fleshy shell, who she can talk to, tell stories, hear advice, learn to cherish as she might a wise old mentor in the corporeal world of Tyria. But just as quickly, they turn on you. They run off, and no matter how long she searches, she can't find her constant companion. The charr has retreated to the Mists somewhere, to brood, or wander, or do whatever it is that moody ghosts do. And Pen feels strangely hollow.

In those hours when she is left alone, when she lies in the long amber grasses and watches the sky glitter and shift, she wonders who she is, who Pen Yfan really is, irreparably altered by a soul far stronger than her own. Would she recognize herself without Rajya in her head? Would she still be a Dreamer? Would she still indulge herself with savory meats, still get lost in the methodical machinery of rifles, still love the tortured land of Ascalon, that she feels far closer to than the Pale Tree herself?

She digs her hands into the dirt. Such questions are dangerous. Fleeting, irrelevant. She is the only Pen Yfan that exists, and ever will exist. Hypotheticals make no difference. Many doors are closed to her, but far more have been opened.

Marea tells herself something similar. She sits very still on a hard wooden chair in the infirmary, the crew's questionable doctor tending to her wound from the previous evening. She took a giant metal pinwheel to the head, and now she grits her teeth and clenches her fists as necromantic tendrils weave through her crushed ear, pulling cartilage back into place. The sound it makes is grisly, wet, sinewy snapping, but through the disgusting melange she begins to hear the birds more clearly, chipperly chittering atop a building across the courtyard. Her eyes flit upward. The birds are small, blue, all standing in a line at the edge of the stone roof. As if watching her, an exhibit on display.

After only a few minutes, the doctor wraps a bandage around her head, and instructs her to wear it just like this for the next three days, after which her ear will have healed properly, good as new. She gets to her feet and strides away without a word of thanks, starting across a long rope bridge to another part of the canyon. It's amazing what magic can do, she thinks, her own insufficiency foremost in her mind. Necromancers can rebuild tiny, minute bones in only fifteen minutes. At least, some can. Not her, never her, the barest minimum of power is all that will grace her since she lost her old focus.

She comes upon a small outcrop in the cliff wall, outfitted with a table and chairs, of once noble make but since scuffed and worn down to better suit their ramshackle home. She sits down in one, kicks her feet up on the table. And finally allows herself to smile. The night before was thrilling—explosions, placed and set off by none other than herself, roving golems and plenty of tech abandoned for the crew to plunder. She lives for the excitement, for the brutality, of a fight for her life. The golem was an unfair match, but even with falling on her ass in the mud and getting whapped upside the head, she can't wait to do the whole thing all over again. In another place, with different dangers, and even better rewards.

Her manic desire for destruction is something she knows to be troubling—it does not bother her, but it takes little sense to put two and two together. That her full embrace of what she considers human nature is what leads to her downfall, over and over again. But so far, since the chilly evening when she spoke to Raigar in the Priory encampment at Fortune's Vale, she has held to her promise. That she would become Marea the Woman, and leave behind the Girl. Leave behind the wanton carelessness. Leave behind the failure.

What constitutes a woman is still to be determined. On the whole, she feels unchanged. She still eats sugary sweets by the dozen, laughs at inappropriate times and becomes needy and jealous when ignored by her captain and best friend. But at the same time, she feels a sense of calm. Something is keeping her grounded. Allowing her to toe the fine line between too much of herself, and just enough. Perhaps she is truly growing up. Maybe she can change. Perhaps it's like Rajya said—all beings, great and small, are capable of changing, of becoming better versions of themselves.

Or perhaps there is disaster lying in wait, just around the corner. After all, life never stays quiet for long. But for now, Marea is content. She tucks her arms behind her head, gazing out over the craggy cliffs, squinting at the hard slate blue of the sky. A sight she has seen in her dreams, for as long as she can remember. Home. For now, she will stay. Live. Work hard and prosper like any average sky pirate might. She will make the most of her time, before the ugly, snarling head of human nature returns to the forefront once more, and plunges her life into chaos.

With a sinking feeling her chest, she wishes that the afternoon would never end.

[feynites]

Tagging @selenelavellan for more Concert AU shenanigans!

NSFW again! <3

Deceit’s grandmother ends up visiting for about a week.

Fear gets home, and barely checks their text messages in time to avoid being surprised by Gran-Gran accosting them with hugs at the front door of the apartment. As it stands, they have some forewarning, and so they are ready for having their face pat and their person scrutinized, and the inevitable worried clucking over how ‘tired’ they look.

Near as Fear can tell, they have looked ‘too tired’ since highschool.

But Gran-Gran does not actually make that comment, this time. Instead she says they look ‘healthy’, which is a pleasant surprise. She still makes them sit down and eat half a mango cake, but that is not actually something Fear objects to. Des and Selene are home, and both look faintly mowed over; and Deceit is wearing an expression that says that the baby photo album came out.

Fear sighs, inwardly. That means their school photos were likely to be included. Eighth grade, when they tended to starch their shirts. And ninth grade, when they decided to use an eyebrow pencil to try and give themselves sideburns.

Their goth phase was not quite so embarrassing, all things considered.

“What are you and Nona fighting about?” Fear asks, while Gran-Gran sits with them in the kitchen, and nosily asks Selene about her cooking practices. Selene seems a little defensive, at first; just until she realizes that Gran-Gran’s not actually disapproving of anything. Then she relaxes, somewhat.

Gran-Gran sniffs.

“We don’t fight,” she claims, of course.

“Hypothetically,” Fear counters. “If you were to fight…”

The little old woman sighs, and then reaches over and pats the back of their hand.

“Hypothetically, Enfanim, that would be nothing for you to worry about,” she insists. “You worry enough. Now, where is Dirthamen? Is he still at work? Should we send someone to go and get him?”

“He should be home soon,” Fear assures her.

“Good. Don’t let that boy work himself silly, it’s not healthy,” Gran-Gran insists.

They fall into relatively pleasant silence for a moment, then. Until Deceit comes, and the conversation starts up again. By the time Dirthamen gets home, Gran-Gran’s energy is flagging; but as ever it seems to come rearing back up at the arrival of a person she likes, and she spends several solid minutes patting Dirthamen down, asking about his health and complimenting his new hair style, and telling him that he’s a good boy and she’s happy to see him.

She’s always very firm on those points, with Dirthamen. Fear thinks it must be good for him.

They give Gran-Gran their room for her stay. It’s the cleanest one, and contains the least amount of ‘contraband’. Des and Selene go back to their apartment for the night, so Fear climbs into bed with Deceit.

