#tell him he owes me remnant for taking up so much space in my brain

[keepyourpantsongohan]

And Many Happy Returns

A gift for @sloaners, one of the funniest, nicest and most talented people I know. You deserve nothing but good things, so here’s something made with the wish to make you smile. Please check out the collaborative pieces by @uintuva​ @tomicaleto​ @kiro-sveta and @ohayohimawari​​. | AO3 (Art/Writing) | Podfic |

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts, as the best intentions often do, with a thirty-year-old man blowing out a birthday candle. 

“Happy birthday, Kakashi,” Tenzō tells him warmly. 

This warmth between them is both new and old. It aches of familiarity, and partnership, and all the things Kakashi has compartmentalized as something he ought to think about at a later date. But it is later, the moon shining down upon them in the wee hours of the night, his face bare to his companion. It’s a new world order, one where to Kakashi is the Sixth Hokage, and the village is bustling with migrants from all its neighbours, and where he lets someone look at him the way Tenzō is doing, like he has done something incredibly right. 

Kakashi wishes Obito were here to see this. He likes to think it would annoy him a little, even if this was exactly what he had suggested. 

“So how does it feel?” Tenzō asks, smiling. He sets down the cupcake, knowing Kakashi isn’t interested in sweets anyway. “Your first birthday as Hokage. This should be a day that the whole village celebrates.” 

“Maa, you know I don’t like parties,” Kakashi says, ducking his head as if a villager might pop up somewhere with a confetti canon. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Tenzō’s. “This is fine with me.” 

Tenzō sighs, all fondness. “Well, you have to at least let me show you your birthday present.” 

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you bring something?” 

Tenzō shakes his head. “It’s more of something I get to show, actually.” 

It’s very tempting for Kakashi to make a joke at that, but his thought is soon cut off by a gleaming light in the sky, a bright blue-green speck making its way from far up above them, heading downward quite suddenly. For a moment, he thinks it could be a shooting star. Yet it doesn’t look much like a star to him, particularly not when he realizes whatever it is is hurtling not only towards the ground, but towards them. Kakashi’s mental calculations suggest that the meteor will land before they get a chance to move. 

It is all they can do to brace for impact. Kakashi feels his chakra gather in his palms and raises his hands so that he might be able to form a chidori. Beside him, Tenzō’s hands form a serpent seal and a wooden dome suddenly encloses them. A futile effort, given the speed and force of the object, but one Kakashi appreciates nonetheless. 

What surprises him, however, is when the meteor passes straight through the barrier, lands in their laps with a groan, and lets out a frustrated, “Ow!” 

Kakashi’s brain tries to catch up to the situation. They’re alive. They’re alive, and so is their meteor. Except it’s not a meteor, it’s a mint green man, who has appendages jutting out from his neck that dig into Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi’s eyes rove over the man’s back, taking in the familiarity of what he is facing. 

“Obito?” asks Kakashi incredulously. 

“Obito?!” Tenzō repeats, his voice rising an octave. “Your Obito? Kakashi, isn’t he supposed to be dead?” 

Kakashi says, before he can think much about it, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” 

In answer to their questions, Obito finally rolls over, confirming what Kakashi already knew. Obito’s face and body are the same as they were at the height of the war by all accounts. Scales, tomoe, and horns decorate his body, but what draws most of his attention are the brushstrokes painted across his stomach, reading, “Love, Kaa-san~”

A hand thrown over his eyes, Obito grumbles out, “Your mother says, ‘Happy birthday,’ Bakashi.”

—

Tenzō’s first order of business is to find out how this happened. Obito’s first order of business, as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet, is to stare at Kakashi. 

“Wh— That’s— You’re handsome!” Obito accuses, outraged. He points his finger at Kakashi’s uncovered face. 

It’s unclear if Kakashi’s face is flushed from the impact of Obito’s words or the impact of his body flying at them from space. “Uh, thanks,” Kakashi replies weakly. 

“Can we go back to Kakashi’s mother?” Tenzō asks, waving a hand in front of them. “How many people are back from the dead?” 

“Just me, so far,” says Obito, a little defensively. “Kaguya’s immortal, so it’s not like she was dead in the first place.” 

“Kaguya,” Kakashi echoes flatly, eyes drifting up to the night sky. Tenzō’s gaze follows his, staring up at the moon, suddenly conscious of every moment he and Kakashi might have shared under the moon’s light. “My... mother?” 

Obito claps his hands together, distracting Tenzō and Kakashi from their respective existential crises. “Right! She said this would help explain.” 

Then, without preamble, Obito steps towards Kakashi, places his hands on either side of his face, and pulls him forward into a long, enthusiastic kiss. Kakashi’s hands drift upward, hovering over Obito’s sides. Though Tenzō can’t see both of Kakashi’s eyes, he does see one of them widen and shut, as a bright light pulses from Kakashi’s forehead, blowing his hair upward with an accompanying breeze. They draw apart, with half-smiles on their faces. 

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if the situation makes any more sense. He looks at Tenzō. “Can you tell him too?” 

Obito nods. Tenzō tries not to jump when Obito leans towards him and their lips meet. As they do, Tenzō’s eyes are flooded with images, first of a woman with three eyes and long silver hair, and then of a man who looks just like Kakashi. The images flash quickly from the woman holding a small child, to passing through rips in the universe, to the remnants of Obito’s chakra being pulled into the moon. It is not unlike being awoken from a genjutsu.  

When the last memory passes before his eyes, Tenzō pulls away and says, “You know, all she said you had to do was touch us. Any reason you chose a kiss?” 

Obito’s mint green skin turns a bright shade of orange. “Hey— Well... Kakashi, help me out here.” 

“It was a pretty good kiss,” Kakashi offers in reply. “Eight out of ten, at least.” 

“Six and a half,” says Tenzō. “He bit my lip.” 

Obito grumbles under his breath, “Some people like that,” while Kakashi laughs.

—

“Remind me again why we’re staying at Yamato’s place and not yours, Bakashi?” 

Kakashi tosses a pillow at Obito, which, to Tenzō’s mild regret, he catches. “Because my place is the Hokage’s residence. Your chakra signature is too noticeable. Not to mention, the horns.” 

There’s far more intrigue in Kakashi’s last few words than Tenzō finds comforting. 

Obito and Tenzō lock eyes. “He looks at me judgementally,” Obito complains, pouting. 

“That’s because I’m judging you,” Tenzō informs him, just a little bit amused. “Consider me your rehabilitation sponsor.” 

Obito winces. “Doesn’t me dying count for something?” 

Tenzō regards Obito speculatively, weighing the consequences of an honest answer. Strangely enough, the man seems sincere. One of the orbs floating by Obito’s head brushes against Tenzō’s cheek, like a sulking cat seeking attention. “No,” says Tenzō, this time smiling outright.

Tenzō brings his attention back to Kakashi. He roots through one of his utility pouches, and shortly deposits what he finds into Kakashi’s palm. “This was supposed to be a gift for you,” Tenzō explains. “But now I suppose it makes more sense to give it to both of you.” 

“A key,” Kakashi observes, turning the wood over between his fingers. His mask, now back in place, doesn’t fully hide the flush creeping up. 

Tenzō nods, and with a few hand seals, a duplicate is in his hands. “I like my house the way it is,” he tells Obito, closing his fist over it. 

Without waiting for a reply, Tenzō crosses the room to head upstairs. Aside from Kakashi and Obito likely needing their own moment to speak, he feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. 

As his feet reach the third step, he hears Obito say, “What am I supposed to do with that?” 

“You might try being helpful,” Tenzō calls out from the stairwell. 

—

Obito decides to take Yamato—Tenzō, as Kakashi keeps calling him—seriously. He spends the next morning in Tenzō’s kitchen helping out. The fridge doesn’t have everything he needs, but he saves time by going out into the garden and encouraging some of the fruits to grow with his mokuton. Food hasn’t been a necessity for Obito for a few years, so he takes care in arranging it, hoping that if it isn’t tasty, it’s at least well-presented. 

Obito is attempting to place seaweed on rice in an appreciable impression of a cat’s ears when Tenzō comes to stand beside him. 

“Is this for Kakashi?” 

“This one is for you,” Obito says, gesturing. “The other one is for Kakashi. His box has a rabbit.” 

Tenzō eyes crinkle at the corners. Obito is beginning to recognize the motion for what it is, a reflection of the way Kakashi smiles, when the mask is in place. “Thank you. I can bring it to him, if you want.” 

Obito mulls over the offer. “We can go together.” 

“I don’t know if that’s—“ 

Obito closes the box, and uses his free hand to wave off Tenzō’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too early for him to have any visitors. Besides, I want to see if he really wears those robes like Old Man Third.” 

Tenzō shakes his head. “How are you planning to pass through the village unnoticed?“ 

Obito taps his temple, right beside his sharingan. “Kamui,” he says, both an explanation and a warning. 

“Obito—”

In one fluid motion, Obito tucks a bento box in the crook of his arm and grabs Tenzō’s elbow to yank him forward. Moments later, they stand in front of Kakashi, who looks surprised but pleased. 

“What brings you two here?” 

“Your lunch,” Obito declares, sliding the box across his desk. 

Kakashi rests one elbow on the desk, leaning his head on his palm. “What’s the occasion?” 

“I didn’t give you a gift,” Obito says, and then freezes. 

At once, both he and Kakashi realize what Obito has said. Kakashi is looking at him the same way he did the night before. His stricken look and doubt from the war is gone, replaced by something warmer and softer. Obito feels his face heat up. 

“There’s nothing you need to give me,” Kakashi says quietly. He hasn’t stopped looking at Obito. 

“I want to,” Obito tells him honestly. It feels freeing to say it. 

Kakashi finally breaks their gaze. “That’s good to hear,” is what he says, reaching for the bento box. Their fingers brush. 

Though Obito can feel Tenzō looking at them, he finds himself distracted in Kakashi’s face. The war feels only like yesterday to Obito, but he can see new lines on Kakashi’s face that hadn’t been there before. Lines beside his eyes to accompany his smile, a tan line peeking up from where his mask has not sat evenly on his face, and a line between his brows that reminds Obito he is standing in front of the Sixth Hokage. 

“Kakashi, I—”

What Obito is going to say, even he cannot predict, but he is spared from answering by the door to Kakashi’s office suddenly bursting open. 

