#ill decide in a few days time if this overstays its welcome

[toshitophchan]

Roddacember 2023 Day 1 | Your Favourite Character

Ah, the holy trio of male Rodda protags who I relate way too hard to

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds

Dukeceit Week Day 3: Snakes/Bugs

Remus and Janus break up. But literally everyone knows that's not what they want. Everyone, including their plants.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 4337

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

Unknown Number

hey so i kno i said i wouldnt text u but rupert isnt doin good. can i bring him back? he misses u

Janus stared at the text for several minutes. Rupert was, of course, the Monstera Variegata that he and Remus had raised together all the way from propagation. It had been one of the pride and joys of their plant collection. Losing Rupert in the split had hurt almost as much as losing Remus.

...Almost. 

Janus

Is it getting enough light? Remember it needed the grow light even next to the window. 

Janus texted back against his better judgement. He and Remus were broken up. They’d agreed not to text for a while. They’d agreed to give each other space, get used to being apart. 

It sucked, though. The apartment felt empty without Remus and half their plant collection.

Unknown Number

ya i kno. but i don’t have any south facign windows here. our place is better

Unknown Number

i mean ur place

Janus sighed morosely. Well, if it was for Rupert…

Janus

Fine. Rupert can come back.

Unknown Number

yay! ill be in town this weekend. ill bring him ok?

Janus

Ok.

And then Janus promptly threw his phone across the room.

Because here’s the thing. Janus and Remus were broken up. Remus had moved eight hours away and everything. He’d been accepted into the Nuclear Engineering graduate program a state away, and they had both heard too many horror stories about long-distance relationships to brother trying. So they’d had a very civil and mutual split. Janus kept the apartment. Remus took the TV. And they’d divided their plant family between them: they each kept their favorites, and Remus had taken the hardier plants, while Janus kept the ones that were likely not to survive an interstate move.

And then… Remus left.

And Janus had not immediately wanted him back. Not at all.

(And, of course, Janus was lying to himself.)

Remus texted him Saturday morning that he was on his way, and Janus spent the first few hours of the wait stress-cleaning. He then checked on every single plant in the apartment. Watered the ones that needed it. Rotated some of the more vivacious growers so that they wouldn’t lean full-body toward their light source. Moved his small army of Sansevierias out to the apartment balcony for some extra sun.   

Then, when all that still failed to fill up the entire eight hours of waiting, he started stress-cooking. So by the time Remus texted that he’d just gotten off the highway, Janus had himself a pot of minestrone soup simmering on the stove, a tray of made-from-scratch lasagna in the oven, and was mixing up a batch of double chocolate chip cookies. 

There was no way he was going to eat all this food himself, he realized. He was so used to booking big meals like this, because Remus ate like he was three people. And lasagna was his favorite.

“Oh, Jake, what am I doing?” he groaned to the N’Joy Pothos that cascaded down the side of the refrigerator. And then his doorbell rang. 

Janus opened the door to find Remus, dancing awkwardly from foot to foot, with his face half-hidden behind the green-and-white leaves of Rupert. 

“...Hey,” Remus said, sounding sheepish. Janus’ heart clenched.

“Hi,” he said. They stood there in the doorway for a full minute before Janus stepped back and motioned for Remus to follow. Remus hesitated, but obeyed. 

“Uh… I’ll just…” Remus looked around. Janus hated how uncomfortable he looked. Until about two weeks ago, this had been Remus’ apartment, too. “Can I put him in his old spot?”

“Sure,” Janus replied with a nod. Rupert’s old spot had been in the bedroom, where the big, beautiful south-facing window let in a ton of light. He’d moved Venus de Milos, his Marble Queen Pothos, and La Hoya Jackson, the finicky Hoya Carnosa that Remus had wanted but didn’t expect to make the 8-hour drive without going into shock, to free up Rupert’s spot. Remus hesitated again, before he nodded awkwardly and wandered off to the bedroom, all three feet of plant and two gallons of soil in tow. Janus went to the oven and took out the lasagna. 

“Howl looks good,” Remus said when he came back into the kitchen. Janus glanced up from where he was laying balls of cookie dough out onto baking sheets. 

“Thank you,” he replied. Howl was their dramatic fiddle leaf fig tree, which had decided to throw a fit just before Remus left. “I switched it to a terracotta pot with peat moss and pearlite, and doubled its water intake. It seems to be tolerating it well.”

“Good.” There was a long pause. Then,” How are you?”

Janus looked back to the cookies. “I’m doing well,” he lied. “And you? Do you start class soon?”

“Next week,” Remus answered. “And, uh. Yeah, I’m doin’ good.” Another long pause. “Uh… I’ll just. Head out, I guess.”

“You could stay,” Janus blurted out. Shit. “For dinner, I mean.” He gestured to the tray of lasagna, fresh from the oven. “If you want.”

Remus gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile, then nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything, though, so Janus just gestured for him to take a seat at the table. And then he joined him, a plate of lasagna for each of them.

“So tell me, how’s living with Roman again?” Janus asked, a few bites into the meal, because he could not take the awkward silence a moment longer.

“It’s ok,” Remus answered. He shoveled another forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good, Jan.”

Janus smiled softly. “Thank you.” A pause. “Roman doesn’t mind all the plants?”

“Nah, he’s dating this guy Patton who apparently loves plants, so the apartment being full of houseplants is a huge plus to him now.”

“Good for him.” The oven timer went off, startling him slightly. He started to get up, but Remus waved him off.

“I got ‘em, you did all the cooking.”

Janus didn’t protest. Remus got up and took the cookies out of the oven. And he even moved them to a cooling rack like Janus had taught him to do. He came back to the table. 

“How’s work?”

Janus sighed. “Oh, terrible as always,” he answered. “I really must start looking for a new job.”

“Finally getting fed up?” Remus teased. Janus rolled his eyes. More seriously, Remus continued, “You deserve better, Jan. You gotta find some place that treats you right and pays you what you’re worth.”

“Thank you, Remus.”

“And hey, just sayin’, I still think you’d make an excellent stripper.”

Janus snorted at that. “I haven’t fully ruled out that particular career change.”

They fell easily back into their usual banter, lingering late into the night over a dessert of milk and cookies. It was pushing 10pm when Remus glanced at his phone and cursed softly. Janus glanced at his phone as well.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late,” he said. Remus shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cool. Thanks for dinner, Jan. It was real good, as always.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh… well, the plan was to stay with Logan, but I guess he had some kind of family emergency, so I don’t wanna trouble him. I’ll probably see if I can find a hotel room.”

Janus’ brow furrowed at that. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t wanna trouble you. I kinda feel like I already overstayed my welcome a bit?”

“Nonsense. A hotel room will cost you at least $100 for the night, and that’s simply ridiculous,” Janus insisted. “You should just stay here.”

Remus worried at his lip, which Janus knew meant he was mulling over his options. Then, he nodded. “If it’s not a bother?”

“Of course not. You’re not a bother, Remus.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and he smiled. “Ok. Thank you. Oh… lemmie go get my overnight back outta my truck.”

When Remus came back inside, Janus had just about finished making up the couch. 

“Hey, you don’t gotta get all fancy,” Remus teased. “You know I can sleep basically anywhere.”

“This is for me,” Janus replied. He fluffed up one of the pillows a bit more. “You take the bed.”

An odd look flashed across Remus’ face. “No way, Jan. I’m good on the couch.”

“Remus, you just drove eight hours, and you’re doing it again tomorrow. I am not letting you fuck up your back.”

‘I don’t-”

“Yes you do, no matter how often you say you can sleep anywhere,” Janus scoffed. “You can’t lie to me.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and after a moment, he sighed. “Ok, Jan. But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You hate sleeping on couches.”

“It’s only one night-”

“And don’t you work tomorrow?”

“Yes, but-”

“You’re going to be so grumpy at work without a proper night’s sleep.”

“I’m usually grumpy at work anyway,” Janus pointed out. Remus snorted.

“Ok, that’s true. But I don’t want you to be even grumpier,” he said. “Let’s just share the bed.”

Janus eyed him for a moment. This was a terrible idea. They should not do this.

“Ok,” Janus said anyway.

They got ready for bed in awkward silence, which just made Janus miss Remus’ long, rambling chatter that much more. When Janus finished in the bathroom, he found Remus sitting gingerly on what used to be his side of the bed. Janus came over and sat down on the other side.

“Hey, uh… thanks,” Remus said. “For lettin’ me stay.”

“Of course,” Janus answered. “I… I still think of you as a friend, Remus.”

At that. Remus grimaced slightly. He didn’t say anything, seeming unable to find the right words. Before he could, Janus pulled back the top blankets on the bed and laid down. After a moment, Remus did the same.

“Good night, Remus,” Janus said quietly.

“...Good night, Janus,” Remus answered. Then he reached over and shut off the light.

-

Remus played that night over and over in his head in the days after he got home, and each and every time, he was just as stumped. 

He knew, in his brain, why he and Janus had broken up. It had been the only thing that made sense at the time, when the facts were just that Remus was moving away to pursue a lifelong dream, and Janus would never ever try to stop him from doing so. So they broke up. It made sense… right? 

But… That morning, he’d woken up to Janus curled up in his arms, face smushed against Remus’ neck, and… Remus had completely forgotten why they had even broken up in the first place.

Remus was back at Roman’s apartment, now. Eight hours away in his own cold bed, arms empty of the man he loved, just staring at the ceiling. A sharp knock on his door snapped him out of his daze.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Roman called. “Don’t you have class in like an hour?”

“Fuck!” Remus scrambled to get up, but succeeded only in rolling out of the bed.

“Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave,” Roman added. Clearly he was unconcerned by the loud “thump” of a body hitting the floor. 

“Yup, got it,” Remus groaned in reply. He staggered, successfully this time, to his feet. 

Getting dressed was a rushed affair of ‘grab whatever’s closest,’ and soon he emerged from the bedroom with one shoe on, the other in his hand, and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He rushed into the kitchen to grab the travel mug of coffee Janus always set out for him in the mornings. And then the realization hit: Janus didn’t live here.

Remus dropped his shoe. 

The rest of the day went about as well as it could have gone without any coffee- that is to say, terribly. He got lost trying to get to campus, then he got lost again trying to get to class. Then he got stuck in traffic on the way back to Roman’s apartment. And then, to top it all off, the grocery store had been out of his favorite chips. 

So here he was, mopey and chip-less, and fucking exhausted. He dumped his backpack and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Roman, who happened to be sitting on said couch, made a noise of protest.

“Move, I need to sulk,” Remus mumbled, though his voice was thoroughly muffled by Roman’s thigh, since that was where his face had landed. 

“What on earth do you need to sulk for?” Roman asked incredulously. He moved to shove Remus off of him, but Remus went full ragdoll, and Roman couldn’t do a damn thing. “You are a grown man, you know.”

Remus turned his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Roman. Roman stuck his tongue out back.

“I had a terrible day, I earned a good sulk.”

“Didn’t like your classes?”

“Nah, they were great.”

“Professors?”

“Great.”

“Classmates?”

“Great.”

“Then Zeus Almighty, what are you so mopey-dopey about?” Roman remanded.

Remus squirmed around so he was laying on his back, head still in Roman’s lap, to look up at his brother. “So… uh… you promise not to get all, like. I told you so and shit?” 

“You miss Janus!”

“No! I-”

“You do!” Roman crowed triumphantly. Remus rolled onto his side so he didn’t have to look at his brother’s dumb gloaty face.

“...Maybe,” he groaned. Abruptly, he clamored to his feet and started for the stairs. “I gotta go build a chair.”

“Carpentry won’t solve your relationship problems,” Roman called after him.

“I know,” Remus called back. “Wrong type of wood.” If Roman had a response to that, Remus was already out the door and didn’t have to hear it. 

Patton found him out in front of the apartment building some time later, a jigsaw in hand, and a pile of cut wooden dowels at his feet.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you up to?”

Remus looked up from where he was balancing a plank of wood precariously across a milk crate, because his work table was one of the things he’d had to leave behind at Janus’ place.

“Oh, hey. Ro-bro’s upstairs.”

Patton gave him the sort of smile teachers gave to the kid they caught eating glue for the fourth time. “That doesn’t look super safe. Do you want any help?”

Remus took in Patton’s soft blue sweater and the dad-jeans from the nicer end of his closet, as well as the reusable grocery store bag that smelled suspiciously like some kind of lovely home-cooked meal; he shook his head. “You look dressed for a date night,” he said. “I don’t wanna fuck up two relationships this week.”

Patton’s eyes, impossibly, got even bigger and softer than they normally were, which honestly was quite the feat. He walked over to the stairs but, instead of making his way up to Roman’s apartment, he plopped down on the third step, facing Remus. Remus stared, bewildered.

“Uh, what’chu doin’ there, pops?”

“Well, it just sounded like you needed to talk,” Patton replied cheerfully. “So here I am.”

Remus stared a moment longer, somehow even more bewildered than before. “Uh…”

“I know I haven’t known you very long,” Patton continued. “But something tells me you’re the type of person who busts out the power tools when you’re upset.”

“How the hell can you tell that?”

Patton glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward slightly. “Because,” he said, voice lowered conspiratorially. “I’m like that too.”