They love Gran-Gran. They really do. She’s a kind woman, exuberant, and it’s good to see her. She and Nona were always very welcoming to Fear. And to Deceit, too, for that matter; he doesn’t talk about it a lot, but Fear knows that his mother wasn’t the couple’s biological child. She worked for them, when she was a teenager, and then fell on hard times. Got sick, and the medical bills stacked up. Her own parents disowned her after she had Deceit. So Gran-Gran and Nona stepped in, and took her in, and treated her like their own. They helped raise Deceit – Harel – and became his legal guardians after she died. And when Fear’s own parents would lock them out of the house at night, Fear could go over to their house and they would always be welcomed in.

But that’s the thing, they suppose. Whenever they see Gran-Gran or Nona after it’s been a while, it drags them back. Makes them think about being a skinny fourteen-year-old, with bruises on their knees, overwhelmed by practically everything, it seemed, and living off of vending machine food and halves of Deceit’s lunches, bleeding through five pairs of jeans before Nona started stocking extra pads in their bathroom, and took Fear aside and told them to take as many as they needed. Shame and gratitude burning in their cheeks, like a fire lit on the hunger gnawing at their gut. Gran-Gran and Nona fed them, too, but Fear couldn’t always make it to their house. It depended on the day.

Climbing into bed with Deceit reminds them of the first time they did it. Back when their skin had always felt like it was trying to crawl off, and they’d been so nervous. Was their breath okay? What if they kicked him? What if they rolled over onto him? What if they were doing it wrong?

Deceit glances over at them, and without a word, snakes his arm around their shoulders, and pulls them to his chest.

Fear sighs.

“Cuddler,” they accuse.

“You’re warm,” he says. Which is a bold lie; Fear runs cold. They’re skinny and sharp and icy, their feet are almost always freezing compared to anybody else’s. But after a moment they just sigh, and rest their head against their oldest friend’s shoulder. Recollecting the fights they used to get into. Fear was not a kindly child, over-critical, paranoid, and anxious, prone to panic attacks and wild accusations, and Deceit was a chronic liar. He once spent a year trying to convince half the school that his father was a billionaire from Orlais. He would tell people his mother was still alive, and just ‘on business’. He spent a summer working as a counsellor at one of the seasonal camps just outside town, and when he got back, he told everyone he’d been abducted by aliens.

They’d both been so insufferable, no one else could stand them. It was how their friendship was born.

“What do you think Gran-Gran and Nona are fighting about?” Deceit asks them, quietly, after a minute.

Fear shrugs.

“Not sure. Possibly Nona started smoking again. Or Gran-Gran is trying to get her to sell the market stand again. Or they might just have gotten bored.”

They feel Deceit frown, more than they see it.

“I hope Nona didn’t start smoking again,” he mutters.

“So do I,” they admit.

They fall into silence. Fear waits until Deceit’s breathing has started to even out before they roll away a bit, putting enough distance between them so that they can fall asleep, too; lulled by the rhythm of Deceit’s breaths, but not distracted so much by the press of skin against skin.

They wake up the next morning with their head wedged between six pillows, and two extra blankets thrown over them. Deceit is already up, it seems. Fear blinks, and stares at the clock. Six am, but Gran-Gran’s an early riser, and they can smell something delicious frying in the kitchen.

Fear sits up, and feels a moment of earl-morning disorientation. Their skin feels too-heavy on their own muscles. Everything a little bit askew, warmed from sleep, but itching unpleasantly, too. Old bruises ache a bit. They have to take a moment to look around the room, and remind themselves that this is a space they belong in. That the nebulous, purposeless apprehension suddenly fishing through their mind, looking for something to drag them over the coals about, is unfounded.

You slept in.

You didn’t check on Gran-Gran in the night.

You didn’t go to that meeting yourself.

You didn’t properly check in with Des about his doctor’s appointment.

You barely spoke to Selene last night.

You didn’t text Nona to tell her where Gran-Gran is and see how she’s doing.

Worthless, worthless, empty sack of bones…

Fear pushes it aside. Not helpful, not true, they remind themselves. It’s not always something they believe, but they murmur it aloud, in turn, and that makes it stick a little more. They feel… no. He. He’ll be a ‘he’ today, he thinks. He feels rested, at least. And after a few more minutes, the unease abates, and his heart stops trying to claw its way out through his throat. He gets up. Makes the bed. Heads into the bathroom, to comb his hair, and brush his teeth, and contemplates a shower, before deciding against it. Fear triple-checks his breath, and decides some eyeliner is order.

Maybe a little lipstick, too. He feels better when the scar on his bottom lip is completely invisible.

No reason for it to feel better. He just does.

He finishes getting dressed before he emerges into the kitchen. Last up for a change, it seems. Deceit is in his striped shorts and black raven shirt, polishing off a plate of eggs. Dirthamen in his robe, sitting beside him, and he and Gran-Gran both look over as Fear approaches.

“Masculine pronouns today, if you please,” Fear requests, checking the stove, before sliding onto one of the barstools.

Dirthamen nods, and so does Gran-Gran.

“Neutral for me,” Deceit requests.

Ah.

They’ve been reverted to the highschool standard, then.

Fear checks his phone, while Gran-Gran plates up too much food for him, and then settles into the seat beside him. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

“You did not have to go to the trouble,” he says.

She waves him off.

“I like to,” she insists. “Harel helped with the chopping, so don’t fret. They found me a good stool, too.”

Fear glances over, and confirms it to be the one from the hall closet – purchased specifically for these sorts of occasions – before nodding, and tucking in. Nothing calamitous seems to have happened overnight, at least. He fires off a pair of ‘good morning’ texts to Selene and Des, and mentally reviews the day’s plans. Ignores the voice that tells him he’s probably just going to make a disaster out of all of them, and that he should stuff himself into a closet somewhere and just sit in the dark until the day is done.

Someone would just come and get him, anyway. And then worry. And besides, the compulsion isn’t all that strong.

“You look tense,” Dirthamen informs him.

Deceit shakes their head a little, though, and he immediately changes the subject; and Fear is glad, because they are not good at explaining these things. Not even to Dirthamen, who understands better than Deceit does, sometimes.

Dirthamen is a good person. Better than many. Better than most.

And you cannot even figure out how to keep his wretched brother from ruining his life.

He should probably take his medication today, he supposes. His prescription is on an as-needed basis, which can get a little tricky because, in addition to numerous other factors, his paranoia likes to insist that he’s medicating himself too much and that his drugs have been tampered with. Even when he knows better.

Halfway through breakfast he gets too nauseated to keep eating, though, and he knows that’s a sign. He excuses himself, heading back into the bathroom, and when he gets back, Gran-Gran only asks if he’s finished and if he would like her to keep the leftovers. Fear gratefully asks her to, checks the time, and then sets out. He has a meeting with their accountant today. Their official accountant, anyway. Fear and Dirthamen both keep track of the financials themselves. Too many stories about successful musicians who lost every cent they ever made are cluttered in both of their minds; and the money they make from their music exists independent of Dirthamen’s family.