“Sakura, Sai,” Kakashi greets the two teenagers casually, as if there is not a six-foot-tall formerly dead rogue ninja in his office. “What’s going on?” 

Sakura stares, disbelief written on her face. “I could ask the same question.” 

“It’s a long story,” Tenzō says, raising his hands in a warding gesture. 

The boy, who must be Sai, blinks, looking oddly unaffected. “Kakashi-sama, is this some kind of test?” 

“Would you believe it if I said yes?” Kakashi asks.

Sakura gives him a withering look. “Not even a little bit.”

Though Sakura is the one Obito expects to be gawking at him, given that she was present when he died, her ire is directed towards her teacher. It is Sai who looks at him with focused curiosity. Well, Obito supposes people don’t encounter a jinchuriki with his appearance every day. “If you have something to ask, just say it,” Obito tells him.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sai inquires seriously. He has a sketchpad in his hands, as if he were intending to take notes. 

“Why are you alive?” Sakura asks, reasonably. 

“It was Kakashi’s birthday yesterday,” he explains, before Tenzō grabs his arm and phases them both through the wooden floor. 

—

“Just stay put for now,” Tenzō demands, when they arrive in his back garden. “We’re lucky it was those two. If Sasuke or Naruto were in the village right now, there would’ve been much more of a scene.” 

Obito sits down on the engawa, feet sinking into the grass. “I was just helping out,” he says, shrugging. 

Tenzō takes a seat beside him. “Help less obviously.” 

“Kakashi wouldn’t take my apology,” Obito replies quietly. He brushes his fingers over a dandelion, letting it grow taller and wilder in his grasp. “But he would take my lunch. I know he still has thoughts about my past, but he won’t say anything about it. He just keeps looking at me like...” 

“...He’s happy that you’re alive?” Tenzō suggests. “He is. Believe me, he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.” 

“He looks at you like that.” 

Though his expression doesn’t change, Obito doesn’t need a sharingan to pick up the redness in Tenzō’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.” 

“Am I complicating it?” Obito asks sincerely. 

“A little,” Tenzō admits, to Obito’s surprise. The other man chuckles. “But I think you’d be complicating it whether you were alive or not. And I like to see him happy.” 

The words make Obito’s stomach tighten in a pleasant way. He takes a moment to take stock of his companion. It is easy enough to see what Kakashi sees in him, in his honest feelings, determination and loyalty. It makes Obito wonder if they can make whatever this is work after all. 

“I’m sorry for what happened during the war,” Obito tells him. “For what I did to you. I know what it’s like to be used. It doesn’t change anything, but—”

“It does,” Tenzō interjects calmly. “It helps.” 

Obito wants to say something more, but both of them turn their attention to the woods, feeling a familiar chakra presence rushing at them at full speed. 

“That’s not...” 

“It is,” Tenzō confirms. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually.” 

With that, a green blur rolls straight past Tenzō’s wards and jerks to a halt right at the edge of Tenzō’s property. “Yamato, my youthful friend!! Is it true that you and my rival are now living together in hot-blooded cohabitation?” 

“Does he really not notice me?” Obito mutters. Tenzō kicks him. 

“Not exactly, Gai,” Tenzō calls out. “He’s free to come and go as he pleases.” 

Gai, who looks every bit as energetic as ever, pushes his wheelchair closer to them. “Yosh!! Just like Kakashi!” Gai replies. “He wants to train harder before taking that next step.” 

When he is at arm’s length from the house, Gai turns his stare to Obito, narrowing his eyes with a concerned frown. 

“Hey Gai,” Obito says, waving. 

Gai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Yamato, your comrade seems... familiar. Have we met before?” 

“Seriously?!” Obito exclaims. 

This time, Tenzō elbows Obito. “Gai, I’m not sure if he looked like this that last time you saw him, but this is Obito. He's come back from... somewhere.” 

Gai’s smile fades. The seriousness in his expression looks out of place. “I see.” 

Obito takes a deep breath, and stands up. He bows his head a little, half in contrition and half because he thinks Gai would rather not look at him. “I’m sorry. Kakashi told me that Naruto’s friend, the Hyuga boy, was your student. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but you deserve to hear me say it. I wish I could bring him back—”

“Neji?” Gai interrupts him, his voice shaky. 

Obito offers one quick nod. “Yes, if I could’ve done things differently, I would—”

“Neji,” says Tenzō beside him, sounding shocked. “Obito, what did you do?”

It surprises Obito that Tenzō hasn’t already heard this story from Kakashi. He lifts his head to reply, when suddenly he catches sight of the source of their surprise. Standing beside Gai, unscathed, is the Hyuga boy who Obito had certainly impaled with mokuton. 

“Gai-sensei?” Neji asks, stepping unsteadily towards his teacher. “What happened?” 

“Neji!” Gai says again, pulling his student down into a tight hug. Gai’s eyes are full of tears, but his grin is blinding. “You’re alive!” 

“Not if you keep crushing me like this,” Neji wheezes, but he returns his teacher’s embrace, pressing his face to Gai’s shoulder. Some of the weight in the air finally lifts off, and for a moment, there is peace. 

And then the moment passes. Tenzō’s hand comes down firmly on Obito’s shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Obito,” he repeats soberly. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Obito yelps. “All I said was that I wish I could take back what I’d done to the Hyuga kid—”

Tenzō eyes him doubtfully. “And that was all it took? Listen, I wish that I could bring Asuma back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show up at our next Mahjong game.” 

Obito wishes this level of suspicion was unwarranted, but he supposes his track record is less than stellar. “I don’t know what happened, alright? If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.” 

“Neji,” Tenzō asks, with far more patience in his voice than he had with Obito, “what’s the last thing you remember?” 

“The war,” Neji says, finally escaping Gai’s hug. He thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “And then some strange woman who claimed she knew Kakashi-sensei.” 

Obito and Tenzō look at each other. And somehow, from across the village in the Sarutobi District, the wind carries out three piercing screams. 

—

When Kakashi gets to Tenzō’s place that night, Obito is already fast asleep on the sofa, sitting up straight with his mouth wide open. One of the orbs that is always surrounding him bumps against Kakashi’s hand, not unlike Kakashi’s ninken do to greet him. Tugging the blanket over Obito’s shoulders, Kakashi smiles. “You’ve made a lot of paperwork for me, you know,” he tells his sleeping friend. Obito mumbles something in reply unconsciously, and Kakashi ruffles his hair, sighing. 

“You can’t give him all the blame,” Tenzō points out, emerging from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “It’s a full moon this week. Strange things tend to happen.” 

Kakashi laughs. “You, defending Obito? It didn’t take him long to win you over.” 

Tenzō approaches him, settling a hand between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, a soothing warmth. “Only on a trial basis.” 

Kakashi closes his eyes. “You realize, as Hokage, I oversee all shinobi trials.” 

He feels Tenzō laugh at his back, the hand drifting to his side. “Maybe Obito was right, this system is corrupt.” 

“You can admit that you’re enjoying having him around, Tenzō,” Kakashi baits, tugging him towards the sofa. 

“I find his absurdity disarming,” Tenzō confesses. “It’s similar to how I feel around you sometimes, actually.” 

Kakashi pulls Tenzō down so that he can sandwich himself between the two mokuton users. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”  

Tenzō leans on Kakashi, just as Kakashi leans on Obito. “You would.” 

Obito opens one eye. “You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he mumbles, through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep,” Kakashi says, patting him on the cheek. 

For once, Obito listens. And so, tangled on the sofa is how they find themselves the next morning, when all three of them awake to a glowing purple egg gleaming innocently on Tenzō’s coffee table. 

[kestrelmando]

Group Therapy - Oneshot

Inspired by this post by thecyndimistuff (@thecyndimistuff ), apollonkondric , and  floatingearth about Peli Motto taking Din to a support group for empty nesters post S2. 

Warnings/Notes: None, possible a single swear word slipped by. Angsty, introspective Din and space mom Peli Motto taking charge. No romantic pairings, not beta’d please excuse any mistakes until I find them. Couldn’t help to slip a nod my other Mando fic Bird of Prey, Way of War in at the end. 

---

He’s tried being useful around – what were they calling it now? Fett’s Palace? – the palace; taking stock of weapons and resources left behind by Jabba and Fortuna. Weapons he’s familiar with; taking them apart, servicing them, and testing them gives him something to keep him busy and keep his mind occupied.  

He even took to sometimes mirroring Fennec’s imposing, protective place – on the left on Fett, never the right that was Fennec’s earned spot – on the dais when Fett had meetings because no, you should not fuck with the legendary bounty hunter but especially when he’s got a sharp shooting assassin on one shoulder and another infamous bounty hunter clad head to toe in beskar on the other.

He’s done perimeter sweeps with Fennec, who chooses to humor his morose silence, and with Fett, who also allows the silence but is far less indulgent about it. Oh, Fett never calls him out on it. Quite the contrary, bounty hunter to bounty hunter he can read Din like a book and knew from the moment he returned to the Slave that he was not ok. Still wasn’t ok but that doesn’t stop the occasional long drawn sigh from the older man.

All in all, it took a week for Din to be sent to Mos Eisley to ‘pick up supplies’. He wasn’t stupid; he knew Fett could’ve sent anyone working for him to go on a supply run. He initially welcomed the change of scenery before remembering he’d have to travel hours around the Great Mesra Plateau and his only options of landscape were either endless sand or the red rock formations and canyons.

So Din dutifully took a land speeder and set off to Mos Eisley, trying to ignore the repetitive backdrop that allowed him far too much time to think about his foundling and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber with Fett’s warning still ringing in his ears ‘make sure you take that thing with you’.

 ---

 The supplies, or rather supply, in question was a tiny compressor part for the climate control unit that could fit in his pocket.  The vendor had taken one long look at his beskar and held up a bin of the teeny components after Din asked about it and he was done within half an hour.

…Now what?

He found himself following the by now well-known path to Peli Motto’s hanger. She was familiar territory, she was easy to talk to and almost painfully transparent. Perhaps most importantly in this moment; she wanted nothing from him.

The door to Peli’s outbuilding slid open for him and he wandered in, hands painfully empty, and let the pit droids fuss over him. Tatooine’s hot suns greeted him as he stepped into the hanger bay, eyes scanning for the mechanic. The hanger was empty, no parked ship in sight, and the mechanic was elbow deep in a pile of scrap muttering to herself and passing parts and pieces to a pit droid.