Remus blinked. “You?”

“Yup! I replaced all the tables and chairs in my house with ones I made myself after my last breakup,” Patton giggled. “Only two of them collapsed when I sat in them, too!”

Remus glanced down at the jigsaw in his hands, and then he sighed. He set it down, and went to sit next to Patton on the steps. 

“Ok, well. Yeah, maybe I’m kinda upset.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah? No? Maybe?”

“Yup, those are your three options!” Patton teased. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ok, fine. You win, daddy-o. I’m upset because I miss my boyfriend. Or, well, my ex-boyfriend. I want him to be my boyfriend again.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not,” Remus whined.

“Why not?”

“Because… I mean. It wouldn’t change anything. I still moved away. And I don’t even know if he’d want to be my boyfriend again either. Maybe he’s happier now.”

“You don’t know that,” Patton said gently. “Sure, maybe the circumstances aren’t the best right now, but if you both want it, things have a funny way of working out. But you have to talk to him.”

“I…” Remus paused. And then he sighed deeply. “I guess you’re right. Hey thanks, that did actually sorta help.”

Patton offered him a gentle smile. “Of course, Remus! Any time!”

“Hey!”

They both turned to see Roman standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.

“My own brother, hogging my boyfriend like this! The betrayal-”

“Relax, Ro, he’s not my type,” Remus shot back. “I prefer sarcastic little menaces.”

Patton giggled at that. He stood up and patted Remus on the shoulder. “I hope things work out,” he said. Remus smiled back.

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

Really, he just wanted Janus to be happy. Ideally with him, but if Janus was happier without him, well… so be it. 

- - -

Janus was miserable. 

“Dude, c’mon,” Virgil grumbled, immediately upon seeing the state of the apartment. “You’ve been watering your plants and filling the humidifiers, but you can’t be bothered to throw out your gross pizza boxes?” A pause. “Wait, you don’t even like pizza, what the hell.”

Janus just shrugged. After letting Virgil and Logan into the apartment, he’d gone straight back into blanket-burrito-on-the-couch mode. And really, he’d only bothered to get up and let them inside in the first place because Virgil had threatened to axe down the door- and Janus knew for a fact that Virgil owned multiple axes. 

“I believe he is engaging in what is described as ‘emotional eating,’ or using food as a coping mechanism in a time of stress and emotional turmoil,” Logan said helpfully. Virgil just huffed.

“That’s fine and all, but Jesus Christ, dude.” He gestured around the livingroom where… ok, yeah, it was a mess.

“Did you two come here just to insult me?” Janus grumbled. His face was half-mashed into a pillow, though, so who knows how much of that was actually discernible.

“We came to make sure you were still alive,” Virgil snapped, indicating that at least most of what Janus had said was discernible. “You weren’t answering any texts.”

“Yes, and you called out of work three days in a row,” Logan added. “We are concerned for you, Janus.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Janus lied from the comfort of his depression blanket burrito. He was not particularly surprised when neither Virgil or Logan looked even remotely convinced.

“Alright, drastic measure time,” Virgil growled. He walked over to the window, and picked up the young Burgundy Rubber Tree Janus had yet to name. Janus sat bolt upright. 

“Virgil? Don’t you dare-”

Virgil walked past him and vanished down the hall. When he came back, his hands were empty, and he had a smirk on his face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Janus hissed. He dragged himself up off the couch to go rescue the poor thing, finding it stashed in the dark, windowless bathroom. When he came back to the livingroom, Virgil and Logan were sprawled across the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Janus set the rubber tree back on the windowsill alongside the Snake Plant Army. “Ok, I’m up. Are you heathens happy now?”

“I take offense to that,” Logan muttered, while Virgil just crossed his arms and said, curtly, “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset-”

“Falsehood,” Logan interrupted. “I have known you since high school, Janus, and I have never seen you like this before. It is highly alarming.”

“Is this about Remus?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Janus said immediately. “Of course not.”

Virgil and Logan exchanged a Look. Janus groaned.

“Fuck. Ok, fine. Maybe it is.”

“Was that so hard?” Virgil asked. 

“Yes.”

“You-”

“Janus,” Logan interrupted Virgil’s retort. “It is my understanding that emotional distress is often alleviated through, as they say, ‘talking it out.’ It is clear you are not handling the break-up as well as you initially believed-”

“Of course I’m not!” Janus snapped. He took a deep breath, and turned back to the plants on his windowsill. Kaa, the Sansevieria Moonshine Remus had gotten for Janus as an anniversary present last year, was already leaning slightly toward the window again. He rotated it, and a few of the other snake plants on the sill. And then he realized the others had been quiet for far too long. He turned to find them both watching him with sympathetic expressions. “What?”

“Keep going,” Virgil prompted. Janus sighed. He felt exhausted.

“Of course I’m not,” he said again. “Because I love Remus.”

“And?” Virgil prompted.

“...And I didn’t want us to break up,” he finished, feeling glum. Wordlessly, Virgil stood up, and approached Janus, arms out. Janus stepped into the embrace. Nobody said anything; Janus didn’t cry, but he stood there for a long time. Then, he stepped back.

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. Virgil gave him a small smile. Logan cocked his head, seeming confused.

“I don’t understand. You just… needed a hug?”

“Hugs are great, Logan,” Virgil replied. “You should try them sometime- hey, where are you going?”

Janus strode past them both, beelining for his bedroom to find his laptop. Over his shoulder, he answered, “To fill out some job applications.”

- - -

Remus was outside building a new bookshelf- because Patton was moving in, and Roman's teenie-tiny sad little excuse for a bookshelf, which held only Disney DVDs and no actual books, wouldn’t suffice for all of Patton’s cookbooks- when his phone rang. Which was weird, because nobody ever called him, because he never fucking answered.

“Not interested, Mr. Spam Man,” he crooned over the sound of the generic iPhone ringtone. He was learning how to do kerf bending for this bookcase, and goddamn it he wasn’t going to be distracted by-

His phone started ringing again. He swore and ripped off his gloves to silence his phone. But as he did so, he realized the number flashing across his screen was a familiar one. 

“Janus? Are you ok?” he answered the call, half panicked, because Janus hated phone calls almost as much as he did.

“Hi. Yes, everything’s fine.” Janus sounded slightly hysterical, which made Remus feel even more frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Roman’s. Are you sure you’re ok-”

“Great, don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”

“What does that mean-” Remus demanded, but the line was already dead. Remus swore again. He briefly considered calling him back, because what the actual fuck was that all about, but he was only about 30 seconds into that brief consideration before a familiar car tearing through the apartment complex parking lot caught his attention. He quickly brushed as much of the sawdust off his clothes as he could because holy shit Janus had just parked right there in front of Roman’s apartment.

Remus watched, dumbfounded, as Janus scrambled out of his car- dressed in his very nice black suit and pale yellow button-up- and came running across the lawn toward where Remus was working. He had a tiny plant clutched to his chest.

“Uh, Jan, you good?” Remus asked. Janus stopped in front of him and doubled over, breathless, for a few moments. Then, he straightened up, and fixed Remus with a look of sheer determination.

“Remus. I want to get back together.”

Remus’ heart, the traitorous bastard, leaped up into his throat and blocked all his words from coming out. 

“It’s… it’s ok if you don’t want that,” Janus continued. His look of determination faltered slightly. “It’s ok. But I needed to tell you. Because I love you, so much. And I… I didn’t want you to think I didn’t, even if you don't-”

Remus found his words abruptly. “Jan, fuck! I do! I do love you. I never stopped loving you. All I want is to be with you.”

Janus’ eyes softened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Good, because I’ve just been offered a job here.”

Remus choked. Janus was eyeing him smugly. “You. Just like that, you got a job here?”

“Just like that,” Janus grinned. “I just came from the interview. They offered me a position on the spot.”

Remus couldn't help himself any longer. He lurched forward and pulled Janus tightly into his arms.

“Hey, be careful,” Janus said, though he made absolutely no effort to get out of Remus’ embrace. “You’ll crush our new son.”

Remus pulled back just enough to look at the small plant Janus held in his hands, and only then did his brain register what it was. 

“Is! Is that-”

“Yes,” Janus replied, holding up the tiny Drosera Capensis seedling. Remus had wanted one of these for ages.

“For me?”

“Well, for us, ideally,” Janus answered, with a shy smile. “But, mostly for you, yes.”

Remus gently plucked the baby octopus plant- their new son!- from Janus’ hands, and placed it carefully on top of the milk crate that was serving as his carpentry workbench. Then, he hoisted Janus up off the ground and spun him around.

“Oh- Re-” Janus exclaimed, though he was laughing. “Put me down!”

“No!” Remus trilled. He spun Janus around once more. Then he just stood there, holding Janus, gazing up at him. Janus’ eyes grew soft. Slowly, he carded his fingers through Remus’ hair.

“Hey,” Janus said.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Remus set Janus down, but kept his arms still wrapped tightly around him. His heart felt warm.

“Hey.”

Janus looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.” 

[jeagerism]

i think im lost again

+ word count : honestly idek, ill take a guess at maybe nearly 700-800?

+ characters : levi ackerman, armin arlert, mentions of eruri and eremin (armin and levi r not shipped fuck out of here)

+ warnings : season 3 attack on titan spoilers, mentions of death, modern!au, levi is basically a dad without being a dad (does that make him a dilf??), angst i suppose

+ summary : erwin was always good at this, levi thinks. people stuck to him like glue.

+ author's note : this is just a personal modern!au headcanon that i ranted to a friend abt and decided to make it full out

in modern aus i see eren as looking up to levi, bc he ooks up to him in the manga in some ways, levi cares abt his wellbeing n shit

well armin, since he was chosen to live over erwin, he'd look up to erwin in a modern au

and when erwin dies in that au bc ofc he has to die, armin is still a teenager.

i like to think that they all lived in the same town as kids, and erwin always looked out for armin since he had no one else other than his friends. 

he basically lets armin live with him when he's not with eren, who also has no family and sort of couch surfs between jean and sasha - sasha's dad loves eren for whatever reason so he stays there a lot, and welcomes armin and mikasa with him - and so erwin and armin r close

and levi is always around, so he sees armin a lot, even if he takes care of eren more - he lets eren stay at is house on nights when he feels like hes overstayed his welcome at sasha’s.

but levi still cares abt armin bc he sees how erwin cares abt armin and levi is in love with the blond facebook dad

but erwin died when armin is like 15, so he still needs someone to look out for him

and erwin asks levi to do that, bc he trusts him and knows levi would take care of him just like he had  

anyways, he asks levi to take care of him and levi does

but armin is a 15 yr old who just lost yet another person who cares abt him 

and even tho hes grateful that levi cares for him, he misses erwin so much. 

he acts out bc of it bc hes a kid going through trauma and its what kids do. he starts acting even worse than eren and eren is a fucking demon spawn

armin and eren share a room, even tho levi had two empty rooms so they could have their own, and eren has stuff in the other room but armin doesn’t like the dark so eren stays there with him.

and levi isn’t really good at taking care of kids in the traditional way. 

he wakes them up every weekday for school by telling them he'll kick their ass if he has to take them himself - but he'll still drive them when it rains or its cold  

he doesnt really know how to cook bc erwin always did that, but his notes app is full of recipes erwin always recommended that were easy to follow bc he was always worried that levi always ate too much cold leftovers from days before and noodles

armin knows hot to cook pretty well bc erwin taught him but he enjoys laughing at levi failing at cooking simple shit - he burned water somehow

but levi still tries so its fine

he tries letting armin know hes welcome, and that he can ask for whatever he needs

he'll leave him lunch money on the counter

and when he notices armins jackets getting a little too short around the wrist he drops a new one by his lap when he sits on the couch

he pulls the blanket all the way to his chin if he falls asleep on the couch.

he'll mention he's going to get a haircut when he notices armin's hair getting longer, and says he can go with him if he wants

but armin still acts so off. 

before erwin was gone, armin always acted happy, even though he never had much, and levi feels guilty knowing he cant do what erwin did for him, but he's doing this for erwin, and knows erwin wouldnt have put armin in his care in the first place if he didn’t trust him

i see taking care of armin as the task that keeps levi going, just like how killing zeke is what keeps him alive in the anime.

both promises he makes to erwin and wont give up on until he’s fulfilled it

but one day armin just disappears. he doesnt come back after school with eren like usual. so he and levi try calling him and get nothing. eren offers to go look for him and levi tells him to stay safe n waits back home to see if armin will show up there

and he does like 5 mins after eren leaves. 

and levi feels his chest just deflate with relief. it was cold outside, and armin was out there alone. 

his cheeks and nose r red from being outside for so long

when levi asks where he's been, it comes out harsher than he meant, but its just bc he was worried, and armin rolls his eyes and asks why it matters

levi tells him its bc he's a kid and doesnt get to just disappear without a trace whenever he wants. levi never minded armin doing whatever he wanted - within regulation - but most times he knew eren was with him, or mikasa, someone who would call him if something happened

and armin says “you're not my father.” and starts taking off his jacket and stuff

“yeah, but i am the person who's taking care of your ass.”

and that seems to make armin a little more ticked off than he already was, bc he turns to levi and says, “well i never asked you to do that.”

to which levi replies without thinking, “no but erwin did”

levi and armin never talk abt erwin, ever.