Dirthamen catches him before he leaves, though.

“I transferred some funds to my brother the day before yesterday,” he admits.

Fear purses his lips.

Dirthamen’s funds are his own. They all have their own money. Much of it gets withdrawn in thirds automatically to pay their various expenses, but they all have checking accounts and saving accounts. Fear keeps track of them, though. At the end every month, Dirthamen’s personal accounts hemorrhage funds – usually because his father has started getting Falon’Din’s bills, and subsequently started roaring about how he’s not paying for this or that or anything else, and Falon’Din gets cut off and goes and bullies his brother into making up the difference.

“You should not give him money,” Fear says. He always says that.

Dirthamen lets out a breath.

“It is my money to give,” he says, which is also what he always says.

Fear’s on edge, though, and it’s a bad time for this. He levels a finger at Dirthamen’s chest.

“You need to start thinking ahead more,” he tells him. “I know you love your brother. But he is not the only person who needs you. Who might depend on you. One day we might all get into terrible trouble. What will you do if you have given everything to Falon’Din, then, and have nothing left to help the rest of us?”

Dirthamen’s brows furrow.

Fear regrets his sharpness, almost immediately. That’s not fair, he knows. It isn’t even a very good argument. Dirthamen should stop giving into his brother’s demands for his own sake; not for the sake of Fear’s dark anticipations. Whether they are reasonable or not. On days like these, it is hard for Fear to tell what is pragmatism and what is paranoia.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, immediately.

“I…” Dirthamen begins, and then hesitates. Fear reaches over, and clasps his shoulder.

“No. I apologize, that was unfair,” he insists. “I dislike you giving him money. He doesn’t deserve it. I will barely concede that he deserves oxygen, and even then, mostly just because you’re attached to him. But you are right; it is your money, and if you think he deserves it, then that is all that needs to be said.”

Dirthamen manages a hesitant nod.

“I know you dislike it,” he confirms. “I would not give him more than I thought I could spare. Even accounting for emergencies.”

“Good,” Fear agrees, and leaves it at that.

He will have to be careful, he thinks, in getting through the day. Avoid major decisions, and be as mindful as he can manage. And make sure his boundaries are respected. No going to the coffee shop on third street, he thinks. They make good lattes but the barista there is very chatty, and tends to take opportunities to touch him without his permission.

He takes the stairs down and out of the building, and sets off, banishing old memories that surface like sunken wrecks from the back of his mind. Ghost ships.

By midday, though, his mind is much less cluttered, and his steps are lighter. He handles his business e-mails, gets through his meetings, works on some compositions and updates the band’s website, and their twitter feed. He gets a few texts from Gran-Gran, which are about dinner plans and advice for spots to visit in the city; and he gets a few sexts from Des, and some questions from Selene, who wants to know what kind of food Gran-Gran likes and if she’s allergic to anything.

Gran-Gran is partial to a lot of baked goods.

Fear opts not to mention that.

He doesn’t intend to, but he ends up getting back home later than he planned. Traffic is a mess. There’s an accident on his usual route, and a train crossing through his detour. He listens to some of the band’s latest practice sessions, scrutinizing them beneath the rumble of the passing train. He taps the steering wheel with both of his index fingers. Restlessness is a common side-effect of his medications, but it’s also something that’s apt to come over him during the evenings.

He manages to school himself into a semblance of calm and collectedness by the time he gets home, however.

The apartment smells like Selene’s cooking. Some Dalish spices, that she never seems to use in over-abundance, but that always have very particular fragrances. Fear is ashamed at the momentary relief he feels; scents have a way of drawing the mind back to certain times and places, and he doesn’t think today would be a good day to be jolted back to highschool by the scent of Gran-Gran’s cooking.

Tomorrow, maybe, will be better.

He doesn’t begrudge himself the happiness he feels when he walks into the apartment and finds everyone there, though. Whole and well, with Gran-Gran in the sitting room, and Dirthamen cleaning up something for Selene while she moves around the stove, and Deceit working intently on something with their laptop.

Gran-Gran gets up to give him his ‘welcome home’ hug, and Des moves in after she does, grinning slyly as he claims a hug, too.

“Babycakes!” Des greets.

“Hi, Fear!” Selene calls. Dirthamen turns and smiles at him. and Deceit offers a vague wave, not taking their eyes off of their laptop.

Fear pats the back of Des’ shoulder, and then peels him off.

“There. Now shoo,” he instructs.

“You see?” Des says, gesturing towards him. “I told you. So cruel with my affections!”

Gran-Gran pats Des on the arm.

“He let you touch him. He probably loves you,” she opines, which Fear supposes is true enough.

“A man can dream,” Des permits, with excessive dramatics. Fear actually manages to get his coat off, at least, and he’s surprised to find that he’s less impatient with Des’ over-enthusiasm than usual. He still makes his way over to Deceit, though, and promptly commandeers the square of couch beside them; wordlessly invoking their long-standing agreement where Deceit will sometimes act as a barricade between Fear and everything else.

When Des sidles over, Deceit dutifully sighs, and puts away the laptop - they’re playing a game, Fear notes – and captures Des against his side, opposite Fear.

“It’s Fear’s personal space time, Des,” Deceit declares.

“Whoever invented the concept of personal space should be shot,” Des grumbles. But he doesn’t actually make a point of trying to get to Fear after that, either. There are plenty of other people to cuddle with instead, and Des makes full use of the opening Deceit has given him, and sprawls across his lap like a bored cat asking for attention.

Des is entirely the sort of person who needs four lovers, Fear thinks, if only to give him the sheer amount of affection he seems to need.

Eventually Deceit’s attention starts to turn a little romantic. One of their hands slips up under Des’ shirt, and they press some kisses to his forehead, and then once to his lips. But Gran-Gran, though never condemning of such things, is still Deceit’s grandmother, and grandparents tend to be a major deterrent towards feeling up one’s lovers. When Des’ own touch starts fumbling with Deceit’s belt, Deceit halts him.

It’s a herald of things to come, in the end.

The second night of Gran-Gran’s visit winds up filled with more stories. Fear excuses himself from it fairly early in, and retreats to his room and his computer. The night ends with Gran-Gran in his bed, and Des and Selene going home, and Fear sleeping with Dirthamen instead of Deceit, in order to try and avoid dragging himself back in time again.

Sex isn’t really on the table for most of them, for a variety of reasons. And it stays that way for most of the week.