Din smiled under his helmet when she tossed a piece of scrap away from her with a huff and it landed near his feet. She turned her head briefly to see where it landed and then whipped it back towards him, hand flying to her heart.

“Stars Mando!” She sat back on her heels and blew out a breath. The mechanic frowned, “Where’s your ship?” Peli stood, dusting her knees and palms off, and took a few steps towards him with a hand pressed above her eyes to block the suns. She looked him over and then stopped dead in her tracks, “Where’s…where is the baby?”

He felt his throat close around any words he was going to say. Peli’s eyes darted around his body; around his hips for the bag, his feet for the little one to pop out around him at any second. She opened her mouth to say something, her face drawn tight, when he simply couldn’t keep up his stoic façade any longer.

A short hiccup, somewhat garbled by the vocoder of the helmet, slipped out followed by a low keen he couldn’t bear to swallow. Din shut his mouth with a snap, a flush creeping up his neck while his hands closed opened and closed around nothing – empty. Peli’s eyebrows rose in concern momentarily before she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before slowly extending her hand towards him. Her fingers closed around his elbow, shoulders losing their tense line when he didn’t protest, and guided him back towards the outbuilding.

Din let her steer him to a small table in the corner and ease him into a chair. She disappeared around the corner momentarily and was back with a bottle of boga noga and two small cups. Peli sank into the chair opposite him and poured a couple fingers the Hutt ale. She curled her hands around her drink and looked up at him, face pinched.

“Just tell me first; is he ok?”

He took a deep breath that sounded strained through the beskar, “Yes.”

Peli visibly deflated as her shoulders sagged in relief, “Oh thank the Force.” She muttered before taking a sip of her ale, wincing a bit.

Despite the lump in his throat, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards in the beginnings of a fond grin. Din swallowed, “His name is Grogu.”

She cocked her head, thinking on the name, and smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes and watched the pit droids scurry about the hanger through the viewport. Eventually, she flicked her eyes back up the Mandalorian and asked, “What happened?”

He paused and wondered if it was safe to tell her more than sparse nonspecific details. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; quite the opposite she’d shown herself to be a loyal friend and Din had already entrusted Fett and Shand with the whole story. But Peli was different – she wasn’t a fighter. Still, Moff Gideon was in the custody of the New Republic and Grogu was safe with Skywalker. He supposed it was safe enough.

So he laid it all out for her and once he started he found that he couldn’t stop. He talked about the bounty from the remnant Imperials on Grogu and how the kid had saved his life with the Mudhorn, how he took on the task of keeping him safe as his foundling and out of the hands of those who would hurt him and use him. To their short time on Sorgan and how Grogu terrorized the local wildlife, how he was tasked by his alor to reunite him with other Jedi.  Din told her of his meetings with the Jedi Ahsoka Tano and Bo-Katan, interspersed with a quick and bastardized history of the Mandalore.

He had to pause when he got to Tython. His voice was caught in a steel trap in his throat.

Din considered the shot of ale and tipped the helmet back just enough to not spill it all over himself before downing it. He immediately understood Peli’s grimace when she sipped on hers; it was sweeter and fruiter than he was used to but it was unbearably strong. His eyes watered at the burn. Her gaze flicked to his exposed chin momentarily before darting away and she finished hers too, coughing a little.

She rose her eyebrows at him and he knew what she was thinking; I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.

He continued quietly – Tython, Grogu’s capture, and the Razor Crest getting destroyed. Din covered Morak as clinically as he could and felt the need to explain a bit more about his creed to the mechanic. She watched him carefully and frowned when he began to get hung up. Din gestured uselessly next to her, “I – it should have been a bigger deal. It should have meant everything but I – the kid –“

Peli gently laid her hand on his forearm. His helmet slowly turned to look back at her but she held her ground and patted his arm. Din pressed on and spoke of Gideon’s cruiser, the rescue, and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber. He haltingly recounted his goodbye to his foundling and slumped back in his chair when it was over.

The mechanic was silent next to him, her hand light on his arm, before she turned to him thoughtfully. “Mando—“

Why the hell not. “Din. My name is Din.”

“Din, you did what you had to do for the little one.” She looked nostalgic, “Parent’s sacrifice for their kids. You can’t understand it, can’t know what you are willing to do until you have one. He needed you and you stepped up. I don’t claim to know to know much about your people but it sounds like you fulfilled your mission.”

Peli stood then, collecting the empty glasses. “You say you’re out near the Northern Dune Sea? How long will you be here?”

He nodded absently, “No more than a few days. I’m returning to the palace soon—“

She whirled back around horrified, one of the glasses slipping from her fingers, “Jabba’s Palace?”

Din caught it quickly, “Fett’s Palace.”

Peli wasn’t appeased. “Fett? Boba Fett?”

“Yes—“

“That bantha brain owes me money!”

Din chuckled, realizing she more annoyed than afraid. Fett owed her money? That sounded like a story. Peli headed back towards the kitchenette with a huff and Din dutifully followed with the other glass. Peli sighed exasperatedly, “I was the only one willing to work on that ship of his for years! No one else would touch it, it sat in that hanger for years and no mechanic was willing to do any maintenance on it – oh Peli what if he comes back – well, what’s he gonna be more mad about? That someone was poking around keeping it running or that we just let it sit and get taken by the sands?’

She took the glass from him and deposited it in the sink, “I spent five years taking care of that rust bucket! He comes back looking like hell with no credits and says he’ll pay me ‘soon’. When is ‘soon’?”

He didn’t give it a second thought; Fett had given him way more credits than he’d needed to pay for the part and he knew that she would be a good resource for Fett – she wasn’t afraid of him. He reached into his pocket and held the bag of credits out to her. Peli slowly stretched out her hand and took it, inhaling at the weight of it.

“If that doesn’t cover it let me know. I can pass along that you are willing to work on the Slave, it’d be a regular job.”

Peli passed the heavy bag of credits back and forth between her hands, smiling, and then said, “You know…he can wait a little longer.”

 ---

 Why did he agree to this?

Peli turned from the small table housing drinks and snacks and held out a cup of chilled caf to him. Din slowly turned his head and shoulders towards her and, despite not seeing his face, she read his tone.

She frowned, “Oh right.”

The mechanic turned away for a moment, fiddling with something he couldn’t see, and twisted back with a triumphant grin. Peli brandished a long straw and poked him in the shoulder with it when he didn’t move.

“Come on Mando, just take it.”

With a sigh, Din took the straw and caf before reluctantly following Peli into the other room. All the chatter immediately ceased and six pairs of eyes snapped to him as he rounded the corner with her. He didn’t know what he expected, it was the normal reaction to beskar – still his insides felt hollowed out after his talk and something about it stung a little.

Peli, however, paid it no mind and all but dragged him to a seat next to her. The other occupants, some human and some not, stared and waited for an explanation. The mechanic took a bite of her snack, a large cookie, and chewed slowly. She met the confused and frankly frightened looks of the group and took her time to chew and swallow, all the while rolling her eyes at the over the top reaction.

She was never given a reason to be afraid of her Mandalorian, or even Fett despite his reputation, and he’d always been fair and polite. Oh, she knew their reputation – bloodthirsty, ruthless, and unfeeling. But after seeing Mando with the baby, she had done some digging. Tatooine might be in the backwaters of the galaxy but it had a long history and many colorful inhabitants; between the HoloNet and asking around she’d learned a bit.

That child was never in any danger from the Mandalorian, in fact there was scarcely a safer place to be. Mando – Din – had taken him in and done right be him. Still, she knew he had to be uncomfortable in a place like this. She picked a spot facing the door and had already decided on the way in that she’d do the talking.

She brushed the crumbs off her hands, “Sorry we’re late. This is my friend, Mando.” The silence was deafening but she continued, “He doesn’t say much.”

His helmet turned almost unnoticeably towards her and she met his visor. Peli shrugged and rose her eyebrows; am I wrong? The Mandalorian cocked his head in agreement and leaned back into his seat. She sipped her chilled caf and settled in as a human across from them began to speak. She hadn’t brought him here to talk, she brought him here to listen.

He stiffened when she mentioned it back at the hanger, thinking it was a support group for parents whose children had passed on. But when she clarified that it was for parents without their children with them, whether it be they had simply grown up or were temporarily away, he hadn’t seemed any less rigid.

“I – I’m not his father.”

It was the softest she’d ever heard him and she felt her heart clench at the melancholy tone. His fingers twitched anxiously at his sides, opening and closing.

She countered, “You are in all the ways that matter.”

In the end, Mando tentatively agreed to go with her. The pair listened as the group went around with updates or things they did to alleviate the ache of missing their loved ones; some were grown with families of their own, others had moved off-planet, and some were off training at various academies. They talked about how they kept in contact and how they kept busy. Some tended hydroponic gardens, others kept meticulous journals, and still others traveled. He snorted; one sent his alien foundling with a Jedi across the galaxy and took up being a menacing beskar statue behind an infamous bounty hunter who may or may not be the ruler of Mandalore.

Din retreated into his own thoughts, wondering how Grogu was doing with his training. He could almost picture it in his mind; Grogu’s little brow wrinkled in concentration, maybe with his eyes closed if he was really trying, and the Jedi directing him. He imagined the little womp rat chasing – terrorizing – the local fauna and pouting about not being able to eat all the time. Would he still have his mythosaur pendant? Was he happy?

He blinked back to attention when Peli plucked the straw from his fingers and slid it into his caf with a small clink. People were looking at him expectantly, he swallowed nervously before realizing it was actually Peli there were waiting on.

She stood to get another cookie and Mando took the groups distraction to slip the long straw under his helmet. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but a cold drink was too tempting to pass up. Peli settled back in next to him and began to speak, “Well I have some updates,”

Peli broke the cookie in half and continued, “Corjul still hasn’t left Endor. After all that time on Hoth, he just decided that Endor was ‘perfect’ and he volunteered to monitor the shields. I’m not sure there’s much of anything out there but the natives…but he seems happy.”