its like an unspoken rule between them. its not that they arent as comfortable with each other - they arent anyways but - they just dont do that, talk abt how they feel abt erwin, and him being gone

armin looks like hes gonna cry before he just says “well i wish it was erwin that was still here instead of you”

ALMOST AS IF HES SAYING HE WISHED IT WAS LEVI THAT DIED INSTEADDD

and levi is suprised that armin would ever, it hurts a little, and he just nods in agreement and says “me too.”

armin doesnt say anything back to it, he just turns and makes his way to his room, slamming the door behind him

and levi is exhausted. in his head he wonders how erwin had done it - balanced college and a job and a fucking teenager 

but then he remembers that erwin was erwin, and hed always been good at that type of thing

people stuck to him like glue

thats the first night he lets himself admit that he misses him

he feels like he’s failing at the one thing erwin asked of him

when eren shows back up, levi apologizes for not letting him know that armin had came back

but eren just tells him that armin had texted him when he’d arrived - i have a hc that eren and armin were each others first crushes but uhebdbsi

he tells levi that armin had said hed went to the beach

erwin used to take armin to the beach all the time before he died

he’d collect shells with him, and the ones that armin really liked, he’d give them names

he still has one called smith from the last time erwin had taken him to see the ocean

a few weeks go by after that

they never really talked before, but now it seems almost even worse

the silence that they normally exist in feels empty

but everything felt empty without erwin

eren lets levi know where theyre going to be whenever theyre not home, when theyll be home, etc

levi never asked for him to do that, but he does it anyways

levi’s thankful for the near suicidal maniac at that point

even though he always was

he saw a lot of himself in eren, and he sees a lot of himself in armin too

levi and armin never really apologize to each other, but one night when levi’s attempting to cook, armin walks in the kitchen and watches him place things on a pan

“you’re putting them too close together.”

armin steps beside him and tilts his head to the side, as if hes gesturing for levi to move

and he does, letting the younger and taller boy move the prerolled croissants further away from each other on the baking tray

“they never wouldve cooked all the way through like that,” armin tells him

with a scoff, levi mumbles that he sounds like erwin

armin pauses for a second, before sliding the pan in the oven. levi tells him how long the packaging said they went on so that he can set the oven timer

armin sets it for two minutes longer, and levi’s heart aches

erwin did that, too

“i miss him”

it slips out without him meaning for it to

and he thinks he’s ruined armin’s head again, when he’s supposed to be someone this kid can look up to

but he doesnt leave

armin just leans against the oven and nods “me, too”

after that, things arent bad anymore

sure, it takes awhile for them to completely warm up to each other, but they manage

enough that armin sits in on levi’s cooking sessions just to point out what hes doing wrong - something that helps, bc pretty soon levi is learning

he cooks him, armin, and eren an entire meal without burning anything

eren laughs when armin tells him that the man had forgotten to grab an oven mit and had stuck his entire hand in the oven to grab a pan

levi raises his eyebrow when he notices the way armin blushes at eren’s laugh, of all things

and they talk abt erwin more

they have more to say about him that eren, and its just something the two of them share, so they tend to save it for little moments, tiny snippets of things that remind them of the blond

after about a year, things are good

armin asks to have his 17th birthday at the beach, and who would levi be to say no

levi doesnt particularly like the beach, he detests sand, but its for armin, so he’ll do it

its for his kid

him and erwins kid

at the party, he finds a smile coming to his face when he sees armin actually laughing and having fun

kid had been through too much hell at 17, so he deserved to be happy, even if it was only for a few moments

on their way home that evening, eren and armin passed out from a day of swimming and running on the beach - levi made the both of them bring extra towels to save his car seats from salt water and sand

eren’s head is on armin’s shoulder, and the blond’s is resting atop eren’s head

when they get home, the two of them trudge towards their room, but armin turns and holds his closed fist out to levi

with a raised eyebrow, levi holds his hand out and lets armin drop something into his hand, before the boy pivots and continues his shuffle to his and eren’s shared room

levi glances down at the object in his hand

its a shell

armin names it erwin

[brick-boat-blog]

Failsafe

Summary:  It could never hurt to be too prepared.

Word Count: 5.4k

FF.net: Here

AO3: Here

A/N: Not that it's TOO important to the story but this takes place before the Yakuza arc. It also takes place after Perception, but if you read this on it's own you won't be missing anything.

There was no time like the present.

A thousand unforeseen circumstances could interrupt at a future time. A lull in the looming chaos was be the best time to proceed. It would be foolish not to take the opportunity while he still had the ability to do so.

Tokoyami stood alone in front of his classmate's door. The hallway was quiet and empty. The set of windows across the atrium revealed no figures as well. Everyone had finished their baths: Those who wished to socialize returned to the ground floor. Those who had other business to take care of remained in their rooms. It was a small stretch of time that would allow him to complete his task undisturbed. And the serenity allowed him to steel himself for what was to come.

He and Aoyama needed to talk.

The matter was not urgent – in fact, it concerned an event unlikely to ever pass for the remainder of the school year. Barring certain bunkers, prisons, and government facilities, U.A. was one of the most secure locations in all of Japan; which meant nothing short of every unlucky star aligning at once would trigger an accident to cause it.

But while time was not of the essence, sooner was always better than later. And with how the rest of this school year had fared, it would be prudent not to risk it.

There was no particular reason to choose this day over any other. He merely decided it was time following a string of weeks where he did nothing but stew on potential directions this discussion could potentially take. The two of them were not particularly close, so he could only infer: Ideally, Aoyama would be perfectly understanding, and would agree with his line of reasoning. Reluctance followed by some kind of compromise would also be favorable. But there was the possibility of trepidation at the potential worst-case scenario. And the possibility of anger, or even disgust at the thought of being asked to do that. And even worse would be the assumption that Tokoyami was disturbed and a danger to himself and others; and then telling a teacher or other member of the school staff that he needed professional help; all while ignoring that there were much more important things at risk here than Tokoyami's mental state.

But whatever Aoyama's reaction might be, Tokoyami could not in good conscience give him this kind of proffer while around others with whom it did not concern.

The most obvious reason was that very few of them could do anything should his worst fears become realized. He did not wish to throw anyone into a fit of anxiety. He did not wish to make them feel as if they had to walk on eggshells. Imprudent concern and sympathetic folderol would do little to alter that which had already been preordained. Terrible consequences often came with the best of intentions, and he desired not to burn the bridges he had endeavored to build over the course of the school year for something he could have easily prevented.

But it wasn't until Tokoyami looked for a time for the two of them to speak alone that he realized Aoyama rarely spent any time at all in the company of their peers. He would instead sequester himself in his room, to the point that he seemed to outright vanish outside of class-wide gatherings. Obviously he left for the day with the rest of their male peers after they finished the last of their classes; but then he would separate from the others the moment the entered their dormitory and head straight for the elevators – never accompanying any of the others.

That in itself was not odd – many of their peers would make a beeline for their rooms following their return. It was the fact that he never seemed to leave that was troubling.

There were a myriad of possible explanations for such behavior, but none Tokoyami could assume with with any kind of certainty. The two of them rarely exchanged words even in team exercises and he had no family members in the public eye (that he knew of, at least), so Tokoyami had no vantage point from which to draw his own conclusions with any reasonable amount of accuracy.

The initial impression that Tokoyami garnered during their first few months of the school year was that Aoyama was an eagerly social teenager with a predilection for adding to the conversations around him. And yet for the (admittedly brief) amount of time Tokoyami had passively observed him, Aoyama's interactions with the rest of the class never seemed to advance beyond superficial quips; which was a concerning contrast to his debonair demeanor. If their peers were making comments, he would slip in one of his own without drawing too much attention to himself (save for the times he played the part of the fool). If he was having trouble solving a problem, he would wait until someone else had one similar and join them, rather than seek assistance of his own accord. And though Tokoyami had seen him leave the room when it was time for lunch, he could not remember the last time he had seen Aoyama in the cafeteria with sitting with anyone else.

It was doubtful Aoyama would turn truculent at the mere mention of offering assistance (unlike some he knew), but Tokoyami knew it would behoove the both of them to save such a talk for later times, if at all.

And whatever the root of Aoyama's actions were, they had nothing to do with what Tokoyami wished to discuss. And continuing to tarry would accomplish nothing. It would only increases the chances of being seen – likely by Midoriya or Mineta as they returned to their respective rooms. Perhaps they would pay no heed to their classmate waiting outside another's door, but there would always be the chance that they would impose on a conversation meant for only two. Which would bring up its own set of complications.

It would be a lie for Tokoyami to say he felt no apprehension towards meeting in person, but a text message was not the medium to make a request so dire. There would be no incentive to make a response should he feel nervous. And a lack of closure could impede their future interactions, in class or otherwise. And there were no students he knew who held a close-enough relationship with Aoyama that he could request a message be passed along.

Therefore, he would have to do it himself.

And he would.

In 3...

2...

He released a long-held breath, and knocked on the door.

...

A moment passed in silence.

Then two.

Then a dozen more.

Odd, but it could take Aoyama time to finish whatever he was doing. It was unlikely he would be expecting visitors.

Tokoyami could wait.

...

...

Perhaps he should return at a later time. If Aoyama did not wish to speak, it would be incredibly ill-mannered to force him. Tokoyami could come back tomorrow and try again.

But he did not desire Aoyama to feel shunned, which was certainly possible should Aoyama find no one at the door when he opened it. One time would be easy to dismiss; but should this happen again, he could come to the conclusion that he was being mocked, which would further isolate him from the rest of the class. Tokoyami did not desire any ill will to fall towards him, imagined or otherwise.

So he would stay, for a little while longer at least.

And he was about to try knocking once more when the door finally creaked open, stopping halfway.

Aoyama stood in the open space. He wore a hesitant stare with his usual pyjamas. The expression lingered for a moment before breaking into his trademark smirk.

“Ah-! Good evening, Monsieur Tokoyami.”

The tone of his voice carried its usual pep. No other sounds came from inside the room. It seemed he was not preoccupied at the moment. Which was good. That meant he could continue.

Tokoyami returned the greeting.

“Good evening, Aoyama.”

Aoyama tilted his head and pressed a finger to his chin, previously apparent anxiety vestigial.

“What brings you to my door this fine evening?”

Tokoyami folded his arms.

“I'd like to have a word with you.”

Aoyama's smile wavered.

“Is... everything all right?”

...That was a rather ominous way of saying it, wasn't it. Alarming Aoyama was not his intent. It would be best to clarify what he meant in order to rectify the situation before it got out of hand.

“It is,” Tokoyami said, keeping his voice level. “I merely wish to ask a favor and discuss its conditions.”

Which seemed to be all it took. Aoyama paused, then swung the door fully open.

“Then please, entrez!” He stood to the side and flicked his wrist to usher Tokoyami in.

The coruscation had diminished significantly since their dorm room showcase. The disco ball on his table had been removed, instead replaced by a tray with an electric kettle, a sugar bowl, a batch of spoons, and a small stack of tawdry teacups with matching saucers next to it. Only a few of the many lamps were lit. The room more closely resembled that of an average teenager, disregarding certain items that would look out of place in almost any setting. (He still pondered the origin of that suit of armor. And also wondered where he could acquire one of his own.)

Aoyama shut the door behind them after he entered, then trotted over to the back portion of his room and pulled out the rolling chair from under the vanity – it's plain black simplicity stood out far more than any of the much more ornate decorations. He sent it to Tokoyami with a small push. Tokoyami caught it, and took the implicit invitation to sit down. Aoyama moved to sit across from him on the bed.

Then he grabbed the kettle and the top teacup off its stack.

“Would you like some tea?”

Tokoyami shook his head.

“It's quite alright. I would prefer not to overstay my welcome.”

He immediately realized his sentence could be construed as him wanting to leave as soon as possible. Though it certainly would be the most economical choice to make his request and excuse himself, he was not in any particular hurry to do so. Rather, he came to Aoyama's door unannounced; hospitality was the last thing expected (or deserved, for that matter).

Thankfully, Aoyama seemed to interpret Tokoyami's words in a much more positive light.

“Oh, non non non! It would be my pleasure!”

Well then, he had no reason to refuse.

“I would then, thank you.”

Aoyama poured a cup of tea and handed it on a saucer to Tokoyami, then took another for himself. A soothing, flowery aroma wafted around the room. It was quite pleasant.

He lifted the cup to his mouth, careful not to spill. He had long since become accustomed to normal mugs and glasses designed for the mouths of primates (though he still preferred straws), but the tapered lip of the teacup provided a small extra challenge: Not only was there a larger potential area for the liquid to leak, the porcelain rim was thin-enough to break on the hard keratin of his beak should he lose focus.

He took a small sip. The tea slid smooth down his throat.

Hm. Tasty.

Tokoyami was not well-versed when it came to particular types of tea, but he was pretty sure this was chamomile. There was a hint of lemon and honey, and it was sweet – just shy of cloying. Though he didn't mind that taste; he just knew he would have to brush his teeth once more when he returned to his room.

Aoyama nudged sugar bowl towards him.

“Cream or sugar?”

“No thank you. I'm fine.” He chose not to mention the absence of the former item, and instead chose to take another sip.