The third night of Gran-Gran’s visit, Deceit and Des take her out on the town, and Dirthamen ends up having to attend a dinner function with his mother, and so Fear and Selene end up spending most of that time making him text them every fifteen minutes, and worrying. They put in a movie to distract them. It is not a very successful method of distraction, but eventually everyone gets home, again. Selene and Des stay over that night. Crowded into Dirthamen’s bed, too quiet to be fooling around very much.

Work and Gran-Gran eat up most of the rest of the week. And it is, barring some bumps at the start, a good week. Fear and Deceit fail to uncover the reason for Gran-Gran and Nona’s fight. But seven days in, there is a phone call, and Gran-Gran goes and takes it out on the balcony. And when she comes back inside she seems satisfied about something. She leaves in as much of a whirlwind as she arrived in, though she makes Selene and Des both promise to come and visit in Rivain when they can, and to meet Nona, who is apparently green with envy that Gran-Gran got to meet them first.

Her flight departs in the late afternoon.

Fear gets back from dropping her off at the airport. He gets inside, and veritably sags into his usual chair. The apartment feels normal again. All pleasantness of seeing Gran-Gran again aside, he appreciates that. There are unspoken rules to the division of space in the apartment that are inherently understood by the five of them. Gran-Gran, through no fault of her own, had upset that equilibrium. Fear is glad to have it restored.

And there are other benefits to not having a beloved, elderly relative sleeping in his room, too.

Benefits that become clear once the five of them are alone together in the apartment for the first time in a week.

Des – instigator that he is – seizes upon the opportunity at once.

“I want to be the filling in a sandwich,” he declares.

Selene makes a pained sound, and her unruly associate levels a finger at her.

“Selene wants to be the filling in a sandwich too,” he insists.

“Des!” Selene objects.

She also, conspicuously, doesn’t deny it, as Des just looks at her in that unrepentant ‘well you do’ manner, and causes her to drop her face into her hands.

“Do I have the energy to be the bun in two different sandwiches?” Deceit asks the ceiling, from where they’re slumped across the arm of the sofa. They narrow their eyes, intently contemplative, and then nod to themselves. “I don’t know for certain. But I know I have the energy to try.”

Dirthamen raises a hand.

“I do not think I could manage more than one sandwich,” he admits. “Provided we are using ‘sandwich’ as a euphemism for three-way intercourse.”

“We are,” Des confirms.

Dirthamen nods, and then after another, internally contemplative moment, four sets of eyes turn questioningly towards Fear.

…Ah.

He considers the matter himself. But the prospect doesn’t seem unpleasant. Maybe even welcome, in fact. Contact could help with reaffirming their bonds, and he is confident that the encounter will end if and when he needs it to.

“I can be a bun,” he permits.

“Dibs!” Des shouts, sitting bolt upright from where he’d been lounging against Selene in a shocking hurry. “Dibs, dibs, dibs!”

Selene looks at Fear.

Fear inclines his head.

“Alright, alright, you get Fear,” she allows. “Stop yelling ‘dibs’, he’s not a pudding cup.”

“He can be my pudding cup anytime,” Des declares.

There’s a pause.

“…That sounded much filthier than I expected,” Des concludes. He seems pleased about it.

“I am rethinking this idea,” Fear announces, which at least puts an end to the terrible jokes. He isn’t really, though. Or at least, not sincerely. After a moment he gets up to go and fetch everything they require. Condoms, lubricant, and a few other items which may or may not be needed. He asks Selene if she wants her strap-on, but she answers in the negative. He considers taking his own out of the box in the bottom of the closet, but then gives it some more thought, and leaves it be.

“Who is going first?” he asks.

“Des,” Selene immediately declares. “It’s his idea. If Deceit gets too tired to keep going, I’m pretty sure I’ll be less broken up about it.”

Dirthamen nods in sage agreement, while Des looks momentarily conflicted. But then Fear deposits their supplies onto the living room coffee table, and he seems to get over whatever internal debate he was having in favour of stripping out of his clothes.

Fear and Deceit follow suit.

“Ground rules,” Fear announces, handing Des a packet of condoms. “Frottage is acceptable. If you want to penetrate me, you will help prepare me, and it will be anal penetration only. I know you know what you are doing there, so I will not give you my usual lectures on the subject, or warnings about what will happen if you violate my consent in this regard and try to penetrate me anywhere else.”

Des blinks, and Fear looks him in the eye.

“I trust you not to injure me,” he admits.

Des brows furrow, just a little.

“I won’t,” he agrees, with a surprising lack of his usual slyness or innuendo. Fear nods, and then nudges him towards Deceit. The two of them start getting into things, and for a while, it’s not that different from their usual scenario. Dirthamen and Selene stay to watch, hands roaming slowly and gently over one another, as Deceit pulls Des into their lap, and starts stroking him.

Fear watches for a few minutes, before sliding a lubricated condom onto his fingers. He passes the packet over to Deceit, and take up a position in front of Des.

“So,” he says. “In or out?”

Des laughs, just a little breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed, and there is a definite gleam in his eye.

“You choose,” he decides. “I’ll enjoy it either way.”

Fear inclines his head, and after a moment more of contemplation, makes sure the lubricant is close at hand. Then he spreads his legs, and starts working the already-slicked condom down and down, between his cheeks. Des’ breath catches, and his cock twitches; and Deceit watches them both, before moving back a bit, to start opening Des up in turn.

It always feels odd, to begin something like this, Fear thinks. Sliding his fingers into himself is not precisely sexy. He doesn’t get a whole lot of sensation, in fact; when he does it right, the goal is more to make sure he is relaxed and liable to stay that way, stretching the muscles open, keeping everything as loose and slick as possible. Anal tearing is not good. Any part of the body which, by necessity of its designed function, comes into contact with fecal matter, is not a good place to injure. And these are not terribly sexy thoughts; though Fear thinks they are important ones, because a few minutes of passion isn’t really worth the subsequent agony that might come from forgetting.

But then Des slides a condom onto his own digits, and starts to help. And that makes it a little better. Des has very pretty eyelashes. Very nice hair. He runs hot, like Selene, and his gaze is intent, and his touch is careful. The feel of someone else’s fingers running over such delicate, sensitive areas is both perilous and stimulating. Fear knows he can’t handle it all the time. But… he actually does trust Des. He trusts him with Dirthamen and Deceit, and that is only the smallest step removed from trusting him completely, and Fear would worry more about him making comments about this for ages after the fact, than doing it wrong and putting Fear in the hospital.

And he knows how to angle his touch, to stimulate Fear from the inside. He has access to a better angle for it, too.

As Deceit works him over from behind, though, Des’ touch falters a little. His breaths turn ragged, and his hips shift more, and he gets a little less coordinated. A little more wanton. It’s a good look on him, though. Fear tilts his face closer, and kisses his forehead, and takes over again for a bit. Slow and steady. Deceit knows the right pace to set, and does a good job holding off, even as their cock starts to look painfully hard. Des’ too, for that matter. Fear guides Des’ hand to his own arousal, pushing more lube towards him. More is always better, in that regard.