Din stared under his helmet – Peli Motto had a kid. He supposed it made sense now he thought about it; why else would she be coming to these meetings? The mechanic finished a bite and folded her arms, “I am glad he’s just an analyst, not running around after Empire remnants. “

He sipped at his now lukewarm caf and wondered what her son looked like. Her voice flitted over his head, "Now Briell—“ Din inhaled sharply and his caf slurped loudly through the straw. Two children? Peli glanced at him, amused, “Briell has been settled nicely on Ord Mantell for a while now with her husband. I’m heading there in a couple weeks, my granddaughter is turning two.”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the group, some congratulating and some asking for a holo. He smiled, happy for her. It seemed the meeting was winding down and he took a long drink of his caf to finish it. “And as for Savi—“ Din choked on his caf, coughing and yanking the straw out from under his helmet to press an ineffectual hand against his chest.

Three. Three children Peli Motto had and Din knew nothing about it. Sure, it hadn’t come up in casual conversation, not that he was much of a conversationalist anyway, but certainly it would have come up? Grogu took to her so quickly and he hadn’t really questioned it but now he could see the pieces fitting together. The way she’d fussed over how to hold Grogu, was he getting enough to eat.

“Anyway, Savi is still planet hopping. He sends a holo when he remembers to. Last I heard he was heading to Coruscant to stay with a friend who’s a lobbyist. Still trying to ‘find himself’.” Peli patted his shoulder, “I’ve got this one to keep me busy and he just hooked me up with a steady new client.”

He took Peli’s cup and his own, following her nodded direction, and went to clean them. It was a simple kitchenette and he used as little of the moisture farmed water as he could to wash them out. His mind wandered again and he palmed the metal knob in his pocket; Fett, in between gasping peals of laughter, telling him that he knew exactly who the Jedi was and that Grogu would be safe with him. He wondered if the kid was pulling all kinds of things out of the air by now – Din smiled – he was going to be a menace once he could grab whatever he wanted regardless of where it was.

Peli’s head poked around the corner, “Hey Mando, you ready to head back?”

The Mandalorian nodded and followed his friend back onto the dusty streets of Mos Eisley. They walked in companionable silence, Din’s head on a swivel watching the road as the twin suns began to set. He fingered the comm unit in his pocket, wondering for the umpteenth time when Skywalker was going to contact him about Grogu’s progress. The man said he’d be allowed to visit, that he wasn’t a believer in separating families but still Din wondered.

“You know, Mando, you’re allowed to miss him and be proud of him.” Peli said next to him.

He looked down to her, “Am I?”

She sighed and stuffed her hands into her pockets, “Yeah. My kids all left Tatooine to do bigger, better things. Of course I miss them, sometimes I miss them more than I can stand but I’m so proud of them. I couldn’t hold onto them forever but it doesn’t mean they are gone for good.”

Din sighed, “I understand that. But he’s – he’s so young what if he doesn’t remember me? What if he’d rather stay with his teacher forever? What if—“

Peli grabbed his elbow, stopping them just outside of her hanger. “He adores you, Din. Anyone can see it, he won’t forget you. He’ll do what he needs to and then you and him will decide what’s next. It isn’t forever.”

He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and swallowed the lump in his throat. It isn’t forever, we will decide what to do next. Din followed her into the outbuilding and stopped when he caught the mischievous look on her face. He slowly tilted his head at her, almost afraid to ask.

“You’ve done me a favor with Fett, Mando. I might have a ship you’d be interested in.”

[heavenunderthemoon]

Growing Pains- Spencer Reid {Chapter 1}

This is a sequel to the prologue, I recommend checking that out!

QUANTICO

OCTOBER 2011

The coffee shop was bustling with activity, despite it being nearly six in the morning. Early risers and morning commuters in the like seemed to mob the small shop, the poor baristas doling drinks out at an impossible speed.

It was a chilly morning,Spencer's jacket collar itched at his neck and he made a grab for it in irritation, swatting the hairs that he had been meaning to cut out of the way as he did so. His curls were beginning to look a bit unruly, the case load preventing him from focusing on anything other than catching serial killers. Though, to be fair, he hardly ever focused too much on his appearance, his socks were a testament to that. The different patterns poked out of his cuffed slacks and he forced himself to look back at the board, scanning the menu even if he knew what he wanted.

Pumpkin drawn in chalk stared back at him until it was his turn to order and the baristas barely looked at him before punching in his black coffee. He didn't need any additive, at least, not from them. no, his main source of fuel was on the other side of the room, the sugar cart winking back at him. Spencer stepped back, letting the people behind him up to the counter as he waited for his freshly brewed coffee, his mind still a bit muggy without caffeination.

The lack of caffeination is what he would blame it on later that day. A mere delusion from sleep deprivation, or maybe he had even been dreaming still, falling asleep right where he stood and imagining the whole thing. He would chalk it up to any reason, any reason at all, because he couldn't have possibly heard your name.

"Y/N!" The barista called out.

The Reid's head snapped up, following the figure grabbing the coffee and his eyes trailed your back. No, that couldn't possibly be you. It couldn't be you, because, well, the last time he'd seen you was when you were both fourteen. Children, wishing upon stars and making pinky promises. The last time he had heard from you was when he was still in college, your voices tossed back in forth between the staticky phone booth's reception, and even then you both knew that your friendship was fizzling out.

He remembered quite clearly what you looked like too. Your hair had reached your back and still shoved into that dirty baseball cap that you never quite took off. That was the girl he remembered.

The back he followed left out the for and his foot twitched, as if to follow, but, had it really been you? It hadn't, Spencer reassured. It couldn't have been you. Just because they had called your name- a name he supposed other people could have, of course- didn't mean it was you. In fact, he hadn't even gotten a good look at your face. And, yes, while the hair color may have been the same, he was probably just overthinking it.

Right, that's what it was. He was overthinking it.

He always overthought things. In fact, he notoriously over thought things. He was absolutely mad if he actually thought that he saw his childhood best friend in a coffee shop, exactly 2,406.9 miles away from the last location he had seen her.

"Spencer." The barista called with a smile, extending the styrofoam cup, steam billowing from the small opening at the top. His name was written across the side in block letters, and his hand covered the lettering as he grabbed it, nodding as a thank you before retiring to the sugar station.

Y/N L/N.

Your name danced across his mind, flashes of your childhood playing almost against his will and he soon found himself lost in a memory, his feet taking him to work as he did.

-

NEVADA 1991

"Ow! Spencer, you keep stepping on my toes." Nine year old you complained, breaking apart from the boy's hold and sending him an exasperated look.

Your overalls hung loosely on your body, a hand-me-down from your brothers that didn't quite fit you yet. Your father had done his best to stitch it, but the man couldn't sew to save his life. Differently colored threads poked out in seemingly random places, and Spencer found himself staring at them from time to time.

The boy's cheeks tinted pink, his eyebrows furrowing as he stepped away, shutting off the music and going back to his book that sat propped upon the table. That morning, the two children had turned on your father's TV set. Diana didn't particularly let the boy watch it at home. On her bad days, she said the TV was a ploy from the government, destined to rot his brain and turn him against her. On her good days, she said it wasn't mentally stimulating enough, Not as mentally stimulating as a book, ushering him off with another literature classic if he requested watching something before bed. You, on the other hand, weren't given as many restrictions. besides, your father worked during the day which left you and your brothers with free rein of the house, and, with it being summertime, your brothers were both away at football camp.

A music video depicting a teenage couple had been the first channel you had landed on and, their sweet, slow dance had made you both curious about the logistics. Spencer, of course, had taken a more theoretical approach to learning the concept. Grabbing a rather large book about dance and movement from the nineteenth century, the boy had spent the better part of the day with his nose embedded in the pages, his hands flailing about every so often, as if trying it out before going back to reading. You, on the other hand, had taken to attempting the dance with the kitchen broom as Spencer read. It couldn't be that hard, could it? Besides, you couldn't really know how to do it without actually doing it. Well, that was your opinion, anyways.

After a while, you both glanced at each other from across the room, you watched the idea click onto both of your faces, both of your cheeks reddening at the thought.

"Merely experimental." Spencer had said, his voice an octave higher than it usually was.

Your cheeks still hadn't calmed, and you had fixed him with a glare, swearing him to secrecy before agreeing. You knew Spencer wouldn't ever tell, not just because he didn't particularly have anyone to tell, but because you knew the prospect of slow-dancing with his best friend embarrassed him just as much as it did you. But, he still nodded.

And that was how you had found yourself getting your toes stepped on, the music shut off as Spencer re-read his book.

"You can't learn this by reading, Spence, c'mon." Your hand tugged at his, pulling him away from the book as he huffed. Your other hand slapped the music back on, an Elvis album that was your dad's. He didn't really own anything else, and it was either that or Barry Manilow.

The boy's face was cross, as if frustrated at the concept of something not being capable of being taught from literature. Nonetheless, he followed your slow, awkward steps, focusing all his energy on not stepping on your toes. Slowly, but surely, the two of you seemed to get the hang of it, even being able to move around the room as you danced and you laughed wildly when you spun, just as the girl had done in the movies.

Spencer watched with a smile. His best friend, his only friend, but to him, the best. Because he was certain that you would be the best of the best for the rest of his life as you soon around, one hand still latched onto his own.

-

QUANTICO 2011

His tongue ached as the hot liquid ran across it.

Spencer hardly ever waited long enough to drink his coffee, the liquid scalding his mouth due to his impatience. It was small price to pay for the sweet relief caffeine gave him, the way his mind sharpened and allowed his body to catch up with his brain.

"How many cups have you had this morning, Spence?"

JJ's voice cut across the bullpen. It was one of those rare paperwork days, much to the disdain of Rossi. The man absolutely loathed paperwork, claiming that he would never stoop to such degrading tasks (though the team saw him helping out on reports when he thought they weren't looking). The blonde had previously been stopped at Emily's desk, the two chatting about their weekend plans, tones filled with hope that they might actually be able too fulfill them rather than being forced to cancel due to a case.

"Not enough, apparently. Pretty boy's been spacing out for the last hour. Actually, I think I got more done than he did." Derek teased, his eyebrows raising as he dipped his head toward the stack of forgotten papers near Spencer's outbox.

The Reid man scoffed, setting down his now empty cup. He had grown quite accustomed to the Morgan's teasing, and it never bothered him anyways. But, Spencer hated to admit that the man was correct- perhaps miracles do happen. Spencer was distracted. His mind seemed to abandon him, running off to Nevada, slow dancing with you in your childhood home's basement. Your laugh as you spun echoed in his mind and the sound of his name being called once more made him glance up.