Aoyama retracted the bowl and poured a few spoonfuls of sugar into his own cup. Tokoyami wondered if he should be concerned.

They spent a few moments quiet, the only sound being from the clinking of Aoyama's spoon against porcelain. Aoyama took a sip, then brought the cup down to his knees.

“Now, I believe you have some business with moi?” The tone in Aoyama's voice was cordial, but he made no effort to establish eye contact; instead choosing to direct his gaze somewhere a few centimeters below Tokoyami's beak.

“Indeed.” Tokoyami nodded. “Though I would first like to discuss the nature of our quirks, if that would be alright.”

Aoyama tensed, but his smile didn't falter.

“Certainly. What about them?”

Tokoyami summoned Dark Shadow. The creature emerged from the portion of his shadow on the floor. He gestured towards it.

“I believe you are familiar with mine.”

“Monsieur Shadow.” Aoyama gave a small-but-unnecessarily-exaggerated bow, despite still being seated. Miraculously, none of his tea spilled with the motion.

“Good evening!” Dark Shadow chirped and returned the gesture. Others acknowledging its presence as a semi-sentient being was not common, much less speaking directly to it. As of that point in the school year, Kouda and Tsuyu were the only other ones to do so. Though he had a feeling that a few more of their classmates were beginning to catch on.

Aoyama brought a curved finger to his chin and his gaze turned up. It seemed as if remembered something.

“Oh! Actually- before we continue, may I ask something? I've been meaning to for quite some time now.”

There was nothing wrong with asking questions. Tokoyami was more than willing to clarify any uncertainties his classmate might have.

“Certainly. What is it?”

Aoyama pointed at Dark Shadow with his free hand.

“Can I pet him?”

…

…

What?

“Um...” That... was not a request he'd heard since his early years of elementary school. A fair number of children thought it akin to a dog when they first met it (often referring to it with person pronouns, like Aoyama just did), but most became frightened after seeing how powerful it was. By middle school, no one asked to see it at all.

The idea of possibly hurting someone else also didn't sit well with him, so he refrained letting it engage in physical contact that served no purpose.

That didn't mean it hadn't happened at all in recent times, of course. A few of the girls in their class had taken to patting it for a job well done without his permission. But that was also during broad daylight and Dark Shadow reveled in the praise. Now it was twilight, and he couldn't predict how his quirk would react without the sun to keep it at bay; even in a well-lit room such as this one.

Surely Aoyama would understand a polite refusal-

“Sure!”

Dark Shadow slithered under Aoyama's hand before Tokoyami could respond.

“Ah, merci!”

Dark Shadow why.

For his quirk to be touched like one would a docile animal was... an odd feeling, to say the least. Tokoyami was aware of the touch, but the sensation wasn't felt on his own physical form. And yet the fact that the pat was on its head (the part of its form that most consistently held its shape, regardless of the actions performed) made the sensation associate with his own. It wasn't unpleasant, per se. Just... strange.

But alright. Tokoyami wasn't going to scold him for it. It seemed unlikely now that Dark Shadow's behavior would turn inimical. He probably got the idea in the first place from observing their classmates. And regardless of Aoyama's reasons for feeling the urge in the first place, he was getting it out of his system. He would soon see that there was no point in continuing because Dark Shadow was not an animal and didn't respond like one (for better or worse).

Aoyama moved from petting the top of its head to giving it scritches under its beak.

Dark Shadow cooed.

Tokoyami mentally facepalmed.

“Anyway.” Tokoyami added a slight edge to his voice. It seemed to catch Aoyama's attention well-enough. “I do not wish to belabor the point, so I shall be frank:”

He continued, gesturing towards his quirk. “Dark Shadow is capable of freeing itself from my control given certain conditions, such as stress under low light. I would like to have a contingency plan ready should that ever happen in the future.”

Aoyama's hand fell to his lap. Dark Shadow shrank back. The convivial air around the room dampened immediately.

Aoyama looked back at Tokoyami.

“Ah. Is that what happened during our summer vacation?” His tone was unvarnished, lacking its usual lilt; yet it was pleasantly calm in a way that held no other implications.

“...So you're aware of it.”

Tokoyami remembered Aoyama approaching Midoriya following Bakugou's kidnapping, though he could not remember seeing him following the start of their test of courage. In his rampage he attacked Shouji, chasing him and Midoriya to Todoroki and Bakugou's location. Then Dark Shadow removed the threat to the latter two, and their light combined allowed him to regain control over it.

Aoyama was not part of that. Tokoyami could only hope that Dark Shadow didn't strike him without realizing it.

“Oui. Though I cannot say I witnessed the entire incident.”

Which was for the best. None of those who had seemed to think of him any differently since then, but he knew that wouldn't be the case for everyone.

“But you've seen how dangerous it can be.”

Aoyama glanced at Dark Shadow.

“...I have.”

Dark Shadow gave a small whine and lowered its head, pressing its claws together. A favorable response, since that meant it would likely continue to sulk instead of exhibiting more bellicose behavior. Though he would prefer that they not test its limits in a place most on campus would consider a haven from violence, rather than a cauldron for it.

“My request is simple:” Tokoyami placed his cup and saucer on the table, and brought his hands together, fingers loosely interlocking. “If you or another find yourselves in mortal peril due to a lapse in my control, please do not hesitate to strike me down.”

He tacked on after, if only to soften his words:

“I hope you understand.”

Aoyama paused for a moment. His brow became a touch furrowed.

But then his near perpetually pursed lips broke into a weary smile.

“I do.” His eyes fell downcast. “Though I hope I should never have to fulfill it.”

That was... quite a bit easier than Tokoyami had expected.

He had not expected Aoyama to assent so easily. He had presumed instead that it would at least take some degree of convincing. The countless potential conversations played out within his mindscape almost always ended in some form of debate; and the most positive of them ended with a begrudging acceptance. Any scenarios that played out better he dismissed as wishful thinking – so much so that it seemed wrong that he received the answer he was most hoping for.

He forced relief to override his other sentiments. He wasn't going to look a gift horse in the the mouth.

But he had to clear that last remaining speck of doubt.

“Your consideration is most appreciated. Shall I take it as acceptance?”

There was always the possibility that he had misheard it, or that he was not interpreting it correctly. He had to make sure they were both on the same page.

“...Oui.” Aoyama nodded. “I shall.”

And that was all he needed.

“You have my thanks.”

Which was scarcely enough to convey Tokoyami's gratitude. He had just avowed his intent to perish when circumstances called for it, and had not received the unsought pity he feared was inevitable. Nor had he received any misguided ire or undue concern. Rather, he received a better response than he had ever thought possible.

And should there ever arise a time where Tokoyami-

“Though may I ask a favor of my own?”

Ah. He thought too soon.

“Of course. I would not expect you to bear such a burden without due compensation.”

If and an spoiled many a good charter, but it would not be fair to expect Aoyama to follow their arrangement through without receiving anything in return. Even when committed at the behest of the patient, ending the life of another would affect anyone with a conscience for years to come. It was an unfortunate inevitability for anyone with even an iota of empathy.

So if there was any way Tokoyami could requite such a task, he would not hesitate to do so.

Aoyama nodded, but stared down into his cup.

“Well... You see...” He bit his lower lip. “I guess... if it ever comes down to having to choose between saving myself and saving anyone else – or even just capturing a villain, please don't hesitate to leave me behind.”

...

That... was nowhere near what he had expected. He couldn't help but wonder:

“Whatever for?”

An eye for an eye was a reasonable request, but Tokoyami could not fathom why Aoyama would wish for it. Tokoyami held a dangerous quirk that could slay an untold number of people should the stars align at the worst possible moment. In contrast, Aoyama's quirk was one that required precision to utilize effectively. It certainly could be deadly as well, but it could never free itself from his control and act of its own accord.

And yet salient apprehension dripped from Aoyama. His occupied hand clenched around the teacup's handle.

“To put it simply, it's not hard to see the gap between myself and the rest of our class.” He grimaced. There was an audible strain to hold his voice steady. “It's also not hard to see that it's widening.”

And he continued before Tokoyami could interject.

“I know I'll just get in the way one of these days.” He gulped. “And if worst comes to worse, I'd rather not hold anyone back if I can help it.”

Aoyama paused to take another sip tea, then set the cup on the table with its saucer. A silence permeated the air as he grabbed the teapot and poured himself a refill.

Tokoyami didn't know how to respond to that.

“That being said,” Aoyama resumed, apparently sensing Tokoyami's loss for words, “wouldn't Monsieur Todoroki or Monsieur Bakugou be more suited to your task?”

He continued.

“I mean- I'm delighted that you think I'm capable of performing such a task. But the two of them are much more powerful than I.”

It was true that Bakugou and Todoroki stood at top of the class.

But if his theory on how the teachers decided their room assignments was correct, there was a reason it neither of them he was placed next to.

“Bakugou's and Todoroki's quirks emit light as well, but only as a byproduct of what they produce. It took the two of them together to help me reign in my own that night.” And things would had likely gone much different had they not drawn the lots that put them together. “As concentrated light, your laser should be able to cut through Dark Shadow with little trouble; and I as well, should the need arise.”

“That sounds scary. Please don't do that.” Dark Shadow shivered. Aoyama reached over and patted it.

Tokoyami sighed.

“It is to only be a last resort, Dark Shadow.”

Aoyama nodded.

“Oui. I do not wish to harm either of you, mon ami.”

Which Dark Shadow seemed to take as permission to rest its head on Aoyama's leg and exhale. Which it most certainly was not. Quirks were not supposed to act of their own accord. And this one in particular possessed enough of its own intelligence to know better. And it was doing so right after Tokoyami explained why that was a bad thing, as if to prove a point. Stop that.

But Aoyama only encouraged it with another pat on the head. Then two. Then a few more.

Oh for the love of...

 Sigh.

Anyway.

Aoyama brought a finger to his chin. Tokoyami sent Dark Shadow back into the shaded area near his feet with a flick of the wrist. Aoyama's eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Although... What if my quirk-”

Aoyama stopped mid-sentence. It seemed he wished to ask a question. Instead he shook his head and murmured:

“...Nevermind, it's nothing.” He chose instead to change the subject. Peculiar, but Tokoyami would not pry. “Anyway – quirk aside, the rest of my body is weak. I'm not sure how well I would fare against you in the event that we do have to battle.”

His poor performance in close quarters combat could certainly be adduced to explain his hesitation. His quirk was quite powerful, and able to take out training robots with ease. And as such, it would be quite easy to rely on as a crutch. Such problems were quite common among students and heroes alike – Tokoyami being a glaring example.

“We are similar in the former regard, I'm afraid.” Tokoyami too oft neglected to hone his skills sans quirk, though he had been working to change that. “Dark Shadow currently bears the brunt of my ability in battle, though I hope our education will change that.”

“I see...”

Aoyama bit his lip. He paused another moment before speaking again.

“Well um-”

Then looked up.

“Maybe...”

Then met Tokoyami's gaze.

“We could train together?”

There was an idea.

“I mean- we don't have to if you don't want to!” Aoyama looked to the side, and fidgeted with his fingers. “I just thought since we could both use improvement in hand-to-hand combat...”

It was good that they were both cognizant of their own weaknesses, and that they both wished to mitigate them. A problem shared was a problem halved. To ply their skills in combat would only benefit them, especially when they both lacked in prowess when it came to fighting without their quirks.

It was too good an opportunity to refuse.

“On the contrary: It's an excellent proposition. I accept.”

There were certain members of their class who would exercise on occasion during their free time. Kirishima or Midoriya would have been Tokoyami's choices had the question of whom he would like to accompany presented itself an hour ago. However, the two of them both focused on their strength to begin with; Tokoyami would have struggled to catch up, which in turn would have held them back for as long as it took to do so.

Aoyama's physical capabilities sans quirk more closely resembled his own, which meant the growth they would reap would be much more mutually beneficial.

“Really?” Aoyama clapped his hands together. “Oh merci, mon ami!”

Though doing so immediately would be foolish as the night was fully upon them. Certainly, they were not the only members of their class still awake, but it still no time to leave their dormitory. Even if they were to use the centre courtyard (thus, strictly speaking, not an aberration of their curfew), tomorrow was not a holiday nor any other they had off. Fatigue would impair their ability to function during their classes, and even more so during their training exercises.

Aoyama seemed to have the same thought, however; as he continued with a question of his own:

“Though it is a tad late. Would you like to meet tomorrow?”

“I would prefer Friday, if that's all right with you. We will not be weary from exercises then.” Though it would be incredibly unlikely, he would prefer to avoid another incident where he fell asleep before he could return to the dorms – especially given the place in had in mind. “And as for a location, what do you think of using the rooftop of our school?”

The main building's four rooves were still rarely utilized by anyone other than himself. Even in the unlikely event that there were others atop his usual spot that day, there were three more the two of them could use. Come to think of it, the one with the helicopter landing pad could make an excellent arena if it was just the two of them. He couldn't remember it ever being used for as long as he attended U.A.. Perhaps he would suggest that when the time came.

“Je l'aime!” Tokoyami had no idea what that meant, but he would take it to be an expression of approval. “And thus the date is set! I will see you then, Monsieur Tokoyami!”