“Touch yourself,” Fear instructs.

Des grins, just a little.

“Always so bossy,” he says.

Fear kisses his cheek, pressing close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Yes. Because I am in charge, here.”

Des shivers.

Deceit just hums in agreement, and starts to push their way into Des.

Synchronicity is important in this kind of activity. So is positioning. Des wants to be a sandwich, so, the three of them end up shifting around quite a bit, before getting everyone lined up. Luckily, Deceit is strong, and Fear is stronger; and Des is very fit. But it quickly becomes apparent that the best idea is for Fear to lie on his stomach, and Des to go behind him, and Deceit to go behind Des.

It’s a little more stressful, Fear finds, when he can’t see Des pushing into him. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the odd, heavy stretch, and the breaths brushing the backs of his ears. And he reaches back, and presses a hand to Des’ thigh, as Des kisses the tip of one of his ears.

“You feel so good,” Des tells him.

His hips rock, and then stutter, as Deceit enters him again in turn.

They keep going slow. It sounds like it’s driving Des a little insane, but in a way he enjoys. Fear takes deep breaths, that gradually turn more and more ragged. He gently cants his hips backwards, before long, as his perineum starts to respond pleasantly to the stimulus of Des’ thrusting. Once the warmth and pleasant slide has begun to settle into an easy rhythm, Fear slips a hand down between himself and the floor, and starts circling his clit, too. His vaginal muscles spasm, but with nothing inside, the sensation isn’t painful. Not like it would be with even a finger in there. Fear discovered the full scope of his vaginismus the hard way.

Des thrusts into him a little more firmly, at the same time Deceit does the same to him in turn, and Fear feels their shoulder drag across the carpet. He moves his hand away from Des’ leg in favour of propping himself up a little better. That’s probably going to leave some rug burn. But overall, the sensations are pleasant enough that he isn’t perturbed about it. He keeps on touching himself, imagining the picture Des and Deceit must make behind him. One he’s seen the likes of many times by now. It works more effectively on him than even the feel of Des’ thrusts, and before long, he comes, clenching down a little and wringing a gasp from the elf inside of him.

Deceit goes next. And when Des follows suit, he presses flush to Fear’s back; and Deceit obligingly clings to Des, in turn, and Fear just sighs, squished to the floor by the weight of two warm bodies. Des presses a lazy, sloppy kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs something completely unintelligible; squirming a little, still inside of Fear.

For a few minutes, Fear lets that stand.

Then he starts to sit up again, nudging Des off of his back. The man has gone limp. But Deceit helps shift him, and lets Fear up. Fear checks himself over. Rug burn, certainly, and his ass is a little sore. But not to a concerning degree. It was probably the weight of having two bodies pressing into him, aided by gravity, than anything else. He grabs up some wet wipes, and starts cleaning up before they can make a complete mess of the carpet. Handling Des, too, as Deceit draws in a few deep breaths, and then glances over to where Dirthamen and Selene are touching one another. Watching the three of them, still.

Selene’s face is dark, and her lips are slightly parted; and Dirthamen’s hand is thoroughly buried in her pants.

Fear is not at all surprised when Deceit grabs up the box of condoms again. He tosses some of the sanitary wipes at them, too.

“Clean up properly before you start again,” Fear insists.

Deceit just nods, and duly sets about that task, while Des lounges into Fear’s lap with increasing bonelessness.

“You’re okay?” Des asks him, after a minute.

Fear looks down, and resumes cleaning him up.

“Yes,” he confirms. “You did well.”

Des smiles. Fear imagines he’ll be insufferable about this for months, but he anticipated that going into this. The only two real possibilities were that Des would do well, and therefore be smug, or that he would do poorly, and Fear would end up in the emergency room, and their relationship and Fear’s assessment of it would require some serious review.

This is the good ending.

Fear lets Des cuddle his waist, and sprawl out, and even ventures a few fingers into the strands of his hair.

Meanwhile, Deceit busily sets themselves to the task of helping Selene and Dirthamen to finish undressing. The three of them decide to use the couch to their advantage. Prudent, Fear thinks. He will have to keep that in mind for next time. Selene bends over, as Dirthamen and Deceit prepare her. Fear keeps an eye on her face for signs of discomfort, and after a moment, realizes that Des is doing the same. But their lovers know what they’re doing. Dirthamen’s hands are gentle at her rear, and Deceit pulls back a little to engage in their usual practice of kissing and cuddling, caressing her cheeks and letting their hands wander to her breasts, before the three of them shift their positions around; and Selene settles slowly into Dirthamen’s lap, taking him into her rear by gradual increments.

Deceit takes up position in front of them, and uses their mouth on her, at first. Stimulating her while she adjusts to having Dirthamen inside of her, and Dirthamen, in turn, kisses the back of her neck, and wraps his arms around her. Murmuring things which Fear can’t quite make out.

Des starts touching himself again, as he watches them. His grip firm on his bare flesh, as Deceit checks their condom, and then moves upwards to start pressing into Selene, in turn. Selene gasps as she is filled from both ends; but the position on the couch doesn’t allow for a great deal of freedom of movement. Dirthamen cannot shift around very much, and Deceit has to prop their hands on the backrest. So Selene is pressed between them, the three of them shifting their hips in small increments, as Deceit’s recent activities keep them from mustering up their usual athleticism.

It is very pleasant to look at, though. Selene’s legs wrap around Deceit’s waist, and Dirthamen buries his nose behind her ear, and all three of them let out the occasional breathless, low moan when their movements start to align better, and Dirthamen slouches a little on the couch and shifts the angle, rolling his hips as best he can.

They are at it for a surprisingly long while.

Des strokes himself, and nuzzles his face against Fear’s stomach, and watches with half-lidded eyes.

The highlight, Fear thinks, is when Deceit starts to recover a little more of their usual verve, and begins lifting Selene’s hips up. Dirthamen starts helping with that, and between the two of them, they manage to move her up off Dirthamen’s cock when Deceit thrusts into her, and then back down onto it while Deceit pulls out. Selene starts making some very loud noises, at that point. Her hands searching for purchase, moving from the armrest next to her, to Deceit’s shoulders, to Dirthamen’s thighs. The muscles of her legs start to tremble, and Deceit starts calling her name, and Dirthamen begins to murmur his own pleas.

Des starts stroking himself more intently. Fear reaches down after a moment, though, and stalls his grip.

“Wait,” he advises.

Des licks his lips.

“What for?”

Fear runs his thumb over the back of Des’ hand, and the other man shivers, a little.