"Spencer?" Derek fixed the man with a concerned look, his paperwork left forgotten. JJ's smile faded, Emily raising a brow as well. Rossi had gone off with Hotch somewhere, Penelope in her bat cave, but the group's effect still had Spencer trying to ice any remnants of you off his face, plastering on a small smile.

"Hmm?" He hummed in response.

JJ's eyes narrowed, scanning his face with concern. "Are you feeling okay today? You've been really quiet and...spacey." The blonde settled on the word, and Spencer did his best to assuage her. The pen in his hand twirled, his head nodding.

"I'm fine. I just thought I saw-"

The small creak of the glass doors opening caught the man's attention once more and now, three cups of coffee to back up his acclamations, Spencer was sure that he wasn't;t hallucinating now. No, not this time.

You, you, but twenty years older. You, with a neatly placed outfit, his mind flashing between the jeans you wore and the overalls he had once seen you in. You were there, in the BAU, fifty feet away, it was you. Sure, you were older, you didn't have your head shaved into a baseball cap, or dirtied sneakers on your feet, but it was you.

"Y/N?" His voice came out a whisper.

This is a part two to the prologue! I recommend checking that out!

[f-117-nighthawk]

Playlist Update? From MY Brain? More Likely Than You Think

can't remember the last time I posted these all together but I just put a few new songs in. I've been playing Arknights bc STARSET songs keep being used in the trailers, and then I was listening to Transmissions while making dinner, and uhhhhh there's two new Transmissions songs on the playlists, plus whatever else the spotify links needed to update to my ever-changing apple versions.

This is just the main playlist, because this one is now 3h 40m, and the other three playlists are about an hour each. I’ll give them their own post tomorrow. Under the cut, because it's also Write Random Snippits and Include Important Lyrics time

Dark Matter

Surprise surprise, this one’s got probably the most work done on it. A lot of that is moving things around, a few deletions, and the additions.

DM now starts with Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds. Turn the Lights Out still kinda applies, but I stopped vibing with it starting everything, and wasn’t really sure where else it should go so it got dropped. It’s role is sort of picked up by a UtA song later? Anyway, the opening three are still very much about not only the birth of [REDACTED], but the birth of the universe itself. And that’s why it feels better to start out with YWWF. Because it is the start.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

Remnants of Stars is a hook to Filaments at this point, but stays way up here because the thing it’s about connects back up to those three ^ and is something slowly realized by the Paladins throughout the series. There’s kinda three different points that they realize something new about this (at the moment, I Am the One, Cosmic Vertigo, and Centigrade).

(Shed all you know and make way for a galaxy of light/Answers found hidden inside the smallest stone/Bringing forth a new way of life/Open your heart to the sky)

Apocalypse 1992 hasn’t changed. Still about The Fall, still the turning point for the entire damn war. Still about poor Krolia. Still the Rogue One of DM. It happens between parts of Awakenings, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of Apocalypse 1992 from the Red Lion’s perspective, and connects nicely (just as in the albums lol) to the next UtA songs. Which we’ll get to in a bit.

(Brother mountain/Now we sleep/For a thousand years/I will see you again/Something is coming/Coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

The Glory and the Scum is partially here bc I missed having Delain, I’ll freely admit that. (Delain split up! Like six months ago! I’m still sad!) Here, it’s (most) of the reason why Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Think Winter Soldier-ish. It’s also from Krolia’s perspective as she’s talking to Kolivan in a conversation I implied in Shatterpoint. Perhaps it shall see the light of day.

(Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, and connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Also the thing about the Pleiades has kinda become A Thing associated with my two favorite halfbloods.

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’ (and influences String Theory kinda)

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. They’re specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall (and, also, an accidental hook to the end of Filaments just by virtue of being on the same UtA album…)

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

Then there’s The End of the Beginning. Which is, well, the eponymous fic. And don’t forget the String Theory connection! Fun fact: part of the last chapter leads directly into part of String Theory at the moment.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is about anything but a simple plan. Lotor is making his secret bid for the construction of the Sinkline ships, but there’s one more thing he needs before it can come to fruition. Haggar has suspicions, and knows one thing that she needs to keep from both him and Voltron. Team Voltron is still struggling to fit into their new roles, especially with a Black Paladin who adamantly does not want to be Black Paladin, and is in desperate need of one thing to fix the last of the damage done during the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula.

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Such a short song for such an important fic. It skips all the way over Naxzela to the Mission to the Baaria Shipyards, the first major offensive that isn’t somehow connected to canon (even if only a very very small part of it is actually at the shipyards lol). This is also the song that solidified Keith’s very queer identity in Dark Matter. And more Pleiades stuff!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

There’s another fic in here that I’m still waiting for a song to catch my ear, but it’s pretty big so I’m putting it in here. For the moment, it’s called MGHM 2.0: Electric Paladinloo. Featuring the Whispers, Voltron, and a few mullets.

And then. Hoh boy. The beast of beats. TRIALS (reimagine), Dark On Me, String Theory, and I Am the One. We’ve got [REDACTED], we’ve got [spoiler], we’ve got the first major turning point in the entire war, and the first revelation of the true nature of [REDACTED]. Hence the honor of being the separation point of my two main DM folders. TRIALS is the first part, the horrifying realization. Dark On Me and String Theory itself are from Shiro’s perspective. I Am the One is… an image song? I guess? That’s all I’ll say on that. (I would like to note that the STARSET songs bar OWtT tend to be about the Shiroganes…)

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they'll hear the violence/We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(You're the cause/The antidote/The sinking ship that I could not let go/You led my way, then disappeared/How could you just walk away and leave me here?/Light the night up, you're my dark star/And now you're falling away)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! It’s about family, never letting go of something you care about, and the slow act of trusting.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade is The klance song! It is a) a bop b) always stuck in my head because it is That Good. The line in the chorus about ‘sweet songs of seduction’ is eternally funny to me bc a)they’re both ace and b)QPR’s don’t usually involve seduction. Belgrade also leads almost directly into…

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure fic (the second is End of the Beginning, forgot to mention that. They’ve slowly moved away from actually being related to it in anything but name and general idea). It’s about Keith coming to terms with parts of himself, and learning how to use them to great effect. Also has a huge info dump about the Blade.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. I really recommend reading the whole lyrics for Monarch, because the entire thing is very much a Lotor song. I had a bit of trouble picking a lyric to use here. Monarch is here because Lotor is also the ‘singer’ of Birthright, and both songs are to a very specific high-level target of the Coalition. Firewall is a little different as it’s a Team Voltron song not a Lotor song, but happens because of the same thing the other two do. They’re all not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it, and then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here… kinda as a placeholder? Things have shifted around since its original purpose, and frankly it’s here still as a framework for what I like to call The Meme Battle. It’s generally about the increase in Coalition support and general winning as they go after warlords in the aftermath of Feyiv, culminating in I Need a Hero which is, of course, The Meme Battle.

Yes, it’s the Shrek version. It’s the Meme Battle.

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night/He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast/And he's gotta be fresh from the fight)

But Tonight We Dance isn’t exactly a klance song, but it’s here for them. On a diplomatic mission gone wrong, the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron uncover a literally-buried government conspiracy, a rebel cell, and nearly die. A normal days work for the two of them. But they’ve really gotta stop having relationship milestones in the middle of a warzone.

Another reason it’s here is Tonight We Dance is a very aro song to me. “A language universal, but I speak not its tongue” hits hard. I felt like I needed a bit in here to remind listeners/readers that romance isn’t a language Keith speaks. And it becomes very explicit in this fic, just like Belgrade.

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we'll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

But Tonight We Dance is the last of the Closure fics, which is why it’s here. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Then we step back into the universe-level action with Soulbound. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall swing back in with a vengeance on a joint Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity.

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

About three months after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster Than Light. Haggar realizes something and goes searching for her fifth [spoiler], sending the Blade and the rest of the Coalition scrambling. These also lead directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds Than These. Together they are the second of two revelations in what, exactly, is [REDACTED]

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you're just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting for gods, even as one of them disappears.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. I’ve been thinking of them as akin to the suicide mission in Mass Effect 2, if that gives you an idea of what the hell they run into. Also I switched which specific Redemption is on the playlist, because I was listening to Red Handed Denial again and their Redemption was vibing way more than the Hammerfall one. They link up to Godhunter and Soulbound in subject matter, and lead directly into…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World On Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, The Wind That Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words. Switched the order up a bit so it makes more sense chronologically, because the message ‘sent by forces beyond salvation’ has to get there before the reckoning can begin.

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

[dreamypeaches]

can’t look away | pope heyward x reader

request: @https-luna asked: can I have 8 and 18 from list one for angst pls 😌 and and uhm 24 and 30 from list one for angst pls ❤

“I’m not okay if you’re not okay.”

“Please talk to me.”

“Will you just hold me?”

“Who did this to you?”

summary: pope heyward can only watch as the one he loves tumbles towards destruction

warnings: angst, alcohol use, drug use, depression, self-destruction, death

word count: 1.8k

a/n: so, this is very sad. it’s for pope appreciation day 2: angst. that’s all i have to say. my messages and inbox are always open if you want to talk. take care of yourselves and know you are amazing. 

Have you ever seen a car crash? Not the aftermath where the cars have already completed their journey of destruction, but the actual event of a car crashing. Things seem to move in slow motion and all too fast at the same time. It’s terrifying and sad and violent, and there is nothing you can do about it except watch, helpless. She was a car crash, and Pope Heyward was the hopeless, desperate bystander watching her fly through the air.

It took time for Pope to realize she was driving towards her destruction. When he first met her she was new to the Outer Banks and ready for a fresh start. A ball of positivity and life that made the sun look like a black hole. Her laughter was contagious, spreading though Pope’s soul like a virus, forcing him to laugh along. She made him feel like a new man, dragging him on adventures, introducing him to new things, spoke to him like she could see into his soul and pick out all the bad parts and love them just as much as the good ones. For the first time, Pope felt confident, she made him confident. Confident to ask her out, to kiss her, to make love to her. He wished she made him confident enough to help her. Not that he could if he’d tried.