A beaming smile stretched across Aoyama's face; one that Tokoyami had never seen upon him before.

Tokoyami nodded, allowing the edges of his beak to curve.

“You as well, Aoyama.”

And thus that conversation was over. They conversed for a few more minutes before exchanging goodbyes. Tokoyami gave a small wave as his made his exit. Dark Shadow sprung out to do the same, though it was much more exaggerated. Aoyama returned the favor, still beatific, then grabbed his phone – perhaps to make a reminder for himself. Tokoyami would do well to make one of his own when he went back in his room.

Tokoyami shut the door behind him. No one was in the hall.

He headed towards his room. Dark Shadow seemed to be in good spirits. It did not return to Tokoyami's shadow of its own accord, instead choosing to sway merrily and follow him back to his room (still tethered to him, obviously).

“I think that went well~!”

Quite the understatement. Not only were he and Aoyama able to negotiate without it devolving into any sort of vitriol, they came to an agreement that would benefit them both. And in addition, they made arrangements to continue their training outside of their normal classroom hours. Which would only help them in the classroom as well.

He nodded.

“I must agree.”

It was quite fortunate that they had come upon the topic of training. Tokoyami had been meaning to strengthen his own physical capabilities. He already had the Black Ankh and its associated techniques, but he still had much to learn when it came to actual combat. Certainly, there were opponents he could overwhelm with the sheer force of his quirk; but that alone would be of little use against those who could evade and counter his techniques. And he would do well to iron out those shortcomings before he encountered an opponent who could make use of them when he was an actual hero.

There were robots for certain gym facilities that could simulate, but nothing could replace sparring with an actual human. The androids were capable of analyzing a student's patterns and acting accordingly, but they couldn't plan ahead or set traps that weren't already programmed in. And then there was the matter of how restraint was not a necessity against an opponent that could be repaired in a matter of hours with no lasting consequences.

And now he had one.

And they had a set time to practice.

Though he never did ask Aoyama to refrain from telling their peers. Not about the training, of course – he was sure anyone else who found out and wanted to join in their spars would be well welcomed.; but instead Tokoyami's main reason for visiting in the first place. The pact they had made would likely end in death for at least one of them should it have to be followed through. So there was a clearly tacit secondary agreement that should one of them reveal it, that the other would be required to as well. And Tokoyami had already ruminated over those worst-case scenarios much more than any student, studying heroics or not, should have to in the middle of peacetime.

But those would be thoughts best left for another time. They had a plan of action. They were set to carry it out. There was little more that could be done in the meantime. The week would go by the same as any other while he waited.

He was okay with that.

A/N: Just a headcanon, but I think Aoyama's the type to really like fussing over guests.

[unfolded73]

This Graceful Path (12/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and 9 and one later chapter. Thanks to the CSBB mods ( @sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 12

Regina looked at the apple in her hand for a long, long time.

She could remember the day Snow White took a bite out of that apple like it was yesterday. The tears on her face, the sadness in her eyes. The way she had fallen, lifeless, at Regina’s feet. Now she needed that kind of magic one more time.

It had taken a lot of effort to bring the poisoned apple through into the Land Without Magic. It took allying herself with the Mad Hatter once again, making deals she didn’t want to make; it took giving up the last memento she had of Daniel, her first and only love. But finally, she had done it, reached through and plucked a poisoned apple out of that place and brought it through to this one. It was her last hope; if she couldn’t stop Emma Swan with this, then the curse would be broken.

Baking was soothing to Regina, and she secretly loved every convenience in her modern American kitchen. The pleasing fall of the flour in gentle waves from the sifter into the bowl. The precise leveling-off of baking powder in a teaspoon as she scraped it along the sharp lip of the can. The smell of cinnamon pervading the kitchen as her apple slices cooked on the stovetop. The sensation of butter under her fingertips as she blended it with the flour, the little blobs getting smaller and smaller and smaller as she worked. She pulled out her rolling pin, running her hand along the smooth, polished wood, and smiled.

Once the baking was done and the product of her labors was cool enough to pack away, she carried it to her car, glancing at the time on the dashboard. There were still a few hours until Henry was done at school: plenty of time.

Regina mounted the stairs to the loft apartment that Emma shared with Mary Margaret Blanchard, eyeing the peeling paint and the dirt in the corners of the stairwell with distaste. She hadn’t wanted to set foot in this peasant’s dwelling, but when she’d called the sheriff’s station, David had informed her that Emma was taking the morning off and wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. Typical laziness, Regina thought with a sneer. But it would work in Regina’s favor; if Emma was home alone, there was less risk that someone else would eat the apple turnover.

She knocked on the door.

Emma opened it, her eyes widening in surprise. “Regina! What are you doing here?”

Regina huffed. “I’ll excuse your rudeness on account of the fact that you look like death warmed over. Are you sick?” She took a step backward, tempted to cover her nose and mouth with her arm.

“I’m not sick, I just haven’t been sleeping well the last couple of nights.” Emma stood back from the door. “Come in, I guess.”

Regina stepped into the apartment, grimacing at its shabby chic decor. If possible, Snow White’s cursed taste was worse than it had been back in the Enchanted Forest.

“What brings you here, Regina? Come to tell me to stay away from Henry again?”

“On the contrary,” she responded, holding the plastic storage container out toward Emma. “I came to make a peace offering. And to discuss how we might… compromise regarding Henry.”

Emma took the container, eyeing it distrustfully. “What’s this?”

“One of my famous apple turnovers. It’s a very old recipe.” “Thanks.” She set it down on the table. “What kind of compromise did you have in mind?”

Regina gritted her teeth. Even knowing she didn’t intend to follow through with any offers she planned to make to this woman, she still could barely get the words out. “I recognize that once one opens Pandora’s box, it cannot be closed again, and Henry is determined that you be part of his life, no matter how ill-advised I know it to be.” She held up a hand to stop Emma’s protest. “He is still my son, not only in the legal sense, but because I was the one who was there for him from the beginning. I changed every diaper, dried every tear. He may not want to acknowledge it now, but he is my child.” Regina pressed her nails into her palms, trembling with emotion.

“I’m not denying that, Regina.”

“As such, I am not offering you any kind of joint custody. But I am resigned to the fact that you are going to be a part of his life. So you can see him for visits on some school day afternoons, and also for some weekend activities, so long as I approve them.”

She could tell Emma was surprised. “Thanks. Really. I appreciate that.”

Regina nodded curtly. “Let me talk it over with Henry tonight, and then perhaps in a day or two you can have him over here to eat dinner, assuming you’re capable of preparing something more nutritious than grilled cheese.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ll make sure he eats his vegetables, Regina.”

Regina nodded, glancing down at the turnover. “I’ll go, then. Enjoy the turnover.”

~*~

Emma was still in shock as she drove the police cruiser down Route 83. She’d been at a loss for what to do about Henry, had still been half contemplating kidnapping him and fleeing Maine despite Mary Margaret’s logical arguments against it when in walked Regina and surrendered. Or, as close to surrender as she would imagine Regina could ever get.

She pulled up in front of Gold’s cabin and killed the engine. After their impromptu nap the day before, Killian had seemed afraid of overstaying his welcome and had refused Mary Margaret’s offer to stay for dinner. But outside the apartment, saying goodnight, he had kissed her like he might never have the opportunity to do so again, with a desperate hunger that left Emma’s knees weak.

She’d awoken this morning with renewed purpose. The sooner she figured out who had really killed Gold, the sooner she and Killian could move forward with whatever they were becoming.  Calling David and offering to work the late shift at the station, she decided to spend her afternoon going more carefully over the cabin, looking for clues she might have missed the first time.

The sun was bright, melting snow that had drifted down during the night so that it fell from weighed-down tree branches onto her car in fat droplets. Even though it was a cold day, the blue sky and bright sunlight made Emma feel optimistic and hopeful. Things with Killian were good. Mary Margaret and David were disgustingly happy together. Regina was going to let her see Henry. Finally, it felt like her life was settling into place.

Emma tore away the crime scene tape she had David had put up over the cabin door and let herself in.

The orderliness of the main living space of the cabin had led her to conclude that nothing had been disturbed initially, that nothing had been tampered with. But clearly, the killer had been here, based on the blood they found in the bathroom. Perhaps her assessment had been wrong. She went over everything again, looking under furniture and in kitchen cabinets, behind shelves and under rugs. Nothing.

She walked the length of the room, her boots thumping against the wooden floorboards. The murder weapon could be anywhere in Storybrooke, but something about this cabin still niggled at her. The killer had come here and washed the blood off his hands. Wouldn’t it have been too tempting a place to hide the murder weapon, rather than bringing it back into town and risk being caught with it?

She continued to pace, eyes touching on everything in the room.

There was still a voice in her head, whispering that despite her gut instincts, despite her superpower, any logical person in her position should still consider Killian a suspect. She’d argued it around and around in her head all morning, all the reasons he was suspicious, all the reasons he wasn’t. It was driving her crazy. She needed to solve this crime before it was too late, before she fell completely in love with him.

It’s already too late, the voice in her head muttered.

Her foot connected with one of the floorboards, and the rhythmic thump of her boot heel changed timbre. Echoed. Emma looked down at her feet.

The fucking floorboards.

Dropping to her knees, she felt around the edges of the board, feeling it wiggle slightly as she looked for purchase to lift it out. She clawed at the end, fingernails slipping into the tiny gap, and pulled. One of her fingernails ripped.

“Fuck.” She sucked on the end of her finger, then almost slapped herself on the forehead when she remembered she had a Swiss army knife on her keychain.

Using the knife blade for leverage, the board lifted away easily, revealing a narrow dark space underneath. Putting away her knife, Emma pulled the flashlight off of her belt and clicked it on.

At first, the space looked empty, but then she noticed a black lump. Reaching down into the hole, she grabbed it and pulled it out, her hand trembling with excitement.

The hilt of a knife stuck out from a tightly wrapped bundle of black cotton. It looked like a T-shirt, stiff with what must be dried blood. Careful not to touch the knife hilt itself, she set the bundle down and stared at it.

The blade was completely covered, so she couldn’t tell if it was curved like the coroner’s report had indicated it would be. Her hand reached out to start to unwrap it, but then she jerked it back.

In her haste to get out here, she’d forgotten her evidence kits. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally destroy evidence. Anxious as she was to see the blade, it would have to wait until she could get it back to the station.

Her cell phone rang.

Emma touched the screen without looking at who was calling and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Henry.”

“Henry, I’m working right now; what’s up?” Picking the bundled knife up, still avoiding the hilt, Emma stood.

“I just talked to Mom. I think you’re in trouble.”

“Actually, no. I saw Regina this morning, and she’s agreed to let us see each other sometimes. It was almost a good talk.” Emma left the cabin, setting the evidence on the passenger seat of the cruiser.

“Exactly. Something’s fishy. Why would she suddenly change her mind like that? I think it’s a trick. The Evil Queen always has a trick up her sleeve.”

Emma walked back to the door, resecuring the crime scene tape. “Or she’s decided to be reasonable for once.”

“No way. If she’s being nice to you, then you’re in danger.” She could hear a hysterical edge coming into his voice, and the image of Killian pushing Henry out of the way of an oncoming car flashed in her mind.

“Henry, where are you?”

“Pay phone near Granny’s. I couldn’t risk calling you from her house.”

“Okay, okay, just … go to the loft and wait for me there. Can you do that?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I can do that.” He sounded calmer.

“Watch out for cars when you cross the street, okay, Henry?”

“Duh,” was the only response she got before he hung up the phone.

Emma got behind the wheel of the car and looked longingly at what was almost certainly the murder weapon sitting on the seat beside her. She needed to get back to the station and examine it, then lock it up somewhere safe. But she also needed to go calm Henry down.

With a grimace, she put the car in gear and peeled out.

~*~

Henry was sitting on the steps next to the door of the loft, waiting for her.

“Here you are! I was starting to worry that Mom got you.”

Emma unlocked the apartment, ushering him in. “I was out in the woods doing some work. Regina didn’t ‘get’ me.”

“She’s got a plan though, I know it. She doesn’t surrender. She knows you’re close to breaking the curse, and she’s making a move.” His voice rose in pitch.

Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes as guilt churned in her belly. His break with reality was getting worse. Her son was so damaged, and nothing she or anyone else did was making him any better. She’d given him up because she thought it would give him a better life, and instead he was delusional. As poisoned by this town as Graham. As Killian.

“Henry,” she said, swallowing against a lump in her throat. She knelt down, taking his arms in her hands. “There’s no curse. There’s no evil queen. There’s no fairy tale. There’s just us, doing the best we can to get through our lives. Regina too, maybe she’s doing the best she can with a difficult situation—“

“No!” Henry shouted, jerking away from her. His gaze settled on the kitchen table. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at the plastic container that Regina had left.

“I don’t know, some kind of dessert that Regina brought over.”

Henry ran over, ripping the top off. “Is this apple? Don’t eat it,” he said, hysteria in his voice.

“Why?”

“It’s poisoned. This is the trick. She’s trying to curse you.”

“With a poisoned apple? Henry, that isn’t a real thing.” Emma walked over and picked up the pastry. “Here, I’ll show you.”

“No!” he shouted, jerking it out of her hand and backing away. “I’m sorry to do this, Mom. But you’ll be able to save me. You may not believe in the curse, but I believe in you.” He took a bite of the apple turnover.