“Come when Selene does,” he advises. “Imagine you can feel what she feels.”

The idea seems to go over well. Des glances back towards the trio, and dutifully slows his strokes – just a bit. Toying with himself, trying to build up his arousal, without crossing the line. So that he can crest over it when Selene does. It’s nearly perfect, in the end. Selene stiffens, and cries out in a familiar way; and a moment later, Fear brushes a hand down Des’ chest, and Des pumps himself, and comes onto his stomach.

Fear gives him a moment more in his lap, before he goes and gets more wipes.

He keeps one eye on the continued activities of the others, though, so that he can see when Deceit and Dirthamen follow Selene’s example. Dirthamen takes the longest; but Selene grinds down intently against him, and whispers something in his ear, and he comes with a soft oath.

Fear contemplates the messiness of them all.

He’s probably going to have to help Deceit shower, if the state of them is any indication.

But it was… pleasant, he decides. Worth it. His own skin is tingling, and this will provide the fodder for many evenings where the only touch he is comfortable with is his own. He nods to himself in satisfaction, and then sets about helping with the final rounds of cleanup, and making sure no one injured anything unawares.

He sleeps in his own bed that night, and he sleeps very well.

 ~

 It’s about a month after Gran-Gran’s visit, and Fear is feeling more safely neutral and less reflective over many things again, when Des approaches them about the matter of his and Selene’s lease.

Fear hates Selene and Des’ apartment. This is not a secret. The building defies numerous health and safety code violations. It will not hold up well to earthquakes, the basement frequently floods – which contributes to severe mold problems – Fear is concerned about issues such as asbestos and lead paint, there is no air conditioning, the heating is terrible, security is a joke, and the wallpaper is eye-searing to behold. Fear would not feel entirely comfortable letting wild animals nest in that place; they absolutely object to Des and Selene living there.

But it is not their decision to make.

Even if the amount of money the two are paying for the privilege of ‘nearly dying from black mold spores’ is obscene.

Fear contemplates the matter carefully, after Des has left. They review the lease, and give further considerations to their plan for finding a suitable new home for all five of them. Deceit and Dirthamen have never been terribly particular about where they all live, just so long as it’s within relative driving distance of the studio, and isn’t next door to Dirthamen’s family (which Fear would object to themselves anyway). Dirthamen is, frankly, the kind of person who could survive in a Harry Potter-esque ‘cupboard-under-the-stairs’ situation if needed. Deceit, though more prone to enjoying certain luxuries and complaining about their absence, is very bad at the procurement end of things. ‘Get some place nice, Fear’ is the usual extent of his involvement on that end.

And Fear will get someplace ‘nice’, of course, because they are not letting them all live in squalor and danger, barely shielded from the elements. Fear did that for eighteen years. It was unpleasant.

They start looking for brightly-lit neighbourhoods, with reputable school districts, that would not demand heinous commutes of either Des or the band. They do a careful assessment of the financials involved, but also of the psychology involved. Selene is reluctant to move in with them. Reluctance is common of Selene. Fear understands caution, though they don’t always understand why she prefers some risks to others.

Manipulation is inferior to open communication.

Fear considers it anyway. They could easily file a report and actually push to get Selene and Des’ building inspected, and shut down for its violations. It would then only be reasonable to have Selene and Des stay with them while they looked for a new place. Or waited for their old building to come back up to code. That would make it much easier, Fear thinks, to convince Selene to make the move permanent. But… it would also be dishonest, and it would endanger the other occupants of the building, who live there mostly because they cannot afford to live anywhere else. Fear would not be able to find sufficient room and board for all of them.

They put the idea aside.

But they keep looking for houses.

The problem, they soon discover, is that most residences in neighbourhoods that are acceptable, have yards. None of them are the ‘yard work’ type, and hired help could pose a security risk. Fear supposes that they could repurpose some of the yards into low-maintenance rock gardens, or something along those lines, but that would depreciate the value of the property. They do not wish to pay for a yard they will only end up tearing out.

But most of the townhomes are insufficiently secured, and not big enough anyway. Fear is aware that most of them, should they live together, will end up sharing beds the majority of evenings. But everyone should have their own room and space, should they need it, as well. Retreats are mandatory. Des might complain, but he will not actually be deprived of affection or bed partners just because it isn’t a requirement of limited space – Fear hopes he learns this better as things go on.

They expand their searches to apartments, but most of the ones which meet all of their requirements are expensive enough to actually press their finances past the point of comfort. That makes them ‘high risk’, Fear thinks, because if they actually run into trouble, Dirthamen might do something stupid like go to his family.

Finally, though, their search turns up a good candidate. A two-story house with a finished basement, in a quiet neighbourhood. High, sturdy stone fencing, but very little in the way of yard; there are a few ornamental trees in front, but most of the landscaping has been taken over by a large garage, which could easily be repurposed as an at-home studio. Six bedrooms, three and a half baths… the kitchen is dated, but that is easy enough to rectify, and most of the failures are cosmetic.

It is well within budget, too.

Fear goes to inspect the property by themselves, for the first time. There is a security system installed, but it needs upgrading. There is no basement door, which is good, and the windows are too narrow for most grown burglars to fit through, even if they were broken or left open. Some of the windows on the second story are a little too large, but only in a way that makes Fear nebulously uncomfortable. The main window in their apartment’s sitting room does that sometimes, too. The building will require many modifications and a professional inspection, but Fear does a thorough tour before deciding that it may be suitable.

For the second visit, they bring Selene.

Convincing her to come is easy. Fear says “would you mind running an errand with me?” and Selene says “sure”, and then gets distracted talking about her part-time work up until the point where they are pulling into the driveway, with the real estate agent already waiting for them.

Selene blinks.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“A property,” Fear informs her, which earns them a wry look, until they elaborate. “I have been looking into purchasing an investment home. The market in this area is promising, and it would be more economically sound than continuing to pay rent.” There is a benefit to the concept of rent, of course, but Fear honestly would prefer investing their pay into equity over monthly bills that essentially vanish in terms of their finances.

Selene looks suspicious. But then the real estate agent approaches them, and the presence of the unfamiliar vashoth woman has her biting back whatever comment she had been on the verge of making.

As they go through the house, in fact, Selene becomes more and more interested in the building, and what Fear intends to change about it, and what the real estate agent is saying. Her eye for numbers make it easy to get her onto the track of considering the financial information and projections which Fear quietly hands to her, as they go along, and she seems very interested in the fact that renovating certain rooms – like the kitchen, and one of the bathrooms – will allow Fear to essentially customize the space.

And she likes the trees.

“I think it’s a good house,” she declares, once they are through.

Fear inclines their head.

“Yes, it’s the most promising one so far,” they agree.