When the car makes it’s first move before a crash, swerves into that lane or isn’t paying attention to that light, you can think for a moment that it might be okay. Maybe they’ll recover, maybe it won’t be that bad, maybe it will be okay. Pope saw this move one night, knocking on her door after a day of unreturned texts and missed calls. She was curled up in the bed, comforter pulled up to her chin, a random cooking show playing on the tv. She stared at the screen without really watching, eyes glazed over and void of emotion.

“Hey, lovely, how’s it going? I haven’t heard from you all day, I got worried.” His voice was soft as he scooted in next to her. Her head instantly fell onto his shoulder and rubbed her nose into the shoulder of his sweatshirt, inhaling the the comforting scent that was uniquely Pope Heyward. He wrapped his arm around her now shaking shoulders as she began to cry. Tears soaked his hoodie, darkening the light fabric with spots of dampness. He went back through the previous days, trying to find anything that may have upset her. He came up empty.

“Please talk to me,” He said, lips brushing against her ear.

“Will you just hold me?” She responded between gasps for breath. Pope nodded, wrapping another arm around her front, pulling her in for a tight bear hug. He sometimes wished he could have squeezed the sadness from her body and soaked it into his own like depression sham-wow. Unfortunately life wasn’t that easy.

The next moment of a car crash is when you realize it is happening, this car is crashing and it might be really bad. But you’re still hoping, believing that it might not be too bad. Maybe fortune will be on their side. This moment for Pope comes when he held her hair back from her face for the 3rd time in two week as she vomits the contents of her stomach into the pristine toilet bowl.

She brought her hand to her forehead, pressing the heel of it into her eye. Pope sat back too, fingers threading through her hair and massaging her scalp as she wiped the remnants of her mistake from the corners of her mouth. She’d already been to two parties that week, getting drunk off her ass then cross faded on top of it. She skinny dipped in the ocean as a dare, tried to seduce her boyfriend into a quickie not twenty feet away from the kegger, attempted a front flip despite never even trying before. She was like a completely different person.

But that night was different. There had been no party, no kegger, not even a group of Pogues to get fucked up with. She’d been all alone, moving through her liquor shelf like it was popcorn. Pope found her jumping on her bed and listening to the Jonas Brothers, a wild, drunken grin on her face. It’d been fun the first hour, dancing half naked to bops from their childhood. But her energy soon faded and darkness washed over her features. She collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Pope laid beside her, fingers intertwining with her own. His head turned to take in her profile, admiring the color of her eyes and the curve of her nose. She felt his gaze, turning to give him a small smile.

“You’re so good, Popey,” she said, turning to caress his cheek with her palm.

“What do you mean?” He replied, face heating up as his hand falls over her, fingers tracing shapes on her back.

“You’re just so…good. You make me feel good. You’re going to do great things, I know you are. Best fucking forensic pathologist in the goddamn world.”

Pope laughed before kissing the tip of her nose.

“We’re going to do great things,” he corrected. Her smile faltered for a moment, returned with less sweetness than it had before.

“Yes we are.”

She’d moved quickly from the bed after that, retrieving the half finished bottle of vodka and downing it. It wasn’t long after that they found themselves in her bathroom, regret coursing through her veins.

She wiped a hand across her chin before she looked at Pope. Silent tears fell down his cheeks as he stared at her, fingers absentmindedly stroking through her messy locks.

“Pope, don’t cry, I’m okay,” her smile was obviously forced, never reaching her eyes. He sniffled, wiping his cheeks on the back of his sleeve.

“No, love, you’re not. And I’m not okay if you’re not okay. This is not okay, you are hurting yourself and I don’t know what to do!” He exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air. One of her hands ghosts over his cheek, wiping the newly fallen tears from his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do anything. Don’t worry, I’ll get better. It’s just a little hard right now.”

Pope just nodded, mulling over her words as he pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head.

“I love you,” he uttered.

“I love you too,” she replied.

Your heart pounds, your breathing shallows, your body stiffens. The moment of impact. The moment when you realize exactly how bad the situation really is, and it’s too late to stop it. Her moment of impact is quite literal, and she has the scars to prove it.

His leg bounced and fingers danced on the arm of the couch as Pope waited. She was an hour late for date night, no text or call as to why. Pope bursted to his feet when the front door opened, turning towards the girl with a frown.

“Where were you?” Is all he said before his heart stopped. Her eyes meet his, but they aren’t the same. One is dark and swollen, the other had a small cut above it, dripping blood down her face. A split lip graced her mouth, one entire cheek bruised. A definitely broken nose, another cut on her other cheek below a small but ghastly bruise. His feet carried him to her, drawn in like a moth to the flame. His hands hovered hesitantly beside her face, shaking as they moved millimeters above the broken skin.

“Who did this to you?” He said, voice broken and wavering. Her face was dead, her mouth a line and eyes far away. She pushed past him moving to the kitchen where a bottle of wine had been waiting for her, meant to be shared with the love of her life.

“Barry.” She said simply before chugging some of the red liquid. Pope thought he might die at the sound of the name. His jaw dropped, fists clenched and unclenched.

“Barry? What the hell were you doing with Barry?

“I was purchasing illegal narcotics from him,” She said as if this were an everyday occurrence, “but I guess I owe him money that I don’t have so he fucked me up. It’s chill.”

Static blared in Pope’s brain as he tried to comprehend the words coming from his loves mouth. His brain refused to process shocked by the overload of information coming at him.

“What the fuck?” Is all he was able to spit out, “What the fuck? What the fuck!” he continued, pacing through the small dining area. She grabbed his arm, stopping his movements pulling him close to her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at the base of his neck.

“Pope, don’t worry, it’s not so bad, really, I-”

“No! It is bad, love! It’s been bad but this…this is too much. Can’t you see how much you’re hurting me, hurting yourself? This isn’t good.” His hand grasped her own, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You need to get some help, love.”

Tears were streaming down her face now. She ignored the sting of her cuts and she nodded at Pope, fingers moving across his face as she took in the curves and edges of his features.

“You’re right. I need some help. I will, I promise.”

The kiss they shared was short and sweet, sealing the promise with an action. Pope pulled her to the bathroom and cleaned up her wounds, hope in his heart that the woman he loved would be happy again. Hope is a dangerous thing.

Have you ever seen the aftermath of a car crash? When the damage is done and it’s sad and intriguing and violent and all you can wonder is why did this happen? The car smashed up on the side of the road, the car overturned in a ditch, the three car pile up on the highway. Why did it happen?

Pope Heyward couldn’t tell you why it happened. Why the ball of love he had fallen for became a shell of who she used to be, trying to fill the empty space with drugs and alcohol, a hallucination of the girl she once was. He’d had hope that there was a possibility. The possibility of a future. Maybe there could have been. Maybe if he had said something, done something differently. Maybe if she had done something, heard something different. Maybe if he hadn’t left her alone that day. Maybe if she hadn’t saved that one bottle of tequila. Maybe if he hadn’t ran over that nail. Maybe if she had said she couldn’t drive, told him to call JJ. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe there would have been a future. Maybe there wouldn’t have been a moment where Pope was just a hopeless, desperate bystander on the side of the road, watching the girl he loved make one too many mistakes. But there’s no use dwelling in the past, asking yourself why, telling yourself maybe. Sometimes it just happens. A car crashes. And all you can do is watch.

taglist/moots: @jjmaybby @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @rekrappeter @diverdcwn @rafecameron @prejudic3 @starlightstarkey @https-luna @sunnypogue @obxmxybxnk @jjmayybank @euphoricheyward @socialwriter @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @peachydrews @outerbanksbro @poguestyleskye @softstarkey @bricksatanakinswindow @mdlyncline @poguemackin @downbytheouterbanks @rae131415 @ptersparkers @prkerspogue @moldisgoodforyou @outrbanks @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @tempestuousjj @stargazingstarkey @anxietyandtacos @uwubonebabie @joshy-obx @sortagaysortahigh @overly-b @highondrew @madelynsclines @cherryobx @royalmerchant @wtfkie @ilovejjmaybank @broken-jj @vindictive-hearts  @fttayla @rafej-cambanks

[el-gilliath]

the way you make me feel part 2

Well it took me a while, but here it finally is. @lambourngb I hope you enjoy part two <3 And before you ask, yes I did indeed give you a happy ending. With a bit of a redemption arc, and a tiny bit of pointing out Isobel’s white privilege. Because I can.

Part 1

“Flint switched the bomb?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “Helena switched it to the Manes DNA bomb, and then Flint switched it back. But it was a third bomb, one that makes it seem like Michael was dead. It made his heart beat so slow that there was no way for me to know he wasn’t dead, and it’ll keep it like that for 24 hours.”

“But after that?”

“If I don’t find him, he wakes up and they kill him. After experimentation, pain, and suffering, probably.”

“Thank you, I don’t need the details,” Isobel replies. She’s worried, the way they all are. “I just need to know how you’re going to find him.”

Alex steals a glance at Maria. She looks back at him, giving him an encouraging smile. “We’ve been soulmates since we were 17. We might not always be good, or even great. But our bond is strong, has been since it formed. With your help, I can find him.”

“So what do you need me to do?”

“Influence the bond. Make it stronger so that I can feel him again.”

“I can do it too, if you need it,” Maria says. Alex smiles at her. She deserves an explanation, deserves to hear it from him why he hid it from her, even when she was dating Michael. And he will give her one, just not now. He loves that she knows that and that she’s willing and capable to put it aside, even if he knows she’s hurt.

“Keep that bracelet on for now grand-niece, I’ve got this.” Isobel smirks. “Besides, I know Michael’s brain and you don’t.”

He knows Isobel doesn’t quite believe him, probably because Michael didn’t tell her either. But they didn't tell anyone. Knowing Isobel, she’ll suck it up until the worst possible moment and then she’ll lay into them in any way she wants. He’s kinda looking forward to it. Even though he knows they’re gonna have to make it up to everyone.

“You okay to start?” he asks Isobel, walking over to a booth and sitting down. He knows he has a slight limp, can feel Kyle and Max eying his leg as he walks but he doesn’t really care. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I’m ready when you are, Princess.” He gives Isobel a look, watches her flinch as much as Isobel Evans can flinch. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“If anyone’s the princess here, you are.”

“Excuse me, I’m a queen,” Isobel says with a sniff.

“Yeah well, so am I.”

Maria snorts. “I thought you were a king?”

“I can be both.”