Emma watched him sadly as he chewed and swallowed. “See? There’s no—“

Henry collapsed to the floor.

“Henry?” She fell onto her knees at his side. “Henry! Henry!”

~*~

“What did he eat?” Dr. Whale was asking her while another doctor and nurses fussed around Henry’s gurney in the hospital room. Emma watched, paralyzed, as an IV needle pierced the tender flesh on the top of his little hand.

“Sheriff, what did he eat?” Dr. Whale said more sharply.

“It was… it was an apple turnover that Regina made. What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know yet,” he looked at the monitors. The colored lines and numbers swam in Emma’s vision.

“Could this be, you know, psychological? He was trying to convince me…” She trailed off.

“No way,” he said. “His brain waves are minimal, heartbeat slow and thready. Something happened to him.”

Emma looked around, just in time to see Regina run into the hallway on the other side of the glass wall. Rage poured into her, filling every crevice. Emma hit the doors full force, barreling out to meet Regina head on.

“What the hell happened?” Regina asked.

“You did this,” Emma grated, trembling with anger. “The poison that was meant for me. Henry ate it instead.”

If there was any doubt left in her mind, the look on Regina’s face destroyed it. “No…”

“You hated me so much that you poisoned your own child.”

“I didn’t… it wasn’t…” Tears fell from Regina’s eyes, and she made no move to brush them away.

Emma didn’t care. She felt no sympathy for this monster of a woman. She shoved her against the wall. “Do you have something that can fix this? An antidote?”

Her face crumpling under the weight of her grief and guilt, Regina shook her head.

“Then get the hell away from here. I have no use for you, and neither does my son.”

Emma was too shaken, too horrified by the events of the last several minutes to even be surprised when Regina obeyed her.

It was only seconds later, as she stood in the corridor breathing deeply and trying to calm herself down, that Killian arrived. She didn’t remember calling him, but she figured David must have. Without thought, she stumbled over and fell into his arms.

“Emma, what happened?”

“Henry,” she gasped, but couldn’t get any more words out.

“Dave said something about poison?” She nodded, clinging to him. Now that he was here, she felt like she had to luxury to fall apart a little bit.

“I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can to make him better. Tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything you need. Anything.”

Emma looked up into his kind eyes. “Just be here. All I need is for you to be here.”

“Always,” he said, and she got the sense that he wasn’t only talking about Henry and the hospital.

Mary Margaret and David ran through the double doors, both of them out of breath. “I’ve got the apple thing,” David said, holding up a plastic bag.

“Take it to Dr. Whale,” Emma said, pulling away from Killian.

“I brought his backpack,” Mary Margaret offered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know why; I saw it in the loft and I thought he might want it.”

Emma nodded, swallowing against a sob that was struggling to break free. “Thanks, Mary Margaret.”

~*~

Machines beeped, and Emma listened to the beeping, trying to discern if it was getting slower. She felt a squeeze of her hand and she squeezed back, her fingers interlaced with Killian’s.

“Maybe if Dr. Whale keeps working on it…” Mary Margaret said.

“He can’t find anything that would explain Henry’s symptoms. And if he doesn’t find something soon, Henry’s going to run out of time.” A cold detachment was seeping into her. Her son was lying in the middle of that sterile bed, wires and tubes everywhere, looking so small, and she couldn’t do anything. Well, maybe there was one thing she could do. She could wrap her hands around Regina’s neck and squeeze until the life drained out of her.

“Don’t give up hope, Emma. Henry wouldn’t want that.” Mary Margaret, sitting on her other side, reached down into his backpack and pulled out the storybook. “That’s why he loves these stories so much. Because they give him hope.”

“False hope,” Emma said.

Silence settled over their vigil once again.

Killian cleared his throat. “Why don’t I go get us all some coffee?”

David smiled gratefully. “That’s a good idea. Here, let me…” He started reaching for his wallet.

“I got it, mate; don’t worry about it.” He gave Emma’s hand another squeeze, standing. “Do you want coffee?”

She didn’t, but she nodded. Killian left the room, making minimal noise as he did. Everyone was moving around silently, like they were in the presence of death and didn’t want to attract its attention.

Emma watched as Mary Margaret ran her fingertips over the embossed words on the cover of Henry’s book before opening it and paging through. “Maybe I should read to him?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma frowned, looking at the book. A part of her wanted to burn it. “He wants that story to be true so badly. Wants… wants you to be those people. My parents.” She smiled in spite of herself. “He’s so convinced that Snow White is my mom and Prince Charming is my dad.”

David and Mary Margaret shared a significant look. “Emma, do you ever…” Mary Margaret trailed off, her eyes pleading with David for something.

“What?”

“I’m not saying we’re Snow White and Prince Charming,” Mary Margaret said with a nervous laugh. “But sometimes I think… I don’t know, maybe in a past life or something, we are your parents?”

Before Emma could react to that, David chimed in. “Mary Margaret and I have always felt this pull, like we were meant to be together. Like, no matter what we did or what roadblocks were in the way, we would find our way to each other. And we realized recently that in a different way, we felt the same way toward you. That we’re meant to help you.”

“It’s more than that,” Mary Margaret said. “When you moved in with me, something… clicked, like that was where you were supposed to be.”

“Same when we started working together,” David added.

“I don’t know, Emma; I know it’s crazy,” Mary Margaret said. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it feels true. Doesn’t it?”

Emma was crying. She wasn’t sure when she started, but tears were running down her cheeks and falling onto her lap. “It feels true,” she echoed, looking back and forth between David and Mary Margaret. “But it can’t be. You can’t be my parents.”

Mary Margaret held the book out to her. “Unless… unless Henry’s right. Unless the curse is real.”

Emma laughed sharply through her tears. “Not you too. You can't believe this stuff.”

“All I know,” and now Mary Margaret was crying. “All I know is what I feel when I look at you, Emma.”

“And what's that?” she asked, her breath hitching.

David got out of his chair, coming over and kneeling in front of her. “I was in a coma for years, and all it took for me to wake up was the sound of Mary Margaret's voice. Anything is possible. What I know is that somehow, long ago, we lost you, but now we've found you again.”

“Henry is the truest believer I've ever known,” Mary Margaret said, still holding out the book. “Maybe he needs some of that belief from us now.”

Emma looked over at Henry, lying there so helpless, and reached out and took the book from Mary Margaret.

A rush of images filled her head.

A woman, screaming as she gave birth in a canopied bed. Tears over the baby. Saying goodbye. A man holding the baby and fighting off four, no five guards. His blood soaking his shirt and dripping onto the floor. Kissing the baby, and putting her in a wardrobe.

“Find us.”

Emma gasped.

“It’s true.”

Suddenly a very different chaos filled her head. Beeping machines. A rush of doctors and nurses. She was screaming. Strong arms pulled her away. Strong hands doing CPR on a tiny body. Regina on the other side of the glass partition, her face a mask of pain. Everything through a blur of tears. A slowing down. A nurse started to disconnect things from Henry. Through it all, Emma clutched the book.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Whale said, and it sounded like his voice was coming from the bottom of a well. “We did everything we could. He’s gone.”

Released by David, Emma stumbled to the bedside. Henry looked so peaceful, lying there. He couldn’t be dead. Death couldn’t be so peaceful, could it?

“I’m sorry. You were right about the curse. I should have believed you.” Her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and reedy. Trembling, tears running down her face, Emma smoothed his hair and bent over. “I love you, Henry.” Gently, she kissed him on the forehead.

Behind her closed eyes, Emma saw a strange, prismatic light, almost as if she’d looked at the sun too long and was seeing some kind of afterimage on her retina. At the same time, a wind blew her hair back, made her stumble away from Henry. Emma blinked, startled, looking around for the source of the disturbance.

Henry gasped, and sat up.

“Henry!” Emma couldn’t believe her eyes. He was sitting right there, breathing, impossibly alive.

“You did it,” he said to her. “You saved me.”

There was a commotion behind Emma, and she looked over to see David and Mary Margaret in each other’s arms.

“You found me,” Mary Margaret said.

“Did you ever doubt I would?” David responded. Both of them seemed very close to breaking down into sobs right there in Henry’s hospital room.

“What… happened?” Emma looked around and saw that everyone, doctors and nurses alike, seemed to be in a state of shock and confusion, but it wasn’t directed at Henry.

“I think you broke the curse,” Henry said.

“Emma,” David gasped. He stumbled over, pulling her into a hug, his hand cradling her head. “Our daughter.” Mary Margaret joined them, her hands clutching at Emma. At a loss for what else to do, Emma hugged them back.

~*~

Regina’s hands pressed against the glass, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched Henry sit up. She laughed with momentary joy. Her son wasn’t dead. Emma had saved him.

Gradually, she became aware that something else was happening. Mary Margaret and David weren’t focused on Henry, they were focused on each other. A nurse dropped a tray of surgical implements in the hall, a look of shock on her face. Dr. Whale ran past, a panicked, crazy look in his eye.

“The curse is broken, your majesty,” a voice growled in her ear.

Regina whirled, coming face to face with Killian Jones. No. Coming face to face with Hook.

He may have still been dressed in jeans, his innocuous prosthetic hand still in place, but it was immediately obvious that he carried himself differently. There was no question that he knew who he was.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, free of charge,” he said. “Everyone is getting their memories back, and they’re realizing what you’ve done.” He leaned even closer, and Regina had to force herself not to back away. “You need to find a place to hide.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” she whispered. “You killed Rumpelstiltskin.”

He grinned, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “You’ve been trying so hard to get your hands on that dagger. Looks like your time ran out, Regina.” He glanced around as if expecting someone to jump out and attack her at any moment. “Now run.”

Chapter 13

[loljulie]

stay with me; {005} love sick (part 2)

(well here’s part dos of the cute sick chapter!! idk if there will be a part 3 bc tbh i could write this cute fluff forever. who knows?? anyway, i hope you enjoy this part bc a lot of research went into it. thank u lovelies~!)

genre: dunkirk 

collins x reader

word count: 1912

Sleep was something you were never able to fight well, and with time-traveling being known to cause tiredness, it was no wonder that you could fall asleep so quickly in the comfortable, inviting bed next to Jack Collins. While spending more time in the past wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing – especially if you were doing a harmless thing like sleeping – it was careless for you to let your guard down for such a prolonged period. You trusted Collins, of course, but even a man with good intentions could accidentally stumble upon something terrible.

Thus, when your eyes first shot open the next morning, the only thought on your mind was where your time module was. You sat up in the bed and your eyes wandered to the chair where your coat was still placed. Thankfully, it seemed to be in the same spot as when you left it, and Collins was still sound asleep next to you. You let out a sigh of relief.

Your next dilemma was how to leave. You had overstayed your trip to the past already, and you knew the best way to get back home was to hope that the man sleeping next to you was a heavy sleeper. Cautiously, you began to slide one leg over the side of the bed, praying that the bedsprings didn’t creak beneath you.

Your ankle had just felt the air outside of the covers when an arm wrapped itself around your waist and the body attached to it rolled toward you. Of course, he would shift himself right as you were making your escape plan. You slid back down into the sheets, deciding you’d have to wait until his grip loosened before making another attempt.

You wouldn’t be able to – at least, not that morning. Right then, as the right side of his face was smashed into the white pillow, Collins began to wake up. As you saw the tell-tale sign of movement under his eyelid just before they would spring open, you quickly closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep.

You sensed him open his eyes next to you as he sharply inhaled a breath to yawn and began to stretch his arms out. You took this movement as an opportunity to feign waking up again, and soon your eyes were staring into his.

“Good morning,” you hummed sluggishly, your head still pressed against the pillow. He raised his blue eyes to look out the curtained window, acknowledging how the morning sun shined against the fabric before reconnecting with your gaze.

“That it is,” he replied cheekily, giving you a wink. You scoffed at his reply and shook your head.

“How are you feeling?” you asked after letting his comment sink in for a moment. Collins took some breaths through his nose and swallowed a couple times before shrugging.

“Guid as new,” he answered in a deep voice, but that didn’t concern you. Though his morning voice was a bit raspy, it was different than how he sounded with his airways congested. You placed your hand on his forehead, and after feeling it for a moment, you gave a content nod.

“Doesn’t feel like you’ve got a fever anymore, either,” you stated.

“Which means a willnae feel bad if I dae this…” his voice trailed off as he leaned over toward you. His soft lips were against yours in seconds, and despite the initial shock, you welcomed the kiss.

The one arm around your waist slid so that it was all the way behind your back, pulling you closer to him. He used his free arm to prop himself up so that he hovered over you. Your hand quickly found the groove of his neck as the two of you deepened the kiss. You could feel him smiling into the kiss, a contagious smile that was soon transferred to your own lips.

He pulled away slowly, and once his face was a good few inches away from yours, he opened his crystal blue eyes and gazed at your face. He brought his hand that was wrapped around your waist to push away some loose strands of hair on your face. “I wan’ to wake up to this evr’y mornin'.”

You couldn’t tell if he meant the long kiss you two had shared, if he was referring to your image, or both –  but either way, the sentimental statement coupled with his husky morning voice sent a stir throughout your chest.