There is a moment of silence. Selene shifts in the passenger seat.

“It’ll be more expensive for the three of you, though,” she reasons.

“We can cover it,” Fear counters. “And it may be much more worthwhile, in the long term.”

Selene nods, and glances at them. And then she shifts around some more.

“Des and I are renewing our lease,” she declares.

“On your deathtrap?” Fear mutters, signalling their next turn. Selene gives them a reproachful look.

“It’s not a deathtrap,” she insists.

“I disagree.”

“Well, it’s not your call,” Selene counters. “It’s ours. And it’s not that… it’s just that… look, there are some things that are… it’s…”

Fear waits.

After a moment, Selene lets out a gusty breath.

“You don’t want to live with us,” Fear surmises.

“No!” Selene says. And then shakes her head. “Yes! I mean… it’s complicated. Please don’t ask me why. It’s not you guys, it’s just… at the very least, we shouldn’t be rushing into things, right? I mean. Big decisions, and all.”

Fear glances at her, and finds her look away from them. Out the window, and towards the road.

They sigh.

“If you want to continue paying for the privilege of your deathtrap, I will not interfere,” they say. “But I cannot think of a single good reason not to allocate one of the rooms in that house to you. You spend enough time with us that it’s only practical. I wouldn’t expect you to visit any less just because we moved, the house isn’t even much further from your current domicile than our apartment is. And I would feel better if you worked from somewhere that is not rampant with toxic spores, and actually has a suitable work surface, so I would consider it a personal favour if you spent a good deal of time there, even if you would rather put your money towards your lyrium-dealer-adjacent-‘loft’.”

Selene blinks at them, and stills.

“What?” she asks.

Fear is a little taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.

“I… only meant that I would not stop you from keeping the apartment, either way…” they offer.

“No, at the end,” Selene says. “What the hell makes you think there are lyrium dealers in our building?”

Fear blinks.

“The fact that there are?” they offer. “The green patterning on the edges of your kitchen tiles? That is typically caused by chemicals that are used to reduce lyrium potency, reacting with the grout. It sometimes shows up in medical or scientific research buildings, too, but somehow I doubt that your downstairs neighbours are just really enthusiastic about the local science fairs.”

Selene looks more intensely disquieted than Fear expected.

“I didn’t think the carta operated out of this city,” she says.

Fear considers her for a moment, before they have to focus on the road again.

“They do not. Or, not as far as I know. Mostly because the criminal activities in this city are under the purview of elven organized crime families. They are responsible for the majority of bribes in the city, meaning the police tend to arrest carta members on sight, but somehow never seem to notice the lyrium dens or meth labs located in alienages.”

Some of the sudden tensing of Selene’s shoulders relaxes.

But only a little.

“Is something wrong?” they ask, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Selene lets out a breath, and shakes her head.

“I just… didn’t think something that would be so close,” she murmurs.

Fear nods in understanding.

“This is one of the reasons why I think your building is unsafe,” they point out. But not harshly. Selene isn’t naïve, they know. The world is often replete with nasty surprises that none of them, on their own, are wholly capable of anticipating.

The rest of the drive back is quiet, though.

Selene doesn’t bring up the subject of leases and houses again. Fear takes Dirthamen and Deceit and Des to see the new place. Des, predictably, thinks there are more rooms than they need, and doesn’t like all the things that Fear has already decided to change. Deceit is much the same, but also claims one of the bedrooms and starts poking through catalogues, expressing opinions on refrigerators and bathroom flooring. And Dirthamen simply deems it all ‘acceptable’.

Selene and Des start staying over at the apartment more.

There is a fight between them, Fear thinks. Or… possibly not a fight. But an intensely emotional discussion. They are not present for it, but they can detect signs of the aftermath. Des goes looking for affection and reassurance, and Selene veers off, becoming more detached, more hesitant. Trying to gain some distance, perhaps.

Fear can understand that.

She still helps them make dinner in the evening, and sits with them for while on the balcony afterwards.

They contemplate matters.

“When I was a child,” they begin. “My parents were intensely unpredictable people. Their demeanours tended to shift depending on the state of our finances. When I was younger, they were more generous. Affectionate. Forgiving. But when I was around ten, my father lost his job – and never managed to find a new one in the bottom of all the bottles he checked. There were windfalls, and things got better when there were. But that happened less and less often, the older I became. Deceit’s grandmothers let me stay over, a lot, which was good. When I was fourteen they offered to let me move in. But I declined.”

Selene looks over at them, and hugs her arms around herself a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she offers.

Fear shrugs.

“It wasn’t as bad as some,” they allow. “The point is, every year, Gran-Gran and Nona offered to just take me in. After a while, I could hardly even pretend that my parents would try and stop them. That wasn’t why I hesitated, anyway. I think I always had a predilection towards neurosis, but. Finances are a difficult thing for a child to predict. I would have had better luck if my parents’ mood swings depended on lunar cycles or star charts. Those, I could have learned. Not knowing if I would go home and find a warm welcome, decent food, and off-colour jokes, or a locked door with a passive-aggressive note on it, or shouting and fists, made obsessing over everything that might negatively impact my living situation perilously easy.”

Selene puts a hand on their arm. When they do not brush it off, she leans into them a little. Pleasantly warm. Fear shifts her grip down just enough to lace their fingers together.

“I was afraid that if I lived with Deceit, and his grandmothers, that… one day I would go home to them, and they would just start screaming at me. Or lock the door. Turn me away. And then what would I do?”

They go quiet. Letting the admission linger. Trying not to remember the first time they had come home from school to find the house dark, and all the doors sealed, and that note pinned to the front one. If you’re not going to come home on time, don’t bother coming home at all. They had tried so hard to never be late, after that. It had taken them two years to figure out that the pattern wasn’t determined by the time Fear got home, but rather, by whether or not their parents wanted to stay out all night.

They preferred locking Fear out to leaving the doors unsealed, and risking someone sneaking in and robbing them.

“It is alright, if you are afraid,” they venture at last, to Selene. “I understand.”

Selene turns her face in towards their shoulder.

She doesn’t really answer them. She just cries on them a while. That’s alright, too, though. Fear was planning to do laundry tomorrow anyway. Eventually it gets too cold to keep lingering poetically on balconies, though, and so they nudge Selene back inside. She hugs them, says something utterly unintelligible into their chest, and then goes to find Des.

The two of them stay the night.

Fear is unsure what they will decide. Or. Well. What Selene will decide.

They buy the house, regardless.

[word-dissociation]

the path (part I)

canon divergence/alternate ending (no warnings as of yet)

read it on ao3 here

“And all of this made him realize that Ashi was possibly even more alone than he had been, left out in such a confusing, chaotic world with nothing. It made him realize what she needed was a mentor and a friend.”