“Hell yeah y-“

“Okay, have you forgotten about Michael already?!” Max interjects loudly, throwing his hands up like a kid having a tantrum. Alex is really happy he’s not on the other side of the icy glare Isobel, Maria, and Liz throw his way. By the full body flinch, neither is Max.

“Thank you for your delightful comments, brother dear,” Isobel says, dry as the deserts of Bahrain as she joins Alex in the booth. “It’s almost like we needed or wanted your opinion.”

“Is-“

“No. We haven’t forgotten him. You should know better than to ask.” Isobel shoots him another glare before she turns back to Alex. “You ready to start?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“No need to worry about me. I do this for a living.”

Alex huffs. He’ll never admit it because he knows it will go to her head but he does admire the easy confidence Isobel has. “Take us away Queen Isobel.”

They’re in what he assumes is the mindscape before he can blink. He looks around in shock, as does Isobel.

“I did not expect you to let me in that easy.”

“Probably because I want you in here,” he replies. He’s not shocked that he’s telling the truth, he knows he can’t lie in here. “I can’t feel him, I know I need your help.”

“Good. If you prefer it to look different than the Pony just think of a place and it’ll take us there,” she says and the visual changes from the Pony to the shed before he can think about it too much. “Is this…”

“The shed where my dad crushed Michael’s hand? Yeah,” he sighs. “He ruined my safe space out in the real world that night. And yet in my head, that night with Michael is still the happiest I’ve ever been. Our bond started right here, you know.”

“That night?”

“Yeah. It started when we kissed in the museum, grew when we were here. My dad cemented it with his hammer.”

Isobel nods. “Your bond locked with the shared trauma.”

“That it did.” Alex looks around. “I can still feel it in here. Always could. I just feel close to him here, even in the real world when I’m close to the shed. Like our bond has a physical connection to it. Worst and best day of my life.”

“Why did you never claim it? It’s cemented and clearly in space,” Isobel asks. Her eyes are curious, full of wonder. It’s quite sweet to see.

“Couldn’t. Between the Air Force, distance, our own issues, Caulfield, and… Maria. We would’ve burned ourselves out trying to keep it healthy. So Michael ended it. A few times, actually,” Alex replies. “It was for the best. We needed a new start.”

“How did you feel about my brother and Maria?”

“Pain. But he was happy for a little while, so I lived with it.” He sighs. “I love both of them, Isobel. Nothing changes that.”

“You’re a stronger man than I would ever be, Alex Manes. I don’t think I could watch my soulmate with someone else.”

“Luckily for you, you don’t have to. According to my research, Charlie is single and ready to mingle.” Isobel’s eyes widen in shock, and Alex can’t help but smile. “I feel like I should apologize in case you didn’t know.”

“I did. I knew the first time I met Jenna that someone close to her was my soulmate, meeting Charlie when she first came to town just solidified it. I’m just not used to someone being as observant as me though I’m not surprised, you are a hacker after all,” Isobel says, smiling in return. “We’re going to be the most antagonistic of friends one day, you and I.”

“That we will be. I guess we have to be.”

“We do if you’re going to be with Michael. I’m possessive when it comes to my brothers, I don’t see that changing.”

“Neither do I, but I need to find him, first,” Alex says. The bond has been subtly reaching all through their talk, Isobel’s mindscape helping it search in a way it hasn’t before. He can’t really feel Michael, but the remnant of the bond is all around him, spreading out slowly but surely as he talks about him. As his mind brings him back and remembers ten years of hurt, sure. But also of quiet moments, of loving and tender touches, of hungry mouths and bruising fingers. “Did you know? About him and me?”

“He did tell me, eventually. I called his closet flimsy after everything with Noah.” She grimaces at the obvious disapproval in his eyes. “Yeah I know. To my defense I had just figured out that my husband of years had been using my body and raping my mind.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you could turn around and do it to Rosa.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t have an excuse. Call it white privilege if you want, it’s fucked up regardless. But I apologized, she cursed me out and tried to punch me. We’re good. I still have issues I obviously need to work on, but I am working on it.” Isobel sighs. “One day I’ll be free of him, and all of it. But that day is not today, or tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” Alex says, completely sincere.

“And how will your own tour of apologies and explanations go?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided if anyone is owed either, right now. I think Michael and I need to decide that together, after we actually talk.”

“Guess you gotta bring my brother back then,” Isobel answers. “Or I’ll never get my explanation.”

Alex can’t help it, he laughs out loud at her audacity. “You’re something, Isobel.”

“I’m aware,” she says with a wink. He just shakes his head and opens his mouth to reply, instead he inhales sharply as something in his stomach yanks. Their surroundings change around them, morphing from the shed, to the Pony, to the Airstream, to Alex’s house. It stops there for a moment until it morphs again. Roswell High, the UFO Museum, Crashdown, the Junkyard. Every place that’s meant something to them, regardless of the situation, regardless of the love or heartbreak. He feels himself getting nauseous as the images and surroundings spin, Isobel gripping his hand tight and yelling for him to hold on as she presumably concentrates on what is making his head spin. Alex squeezes his eyes shut to stave off the nausea for a second.

They pop open a second later as he sees Michael in his mind.

The images and their surroundings settle suddenly, focusing on the field base just outside the ruins of Caulfield, the green tents surrounded by military jeeps and research trucks. He sees Michael clearly in his mind, laying on a table in one of the tents, surrounded by medical equipment and military personnel. He looks completely still. He has no cuts or bruises on him and his skin isn’t actually blue. Even the blood has been wiped away. He looks like he’s sleeping peacefully. Alex fears it won’t last.

“Is that where I think it is?”

“Caulfield. He’s in Caulfield,” Alex answers.

The world sharpens around them as the mindscape falls away and the actual Pony comes back, Liz, Maria, and Kyle hovering nervously around them, Rosa, Max, and Jenna standing in the background as if not to be in the way, even as their worry is evident.

“You back with us?” Kyle asks, walking in close and examining both of them with his eyes. “You were in there for a while.”

“Michael’s in Caulfield, Deep Sky or whatever their name has built a small base right outside of the ruins there,” Alex answers, ignoring Kyle and getting to his feet as Kyle protests. “We need someone who can get us in.”

“No need, we already have someone,” Jenna answers. “Charlie’s a part of them, or used to be. She can get us in.”

Alex sneaks a look at Isobel at the mention of Charlie but her face betrays nothing. Only her eyes sparkle with curiosity.

“Then you better call your sister, we need to leave now. Before it’s too late.”

-----

An hour later they’re on the road, Charlie driving one car with Jenna, Kyle and Alex with her. Max, Isobel, Liz, Maria and Rosa following in another. Alex is having the worst time sitting still in the passenger seat after he was denied driving the car. He knows Kyle was right, his knee is not up to driving for two hours after all the running he did earlier but it still pisses him off. He can feel the bond slipping in and out of his brain, like Michael is alive, there and constant one second, dead, gone and broken in the other. It swoops him into the last feelings of intense love he felt from Michael, he hears the repeat of ‘I love you’ clear as day. It pushes him out with the abrupt feelings of gone.

He hears Kyle trying to talk to him, hears Jenna and Charlie discuss something of a battle plan. But he can’t follow, his hyperfocus lasered onto Michael and the brief glimpses of him. It’s weird, how he’s seeing him from the outside instead of through his eyes the way he usually does. But with the strengthening that Isobel did he figures that’s the reason. Any other reason isn’t something he’s willing to think about.

He stays in his head for the entire ride, sliding in and out of the bond, sending Michael good feelings whenever he feels the bond respond on the other end. It’s rare, rare in a way that it was during the ten years they were more or less parted and not in the way it’s been for the last few days. Like something is there that he’s been missing. Something that he’s supposed to know well. A truly important part. It reminds him that he never wants the bond to be that closed again.

“Alex.” He refocuses as he hears his name sharply spoken by Charlie. “We’re gonna be there in 30 minutes. You ready?”

“Yes. Can you get us in?”

“I’ll try.” Charlie gives him a wry smile. “You might need to use your last name too.”

He nods, much too used to throwing the Manes name around. “I will. I’ll use Flint’s name too if needed.”

“Good.”

He fades out again, not really listening as Jenna, Kyle and Charlie discuss something. He hearsDeep Sky being mentioned but he doesn’t care right now, he’ll worry about them later. He’ll worry about them when he starts worrying about his dad, who’s back in the hospital after the pistol whipping Alex gave him. Hopefully he’ll stay there for a long time so he doesn’t have to deal with him any time soon. But knowing his luck that won’t happen.

Regardless of what happens, Michael is his priority now. The way he should have been a long time ago. They’ve grown and worked on being friends this past year, something they’ve needed to become a better them. Maybe he wished Maria wasn’t part of that, but at the same time he understands. Michael couldn’t be good for him, with all the shit between them. At least he got to be good for someone else.

“We’re here,” Charlie says, stopping the car not far from the ruins of Caulfield. Alex focuses on the fence and military green base tents instead of the ruins, so he doesn’t have to think about what happened there. He knows it would devastate Michael if he knew he was here, so close to the remains of his mother and her prison. “Jenna, you and Kyle stay with the car. We’ll call you if we need you.”

“The rest of them?”

Charlie gives him a look as they get out and walk towards the gate. “Wow, you really were out of it. Parked about half an hour back, they shouldn’t be too close.”

“Jenna and Kyle?”

“Both read in, Jenna because she’s my sister, Kyle because he’s a Valenti and part of Shepherd.” Charlie gives him a reassuring look, and he’s thankful he’s not alone. “They’ll be fine. And so will we.”

He nods. He does believe her, but this close it’s taking most of his concentration not to get lost in the fluctuations of the bond. It flits in and out of existence in his brain and it’s making it hard to focus.

Afterwards he can’t tell you how they got into the makeshift compound of Deep Sky. He can’t tell you that Charlie used her connections as a former member, he can’t tell you that he put emphasis on the Captain Alex Manes, he can’t tell you that a call to Flint was the last piece of the puzzle.

The only thing he can tell you is how the visual of Michael’s body on a cold metal table almost made him puke. How the vision he had when in the mindscape with Isobel was Michael looking healthy and like he was asleep, it’s not the one he sees on that table. Michael looks cold, blue, like a sunken in version of the healthy man he supposedly was.

He can tell you how it hurt when he tried to breathe. How he had a physical pain in the pit of his stomach, a psychological pain in the back of his mind, tearing through him as he looked at the body on that table. How that body was no longer Michael, even though it looked like him.