A rumbling brought the two of you out of the moment. Jack’s stomach had loudly stated how empty it was, and you could see the redness beginning to form on his cheeks from embarrassment. You let out a giggle, pecked his cheek, and said, “It sounds like you also want something to eat.”

The remnants of a modest breakfast of fried eggs and toast with jam lay on plates in front of you. Collins had graciously offered to cook the meal for you both – something you were thankful for, as you weren’t confident in your 1940’s kitchen knowledge after yesterday’s debacle. After you two had finished eating, you sat back in your wooden chairs, letting the food digest while you talked.

“So, I was just wondering,” you started after he had finished a story from his primary school days. “How are you able to live here, all on your own?”

You figured that, after the war, a soldier like Collins would have returned home and stayed with his family for a while. It was surprising to you to find that he lived alone, the house leaving no trace of any other occupant but Collins. Your question caused him to shift in his seat, and you felt a twinge of guilt for asking it.

“My brother, he fought in th' war as weel,” he started. Your breath stifled as you realized he hadn’t mentioned a brother before, and instantly assumed the worst. “He died richt afore oor win. Oor parents wur heartbroken.”

You noticed how he didn’t look you in the eyes, merely studied the left-over crumbs from the toast on the plate in front of him. “I went back hame right efter it a' ended, to be wi' ‘em. When th' compensation came, thay gave it a' to me. Thay wanted me to follow my dreams in his memory.”

“So, I'm 'ere, taking classes at th' University 'n' getting money aroond toun any wey that I kin. My parents send money sometimes, bit I send it righ’ back. I feel ill taking it fae them.”

You sat quietly there for a moment, speechless. What could you say? You didn’t feel right trying to console Collins with regurgitated phrases, and you also knew it was too grave of a subject for you to try and change quickly. Finally, he looked up from his plate, a small smile on his lips.

“I'm tairible at decorating, aren’t I?” You scoffed lightly at his statement.

“There’s definitely a few things I would change,” you admitted, earning a chuckle from Collins.

“Then mibie ye cuid help me oot wi' it sometime,” he replied with a raised eyebrow. You smirked at his offer. Was that an invitation to come over, again?

“Maybe… if you’ve got something to give me for it,” you teased.

“Oh, I’m sure I cuid come up wi' a few things.”

You were so engrossed in the flirtatious moment that you hadn’t heard the soft, pattering of rain drops hitting the roof. Only when the rain started to get heavier did you notice it. You peered outside the window, seeing how the cloudless sky had transitioned into a gray one over the course of your conversation. You smiled at the change in weather – after all, how could you leave if it was pouring rain outside?

“Looks lik' tis a day inside fur us,” Collins affirmed. He stood up and grabbed the plates on the dining table before walking to the kitchen.

“Do you want any help in there?” you called out after him.

“Na, hen, I've git it. Go oan 'n' mak' yersel' at home,” his voice rang from the kitchen. You heard plates chinking against one another and stood up from your chair.

After crossing into the living room, you decided to inspect a bookshelf that held a few different volumes on display. Your eyes studied the titles on the book spines – Animal Farm, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Cannery Row, Four Quartets – before stopping at one, The Screwtape Letters. The others you had identified easily – either by the title or by the author who wrote them – but that novel hadn’t been familiar to you. Curiously, you pulled the book out of its spot and flipped the front cover open.

As you read the first page, you absentmindedly walked to the couch and sat down in it, your eyes glued to the print on the page. Collins entering the room went by unnoticed by you until you felt the couch sink as he sat down beside you. By then, you had already made it through the first few pages.

“C.S. Lewis?” he asked, nodding to the book in your hands.

“Yeah, I haven’t read this one yet,” you answered, keeping your hand placed where you had been reading as you flipped to the front cover.

“Tis a guid yin. Pretty funny, too. I've read it a couple o' times masell.”

“You better not ruin it for me,” you warned, sending him a semi-threating look. He chuckled in response.

“A'richt, a willnae. Bit oinlie since a loue ye 'n' I cannae have ye mad at me.”

You froze at his comment. He had said it again – that he loved you. The sleep-filled phrases from the night before had almost left your mind until he uttered that word again. Love. Was he just meaning it in a playful way?

He must have noticed your reaction, because he fumbled over his words, trying to say something next. “I mean it, ye kno’, juist lik' ah meant it lest night.”

You watched his eyes, looking for any sign of insincerity. He met your gaze, and the earnest look in his eyes was enough to make your heart stop in your chest.

“I hope tis nae too soon to say it, 'n' even if it's, I dinnae care. Tis how I'm feelin' aboot ye.”

Your breathing hitched, your lungs suddenly only being able to take short breaths, before your lips slowly curled into a smile. He meant it. He loved you.

“I love you, too.” You breathed, and you wasted no time joining your lips together in a passionate, energetic embrace. He tangled a hand in your hair at the base of your neck. The book fell to the floor as your hands held onto Collins instead. He placed a hand on your hip, and with your coordination, pulled you into his lap.

The two of you didn’t pull apart for quite some time. When you did, you two would stay in each other’s arms for a while longer, giggling to yourselves and keeping to your own bubble, far from the world around you. Eventually, the novel on the floor would be incorporated into your own little world, with you cuddling your back against Collins’ chest as he read aloud to you. Nothing – not even the worries of the past, present, or future – could have interrupted the privacy of a lover’s trance.

[vitalmindandbody]

I live a healthier life now I’m free of the trappings of modernity | Mark Boyle

Being healthy is not about physicians, ambulances and technology. I use natural methods to keep my form in offset, writes Mark Boyle, the Guardians Life Without Technology columnist

When beings learn of my decided not to reject modern complex engineering in favour of older, slower, forgotten access, their first front of investigation often implies healthcare. Believing its importance to our lives, this is hardly surprising. Yet because of its emotive quality- which of us, after all, doesn’t have friends or category necessitate glasses, hearing aids, stents or prescription drugs?- it seems difficult to have a calm, objective discussion on the subject.

The more concerned and curious inquirers often ask me what I would do if I get seriously ill. While the long react is complicated and nuanced, candidly, I don’t know. It’s easy to live by your values when times are good, much harder when you’re having a stroke or succumbing of cancer.

One thing I can say with more confidence is this: if we continue pursuing this political ideology of mass industrialism- which has given us ambulances, dialysis machines, wheelchairs and antidepressants- not only will we continue to harm our physical, emotional and mental health( leading to even more people needing such things) we’ll likewise sweep away much of life on Earth.

Industrial civilisation, itself simply 200 years old, is already generating the sixth mass extinction of species of the last half billion years. What’s that got to do with an ambulance? Well, both nothing and everything. The ambulance itself undoubtedly saves lives( including my dad’s ). Yet deconstruct a single ambulance- with its plastics, oils, liquids, copper, battery-acids, glass, rubber, PVC, minerals and steel- and I’ll present you how to lay waste to the very thing all “peoples lives” depend upon: the planet.

Big picture aside, most of what afflicts us today- cancer, obesity, mental illness, diabetes, stress, auto-immune ills, congestive heart failure, along with those slow gunmen: meaninglessness, clock-watching and loneliness- are industrial ailments. We generate traumatic, harmful, unhealthy lifestyles fuelled by carbohydrate, caffeine, tobacco, antidepressants, adrenaline, displeasure, power potions and fast food, and then defend the political dogma that got us robbed on these stuffs in the first place. Our sedentary responsibilities further sap our physical, psychological and mental wellbeing, but instead of honestly addressing the root cause of the illness we exert ever more endeavour, energy, genius and coin trying to treat the indications and contain the epidemics.

We’ve developed Stockholm syndrome, sympathising with the exceedingly organization that has economically held us hostage since the 18 th century. Industrialism, along with its partner in crime, capitalism, has even coaxed us that, in order to save ourselves and loved ones from the repugnances of malady we should spraying every surface with substances, prevent children’s handwritings out of the grunge and gunk, and try to sterilise our whole world. With our immune organizations accommodation as a result, multi-billion-dollar pharmaceutical companies then sell us concoctions to fend off what our forms should be able to fight off naturally.

In their cleverness they have even persuasion us to pop drugs for concepts that hardier generations would balk at. My own approaching to healthcare won’t fulfill the pundits, the advocates of this strange concept announced advancement that seems to have us all more stressed and little content. And that’s OK; I’m not trying to tell people what to do, and I’ve got no product to sell. I share it exclusively because my writer tells me it’s the more common online inquiry.

In doing so I’m extremely is conscious that I’ve been blest to be born without any serious long-term health editions, and that at 38 I’m relatively young. That said, I’m not convinced that it’s necessary to fall into such good physical chassis, as civilised folks tend to do. My father is nearly 73 and he can still round 150 km before dinner, simply because he has never stopped looking after his health.

The philosophy underlying my approach is that of any herbalist: keep the vitality in your body strong, and be mindful to do it every day. When it goes out of affluence and into illnes, use the suitable floras- the original generator of numerous industrial remedies- to bring your figure and knowledge back into offset, and to restore optimal functioning. Your body is always aiming for equilibrium and health, and listening to “its one” of the best happenings you can do. Illness is feedback- the sooner you heed it and reinstate your verve, the less likely it is you’ll develop more serious problems.

I find it impossible to describe my approach to health without describing my approaching to life. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that this is a prescriptive mixture for anyone else; but with the exception of a voluntary vasectomy, I haven’t seen a medical doctor or nurse for 20 years.

I pick my own fruit and vegetables from the plot and hedgerows, and eat them as fresh, raw and unwashed as is optimal. I round 120 km every week to reservoirs and flows, where I then waste three evenings of that week relaxing and catching the following day’s dinner. I work outdoors, going sweaty and unclean doing things I enjoy. I cleared the tough decision to live in the natural world so that I could gasp clean breath, drink pure water and compose life that allows others the same. I bathe with ocean, and ocean only. I use no substances inside or outside the members of this house. I wear as few robes as I need, I use good-for-nothing electrical- no fridge , no screens , no telephone. I escape sugar, caffeine and stress like the plague.

Sleep comes and goes with the light- I find six hours of quiet rest adequate. If and when I do feel ill or out of counterbalance, my girlfriend Kirsty( who instances these articles and is schooling herself herbalism) recommends a weed from our herb spot and I slowly feel vital again. She’s currently dehydrating yarrow, horsetail, silverweed, self-heal, calendula and chamomile for the winter months.

I’ve suffered from hay fever- something becoming more common as CO 2 stages in the atmosphere increase- since I was a child. These daylights I devour a handful of plantain leaves- a natural antihistamine- three or four times a day, and that sorts it. Plantain comes out just before hay fever season and goes to seed shortly afterwards, and is a common in the rifts of city sidewalks and lawns as it is in the countryside.

I appreciate that this may sound impractical to numerous. When I was wreaking 60 hours per week in a low-paid activity in the City, 10 years ago, it did to me very. I only managed to do it by stripping away modernity’s bullshit, discovering to live with the property, and reducing my legislations down to zero. Simplicity in these times is hard won, but I’ve found that it’s worth it.

I is simply speak for myself, and I corroborate everyone’s decision to care for their health as they see fit. Ultimately, we’re all going to die and I wish to go out like the American writer and conservationist Edward Abbey: by taking off to the wilderness, where wildlife can feed on my dead body just as I have done on theirs. It seems only fair.

Two circumstances, in this regard, I find important. One is that like Henry David Thoreau once remarked, I do not safely reach demise and” discover that I had not lived “. Second, that I don’t cling to my own fading sunlight so desperately that I extinguish it for all else. Like all good guests, it’s wise not to overstay your welcome.

* This article was written by hand and posted to an editor at the Guardian, who typed it up to go online. Get in contact with Mark Boyle, the Guardian’s Living Without Technology columnist, here or in the comments below, a selection of which is due to be posted to him

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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[newstfionline]

When Will Kabila Go? Congolese Leader Long Overstays His Welcome

By Kimiko de Freytas-Tamura, NY Times, July 23, 2017

KINSHASA, Democratic Republic of Congo--In Congo, they are calling it “le glissement.”

The term, meaning “the slide” in French, describes the prospect of elections slipping away as President Joseph Kabila maneuvers to extend his 16-year rule, which has given him and his coterie vast riches but done little for most ordinary citizens.

The deeply unpopular Mr. Kabila, 46, was supposed to step down last Dec. 20 at the end of his second term, as constitutionally mandated. But he refused, setting off a profound political and economic crisis whose resolution could turn chaotic and violent.

“The president needs to go,” Fiston Ntumba, 27, a motorcycle-taxi driver, said in Kinshasa, the capital. “By not going, he is seeking war. So we’ve decided to go to war, too.”

An implosion of Congo, a country almost the size of Western Europe, could spill into and involve some of the nine countries it borders. In the late 1990s, neighboring countries were sucked into what became known as the Great War of Africa, which resulted in several million deaths.

A key figure in that conflict was Laurent-Désiré Kabila, Mr. Kabila’s father, who seized power in 1997. The younger Mr. Kabila became the country’s leader in 2001, after his father’s assassination.

In Kinshasa, the mood was tense on a recent day as residents wondered whether Mr. Kabila would honor a pact that allows him to stay in office until the end of the year as the country prepares for elections.