XCIX

     Jack notices a great deal of curious things about Ashi as they travel together. He’d noticed things about her that were strange before, when at first, she still seemed set on killing him. He does appreciate that she seems to have moved on from that goal; it’s good to have help, company, on his journey again, after being alone for so long. After convincing himself that’s what he had deserved.

    But Ashi was a great comfort, and a great help. Capable in a fight, and undoubtedly resilient- so much so to the point where Jack had to urge or remind her to eat, drink, sleep when it was her turn (they slept in shifts). Jack recalls how she beat an entire army on her own, with nothing but her own two hands, and he can’t help but wonder how someone so young could fight so viciously, and push their body so much. He can’t help but wonder how anybody so young could be sent out, with the rest of their company, who like them are so young, on what was surely a suicide mission. Sent out to fight or die.

    He still thinks about the other six, though he doesn’t mention any of them to Ashi, who in turn doesn’t mention them to him. Though the cruel shape of anger that used to blind him is gone, he still thinks about what he had said. What he had did. They were real flesh and blood, real humans, just as much as he or Ashi were, and one after another he’d taken each of their lives. More than once now he’s closed his eyes and felt his hand swing the knife, cut through the flesh of the neck. Seen the girl laying down dead, her face so much like Ashi’s.

    He wants to tell himself that it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault, and he didn’t know (though that only excuses the first one, if he can call it that). It’s not his fault and if he had yielded, he would have been killed. He still has to complete his quest, especially when now, for the first time in so long, it seems to finally be within reach again. He cannot let his home and his family die.

    He does, still, experience such horrible visions of his past. Some are still gruesome, but ever since his encounter with the Gods, they are less frequent, a little more manageable. Having company serves to distract him, Ashi’s curiosity about the world is obvious- almost insatiable- particularly whenever they leave less densely-populated cities and living complexes and come across jungles, forests, even deserts. She asks him more about his stories, wanting to know how everything is made; the sand, the sea, the sky above them with all the clouds, the different creatures around them. Some questions Jack can’t answer, but others he can seem to recall a story to satisfy her with. Some he’d even forgotten he had heard, put to pass them along, as his mother did, feels so natural.

    Through this time they have together, traveling along such a vast land together, this is where he realizes what’s bothered him about Ashi. She is so curious, to the point of being almost clueless. He remembers her trying to tell him Aku had made the stars, that he must’ve been the only one to shape the world into its untainted beauty. The way she’d spoken of it too, swinging from that tree branch, You will die and Aku will sing , Jack had never heard of the demon spoken in such a way. In all the time he’d been in this strange future, both enemies and allies had different ways of looking at him; there was obviously the more rebellious, dedicated to being a thorn in his side at least, and then there were those afraid of him- beaten into submission by such fear. There were those who wanted to believe in the empty promises he made, and then there were those who just wanted his money. And then of course there were the minions he had created, either built of his own evil or engineered around it. But what Ashi spoke of was none of this- it was reverence. Blind, almost infallible reverence, and that was something he had not seen before.

    And all of this made him realize that Ashi was possibly even more alone than he had been, left out in such a confusing, chaotic world with nothing. It made him realize what she needed was a mentor and a friend.

* * *

    They’re in the desert together, sun beating down, when Ashi turns to talk to him suddenly.

    “Jack,” She says, cautiously. “Can I ask you something?”

    “Of course, what is it?”

    He can tell something heavy is weighing on her mind, the way she almost doesn’t quite look at him, fingers absently shifting through the sand. “Your journey, your… mission… you’ve met a lot of people. You’ve helped them.”

    Jack nods. “Yes.”

    “Did you ever meet anybody who seemed like… like they were beyond saving?”

    It’s clear she is supposed to be the hypothetical lost cause in this question, and Jack wonders how long this must have been troubling her. He feels slightly negligent for not noticing earlier, so preoccupied with regaining his sword, continuing his quest, he had not considered his traveling companion. “There are few truly beyond saving, Ashi. I have met men- even ferocious monsters- who had realized the errors of their ways and tried to make amends.”

    She nods, but does not seem entirely convinced. Jack hesitates, but then moves to put his hand on her shoulder, continues, “I told you that the sword left me because I had lost my way. I let my anger and my hopelessness blind me, and I lost sight of my mission- and the decisions I made caused me to stray from the path I needed to follow.” She turns to face him now- a good sign- and Jack tries to smile in an effort to encourage her. “It is never too late to choose your own path, Ashi. What matters now is what you choose to do next.”

    Ashi smiles back at him, small and just a little bit uncertain, but it seems like she’s allowed his words to be taken somewhat to heart. She opens her mouth to say something when a harsh gust of wind blows sand all around them, causing her to cough. Both of them quickly rise to their feet, trying to shield their mouths and eyes from the onslaught of sand. Jack tries to yell over the noise, suggesting they find shelter, and it seems they’re both on the same train of thought. Far in the distance, there is a great black shape that can be made out behind the cloud of sand. Both move towards it in hope of cover.

* * *

    Suddenly, thankfully, Jack can breathe. He tries to hoist himself up as the shrivelled bodies of the dead creatures fall off him, into the charred pile of the rest of the little monsters that had engulfed him and Ashi moments before. Jack drops the disc of the weapon he’d finally managed to activate and focuses on breathing, in and out, and looks to see if Ashi is alright. She’s not on her feet yet, but she’s clearly conscious and breathing, and doesn’t seem gravely injured from what he can tell. Both of them are dirty, with holes in their clothing, but alive.

    “Ashi,” Jack goes over to her, tries to help her up slowly. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

    She nods, and slowly but surely gets to her feet. Both of them are still breathing fairly hard, simply looking at each other. Ashi makes a bizarre noise, something like a halted sigh, or a snort, and then all of a sudden she starts to laugh. Not with any spite or bitterness; just a fully-belly laugh, that makes her shake so much she nearly falls over again. Jack for one moment is worried she still might be poisoned, but after a moment it dies down to a few sporadic bursts of laughter.

    “I can’t believe you almost died again ,” She says. “At the last minute! Does this happen to you every day?”

    “No.” He says, and then thinking on it, corrects, “Maybe.” He can’t help but smile as she laughs again.

    “You smell terrible,” She makes a point to sniff the air, and then immediately plugs her nose, face the picture of regret. “Oh- So do I.”

    “I think we have both deserved a bath,” He says, letting go now that he’s sure she’s fine. “But perhaps… you should look for new clothes. I don’t think I can mend leaves very well.”

    She looks down at herself, grimacing at what’s become of her dress, and nods. Both of them agree to meet outside, at the back of the prison, and camp for the night. Jack picks a leech out of his gi and searches for the exit.