“We are waiting,” said Elysée Yenge, 57, a shopkeeper in the capital. “We are praying to God for something to happen, because God can’t let this suffering just go on.”

Last December, an influential body of Roman Catholic bishops, the National Episcopal Conference of Congo, brokered an agreement for a transitional government followed by elections at the end of this year. Since then, Mr. Kabila has reshuffled his cabinet, choosing a major opposition figure, Bruno Tshibala, as prime minister.

But the timetable to hold an election has slipped, badly.

In a recent interview with a German newspaper, Mr. Kabila declared he had “promised nothing” in the December deal. The electoral commission added to the sense of uncertainty by saying it would probably be impossible to hold the election on time because of a lack of funds--it says the process would cost $1.8 billion--and because of unrest in the central Kasai region.

Diplomats involved in negotiations say that time is running out and that opportunities to broker Mr. Kabila’s peaceful departure are getting smaller by the day.

The ‘glissement’ is particularly dangerous because no one knows when and how it will end, said one Western diplomat who spoke on the condition of anonymity, citing diplomatic protocol. The resilience of the Congolese people is legendary, the official added, but they’ve already suffered a lot.

Congo is extraordinarily rich in natural resources. It is Africa’s biggest copper producer and a vital source of the cobalt used in rechargeable batteries and smartphones. It has large quantities of diamonds, gold, oil, timber and uranium.

And yet, the economy is plummeting.

Partly because of lower prices for raw materials and partly because of general mismanagement, growth has shrunk from the double digits a few years ago to just below 3 percent. The currency has halved in value over 12 months. Prices are climbing fast, damaging people’s already precarious living standards. Soldiers, teachers, doctors and civil servants have not been paid their official salaries for months.

As the economic crisis deepens, the International Monetary Fund recently threatened to withhold desperately needed cash unless Mr. Kabila agreed to elections. The central bank’s coffers are virtually empty. Commercial banks are facing a liquidity crisis as people convert Congolese francs into dollars on the black market instead of putting them in their savings accounts.

The list of ills facing Congo, which has never had a peaceful transfer of power, goes far beyond the economic.

A civil war between government troops and Kabila opponents is raging in the heart of the country, where at least 80 mass graves have been discovered since last year and more than a million people have been displaced. Two United Nations experts sent to investigate the mass killings were killed in March.

Now, the violence has spread to Kinshasa. Just last week, a group of men stormed Le Grand Marché, a popular marketplace, killing at least three police officers. The market’s administrator, rumored to be a Kabila supporter, was found dead with her throat slit. In May, a huge jailbreak let loose more than 3,000 prisoners onto the streets.

Mr. Kabila is disliked to such an extent that some of his countrymen now fondly recall Mobutu Sese Seko, the country’s former leader known for his ruthless suppression of opponents and a gargantuan appetite for luxury, paid for with large-scale corruption. Unlike the reclusive Mr. Kabila, Mobutu showed himself in public and gave rousing speeches.

The situation has gotten so bad that rumors of a coup d’état are swirling in diplomatic circles and even within Mr. Kabila’s own party, known as the Presidential Majority.

So far, Mr. Kabila enjoys the protection of his formidable Presidential Guard, a fiercely loyal personal army of some 40,000 members who carry out brutal crackdowns at his bidding.

A top contender to take over as president, Moise Katumbi, a popular figure and a former Kabila ally, has not set foot in the country for over a year. If he does, he faces prison time for what he says are politically motivated charges against him.

Despite his measures to stay in power, Mr. Kabila is finding himself increasingly isolated and cornered.

“He has all these stopgaps to delay the election,” said Jason K. Stearns, the director of the Congo Research Group at New York University and author of “Dancing in the Glory of Monsters,” a book about the country’s war. “He hasn’t been able to change the Constitution to stay in power or find a successor that he trusts. So he’s left playing for time.”

Fearing an exodus of refugees across their borders, Congo’s neighbors and traditional allies are losing patience. In particular, Rwanda and Angola, which have reached some stability after their own civil wars, have little appetite for a return to chaos.

When he assumed the presidency in 2001 after his father’s assassination by his bodyguards, Mr. Kabila was considered a great hope for the country. One of his biggest accomplishments was a peace deal with Congo’s neighbors after the devastating war. He also brought in investment from international mining companies.

But according to those who have known Mr. Kabila personally for a long time, he has amassed so much wealth for himself and his family that he is not ready to give up, even at the cost of more bloodshed.

The country “provided him with easy money, made him feel invincible,” said Francis Kalombo, who knew Mr. Kabila as a young man and was once one of his closest advisers before a falling out in 2015. “So why leave?”

Mr. Kabila and his family have a business network controlling virtually all industry in the country, from mining to a company issuing license plates. The president holds more than 71,000 hectares of farmland, according to the Congo Research Group. Two companies that belong to the family own diamond permits that extend more than 450 miles along Congo’s southern border with Angola.

The government spent more than $4 million this year on a lobbying campaign in Washington to bolster its image, according to disclosure filings with the United States Justice Department.

“Someone who is planning to leave wouldn’t do that,” said Mr. Kalombo, who says he doubts Mr. Kabila will ever hold elections.

The Congolese leader is also encouraged by what he sees in the rest of Africa, Mr. Kalombo said. When other African leaders like Paul Kagame, the president of Rwanda, and Yoweri Museveni, the president of Uganda, have managed to cling on to power using various maneuvers, including changing their Constitutions, Mr. Kabila reasons he can do the same.

During his rule, Mr. Kabila, who likes to hole up in his enormous Kinshasa residence or on one of his farms outside the city, has done little to connect with the public. He was largely raised in exile while his father was plotting to overthrow Mobutu. When he assumed the presidency, he was not fluent in French or Lingala, two of the main languages spoken in Congo.

Mr. Kalombo recalled a conversation he once had with Mr. Kabila.

“‘The Congolese people are cowards,’” Mr. Kabila told him, according to his former friend. “‘You just need to fire four or five gunshots for them to scurry back into their homes.’”

Just like King Leopold II of Belgium, who ran the country as a personal fief for more than 20 years until 1908, Mr. Kabila and his family are operating Congo as a giant cash machine, Mr. Kalombo said.

[themartinsguide]

Koh Samui and Krabi - a holiday within a holiday

17 - 30 March 2017

Our ferry from Koh Tao left early at 6.30am on the morning of 17 March. In hindsight, walking across the island at that time in the morning wasn’t the best idea we’ve ever had and we apologise to our fellow passengers for the sweaty messes we had become by the time the ferry actually departed. But even our poor personal hygiene levels couldn’t get us down because it was time for our holiday within a holiday.

We had recently come to the realisation that the last place we had spent more than 3 or 4 nights was Hoi An, which was over a month ago, and being constantly on the go was starting to take its toll; it was time to settle down for a bit and catch up on some serious holiday admin. Given that we had decided that visiting the islands on the east coast of Malaysia at the end of rainy season was a bit risky, particularly given the cost of getting there, Koh Samui seemed like the perfect place to stay for a while (cementing our self-appropriated title of Thailand backpacking specialists). As it turns out, this decision would come back to bite us. Read on.

Koh Samui is quite a large island which really does have something for everyone. We decided to divide our time between two areas and spent the first four nights in the area of Lamai Beach which is a sedentary town situated along a lengthy, sandy white beach. The beach was lovely and, as we came to discover, much less populated than some of the other beaches on the island (particularly the bustling Chaweng Beach). It was easy to find a spot in which to soak up some rays and sip on a cocktail or two but the sea itself was a bit rough and not great for swimming. However, there were many great beachfront dining options (the seafood BBQ’s are a must do) and a range of accommodation options for all budgets. There are a few landmarks dotted around but to be honest we spent the majority of our time in Lamai at the beach or at the gym (“Ultra Bodies” is a very cheap, well-equipped gym, although there is a lack of air conditioning and the equipment is slightly dated). Of particular note nearby is the “Grandmother and Grandfather Rock” named because of the rock has been shaped over time to resemble male and female genitalia. Go figure.

We arrived in Lamai on a Friday which also happened to be St Patrick’s Day. Thinking it would be rude not to go for at least one beer we found a nearby Irish Pub (they really are everywhere) with live music and ordered ourselves a beverage each. At 2am we stumbled home, after aggressively re-arranging tables to create an impromptu dance floor for ourselves, and wildly fist-pumping to butchered rock covers. It was 1 - 0 to St Patrick. The next day was spent recovering which was largely unsuccessful as we both woke up on Monday with killer head colds. We really are getting old.

A couple of days later we decided to hire a car (the most bizarre experience ever as we were basically just handed the keys and sent on our merry way… No point wasting time signing contracts or checking licences) to fully explore Koh Samui and decide where we were going to stay for the second half of our “holiday”. Thankfully James had done a quick review of Thai driving laws and quickly became familiar with his horn. Oh, and by the way, if another vehicle is driving towards you in your lane you are required give way to them, irrespective of the fact that you are the one driving in the right lane and in the right direction. No shit. However, despite the bizarre road rules and the fact that we hadn’t driven a car since December, we made it through the day unscathed and enjoyed exploring the various parts of the island which are indescribably contrasted. From the largely uninhabited, third world west side to the very developed Chaweng Beach, to the touristy and expensive beaches of Bohput and Maenam, each has something different to offer. We would highly recommend Chaweng Beach and Fisherman’s Village in Bohput. Chaweng Beach is very busy and reminded us of of Waikiki Beach. It had a buzzing, lively atmosphere, great bars and restaurants and fantastic shopping. Fisherman’s Village could be in Noosa. And while that may not appeal to some people, it retains a distinct and relaxed Thai influence (outside of the very weird and largely abandoned open-air mall) with a splash of ultimate luxury throw into the mix. While food is more expensive, the establishments are first class and the beach one of the best by far. Plus, the weekly Friday night market which welcomes visitors from all over the island is excellent, particularly the double-strength mojitos (nothing by halves we say) and the HUGE homemade, chocolate brownies.

Although it was a tough decision, it may not surprise you to discover that we opted to stay in Bohput for the second half of our time in Koh Samui. As we were treating it as a holiday we decided to splash out a little on our accommodation and stayed in a small boutique hotel with a pool, situated a minutes walk to the beach. Again, we didn’t do much other than swim, sunbathe, workout (the nearby Go Kart track came complete with treadmills and a few weights) and do some planning. It was a fool proof way to get over our illnesses (which had reached “man flu” level of seriousness by this time). However, we did get pizza delivered to our room one night which we got irrationally excited about, and we also managed to attend a pub quiz. There were also some happy hour attendances thrown in for good measure.

We decided that our last morning in Koh Samui was a good a time as any to complete our monthly half marathon (as per the rules which, by the way, still play a regular part in our daily life). By 6am we were making our way up to the “Koh Samui Viewpoint” which James had opined “wouldn’t be that steep”. He was wrong. It was a slog. The heat was suffocating. Sweat was pouring of us. The dogs were particularly territorial. People were judging us. All in all, this particular half marathon effort may been one of our craziest. Hannah still isn’t convinced that the “views” were worth it. Still, we did it and next month we will be in much cooler temperatures. Hallelujah.

Later on that day we headed off to Krabi via minibus, ferry, bus, and another minibus. As luck would have it, this was the one time we didn’t pack any snacks and it was the first time neither one of the various methods of transport stopped for a drinks, food, toilet, delivery or dropoff, or smoking break. By the time we reached our hostel in Ao Nang Beach Hannah was at tipping point and we headed for the nearest restaurant. Fortunately, the duck curry was so delicious the wait was almost worth it. Almost.

Our four nights in Krabi were about as eventful as our time in Koh Samui (although the nearby gym was of a much higher standard) Opting to stay near Ao Nang Beach was a good decision and we would recommend a short stop over here or somewhere nearby. It is less popular than the nearby Railay Beach, to which large quantities of long tail boats ferry tourists every morning from Ao Nang. There is a range of accommodation and dining options and Hannah considers it to have some of the better shopping (in terms of range and price) that we have come across in Thailand. As we didn’t venture far we can’t provide any insight into Krabi Town itself but if the scenery is anything like that in Ao Nang we would suggest a visit there too. Krabi was a good place to end the South East Asia segment of our trip. We cannot believe how quickly 13 weeks have gone!

Due to an early flight to Kuala Lumpur we awoke at 4.15am on 30 March. There are not many things that are pleasant at that time in the morning but finding out that you have overstayed your Thai visa by 5 days is perhaps one of the worst possible occurrences. For the first time on this trip, divorce may have been a real possibility. To cut a long story short, we would like to thank: the shuttle driver for arriving early at the airport so that we missed the check in queue (which by 5.30am was out the main door) and were the first people in the line for immigration; the AirAsia check in lady who was unperturbed by our revelation and calmly told us to continue through immigration; the immigration lady who jokingly asked James if he would like to return to Thailand in the future; and the Thai government for excusing our indiscretion with the payment of a $200 fine.

The 30 minutes it took to process our fine (which was done with the assistance of carbon paper in plain view of every traveller leaving Krabi that morning) felt like a lifetime. There were certainly no complaints when we boarded the plane for Kuala Lumpur despite the rice which had been smeared into Hannah’s seat by the previous occupant, the minimal leg room, and the below average snacks. Still, you have to work to get our special ‘overstayers’ visa stamp.