He can tell you how it devastated him.

But standing beside the man he loves, the only thing he can do is cry. Silent, deep tears that run down his face as he hears Charlie talk to the commanding officer behind him. He doesn’t know what she’s saying, or what she’s doing.

He knows now why the bond is flitting in and out.

-----

An hour later they’re back in the car. Charlie is driving, Jenna is in the passenger seat, Kyle is in the back seat. And Alex… Alex is safe in the warm embrace of Michael’s arms as they drive back towards Roswell.

He meets Charlie’s eyes in the mirror. For now it’ll stay a secret between them, what happened in that compound.

-----

A day later Alex finds himself walking out of his house just as Flint parks in front of it and gets out of his truck. Both of them are apprehensive, but all the same determined. Like Manes men are.

“He was dead, wasn’t he?”

Flint walks towards him, an apologetic smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Then how the hell is he alive, Flint? You sent me after him even knowing he was dead. Why?”

“You remember Uncle Tripp?” Flint huffs at the look Alex sends him. “He did the same thing once. The scientists at Caulfield killed an alien and he brought her back. Just laid his hands on her, cried, and suddenly she was alive again. Turns out they were soulmates. I figured if it worked for him, it would work for you.”

Something inside Alex tells him that he knows exactly who that alien was but for now he just smiles, a small smile, unsure yet happy. “Thank you, Flint. He’s alive because of you.”

“Yeah well. I might not be the best at it, but you are my brother, Alex. After kidnapping you I guess I owed you that much.”

Alex can’t help it, he laughs out loud and drags Flint into a hug. “You’re an asshole.”

“I love you too, Alex,” Flint replies, hugging him back. Alex tilts his head even closer as Flint does the same, both of them having no doubts that the other means it. Their relationship might not always be the best, both of them being who they are, but they’ll always be brothers.

“I’m going to take them down, Flint. I have too much at stake not to,” he whispers in Flint’s ear before he pulls away, looking back towards his house where Michael is resting peacefully.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Flint replies. “Dad can’t hold anything against me anymore. And Clay’s been against this whole thing for years.”

“Greg is in too. I guess the Manes men are going to war.”

Flint grins, his grin and Alex’s matching both in intensity and in the joy of fucking something up. The way they learnt not only from Jesse Manes, but from their mom as well.

“Hoorah.”

They part after that, quick goodbyes before Flint gets in his truck and drives away, Alex walking back into the house and into his bedroom, laying down beside Michael. They still have so much to talk about, so much to figure out. But for now the bond soars as Alex gathers Michael close, the intensity of both their love and adoration wrapping around them like a blanket.

It’s warm, safe. It’s just enough.

Authors note: No, Michael wasn’t really dead in the beginning. But you kept talking about me killing them all the time, so he became dead for you.

[cafecitowriter]

Peggy Carter Saves Infinity War

So hear me out. We always talk about how Peggy could’ve stopped Civil War and the Snap (which obviously she could). I’ve been re-watching the Infinity Saga with my friend before she goes back to work next week. We’ve gotten to the point where a week ago, we saw Infinity War, and then I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, of exactly how Peggy saves the day in Infinity War. Like seriously I haven’t been able to write because this idea has just consumed me and I needed to write something out if I wanted to go on with my life.

I might make this a full fic someday. We’ll see.

There are probably some plot holes in here since I am about to ramble from brain to paper without any editing, but just roll with it for my sake.

Insert your favourite “this is how Peggy got to the future” but for all intents and purposes, the Peggy I’m talking about here is also a super soldier for reasons. Also, Civil War never happened because of Peggy so they’re all friends yay.

Even just this little bit got kinda long so it’s under the cut here: 

Tony and Bruce are still the only (official) Avengers right in New York when they come to get the Time Stone - except Peggy’s also there. 

Wanda and Vision are on a romantic getaway type trip in Glasgow, while Steve, Nat, and Sam are close by them responding to something unrelated. So while they’re all friends, they’re still physically separated from each other.

I read a post once that said that Tony covers the people he loves in suits (Rhodey, Pepper, Peter). He and Peggy would have obviously bonded and become extremely close, so he made a (more subtle) suit just for her - though there’s nothing subtle about the colours on her suit matching the ones on Steve’s uniform. It’s nothing nearly as extravagant the ones he made for himself or for Peter (because she wouldn’t let him). It covers her body, has some thrusters on the soles of her feet that she can use to fly, and has an optional helmet that is similar to Steve’s but also has a clear portion that covers her mouth if she’s somewhere she needs to be fully covered. The suit lives in a red, silver, and blue bracelet that she can activate at any time. She’s never worn the full suit in all the years she’s had it, but he begs her to always have it at the ready just in case. 

When they take to the sky, Peggy’s glad she actually listened to him.

As they’re going up, she and Tony have the same realization: it’s a one way trip. While Tony calls Pepper, she calls Steve.

He picks up in the middle of the first ring.

“You’re going up,” he states immediately, his voice heavy.

She’s not surprised that he knows. It’s all over the news - that she can hear in the background of wherever Steve’s at.

Which means he can see the space ship that they’re chasing getting higher and higher. She wonders if he can see her, too.

“Yes,” she answers simply, because there’s no way around it. As it is they’re almost out of time before the call inevitably gets dropped.

“Thanos is coming, he’s after the infinity stones,” she warns him.

“Vision,” Steve realizes at once.

“You can’t let Thanos or his minions get to him. You have to protect him, Steve.”

“I will,” he says firmly.

She couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t any easier being on this end of the call, but she had to keep it together. Steve was strong for her, after all.

“When I get back, I’m going to take you dancing,” she promises.

“8 o’clock on the dot,” he agrees.

“We can start with something slow,” she offers, and she feels the tears burning in her eyes as she finds her way into the damn ship. “We can start with our song.”

“I promise not to step on your feet.”

This time, he finishes his sentence before they get cut off.

While Steve, Nat, and Sam don’t get to Vision before he gets stabbed, they do get there sooner, so he’s not as in terrible condition. The earth end of the movie goes very similarly to the movie at this point.

Everything goes pretty much the same on the space side too - until we get to the team on Titan fighting Thanos. With Peggy’s help, Tony manages to form the plan to attack Thanos and things are going pretty well with the extra hand.

Then Quill comes along and allows his own grief to get in the way.

But this time, they have one more person to help. (And seriously I couldn’t help but think that entire time that they just needed one more person to deal with Quill so that they wouldn’t lose their grip on Thanos ugh).

Before Tony lets go, Peggy screams at him to keep at the gauntlet with Peter. She then drops her arms from where she had them wrapped around Thanos’ neck and tackles Quill. They fight it out because SERIOUSLY QUILL CAN YOU NOT WAIT TWO SECONDS.

He’s stronger than she thought he’d be - put she’s Peggy goddamn Carter and she isn’t about to let the billions of people die because of some petulant man child.

While they fight, Quill yells at her, tells her that she has no idea what Gamora meant to him, what he’s going through.

Peggy, of course, is one of the few people that probably understands what he’s going through the best. 

While physically wrestling him, she tells him about losing the love of her life but not being able to mourn because it was World War 2 and they had work to do, lives to save.

She tells him that he needs to respect Gamora’s sacrifice and the only way to do that is to get the gauntlet off of Thanos and stop him for good. She tells him that she knows how hard it is, but he needs to be strong.

He owes the billions of lives at stake - he owes Gamora that.

Finally, the gauntlet comes off. 

Thanos is now fighting back even harder, Mantis isn’t going to be able to keep him down much longer.

Peggy lets go of Quill and dashes to take the gauntlet from Peter because he’s just a child.

There’s a big mess as Thanos “wakes up”, throws them all off, and they play keep away with the gauntlet. At some point, Peggy gets it and she takes off in a mad dash/fly away from Thanos. During this, she sneaks the stones out of their slots without anyone noticing (where do you think Tony learned it from?) and she places them in the bag that Shuri made specially for her out of Vibranium - among other things. It is tear-proof, can be adapted to a different sizes and strapped to her body in multiple different ways. Peggy never leaves home without it.

(Context: Peggy visited Wakanda with Steve when he went to ask T’Challa to help Bucky. She and Shuri became fast friends because they’re two kickass women who have so much respect for each other and we love women supporting women. Ya’ll can fight me on this.)

Thanos catches up to Peggy and tears the gauntlet away from her. He then throws her violently in a random direction. Strange opens up a portal that she flies through.

(How he knew that she actually had the stones, well he’s Dr. Strange so).

Peggy lands (hard) in Wakanda during their big battle - right in the middle of the field. She’s disoriented, aching, and lying on her back, but she needs to get those damn stones to safety and this looks the exact opposite of that. 

“Peggy?”

It’s Steve.

He’s bloodied and breathless, but dear god it’s her Steve.

He rushes to her and helps her on her feet. Before she can say anything, he’s kissing her bruisingly because he thought he lost his best girl but she’s alive and she’s here.

“Steve,” she gasps, pulling back, her fingers digging into his biceps. “There’s no time.”

“That’s because you’re late,” he whispers, still in shock.

“I have the stones,” she presses on.

“What?”

“I have four infinity stones on my person and I need to get them as far away from here before Thanos realizes I’ve taken then and follows me here.”

“We need to destroy them,” he told her.

“How?”

Still keeping one arm wrapped around her, he pressed his finger to his ear, speaking into the comms.

“Wanda, we have a package coming your way, be ready. Everyone else, if we want to win, we have to get Peggy to Wanda while keeping those things away from Shuri and Vision.”

Then there’s a whole other mess as Peggy rushes toward Wanda. It’s very similar to Endgame where everyone takes turns fighting with her (at some point she gets separated from Steve for a bit), covering her and getting her to her destination. (Also I want one of these people to be Bucky because she and Bucky were friends okay and they deserve a cool fight scene together).

At one point, her leg gets injured badly. Her thrusters are no longer working so she can’t fly and she’s alone. Cue Steve.

By the skin of their teeth, they make it to Wanda, Steve setting Peggy on the floor. They keep Thanos’ army at bay while Wanda destroys the stones and Shuri continues working. The battle rages on, but they’re starting to get the upperhand.

A portal opens in the sky. Steve, Peggy and Wanda look out the window, for a moment terrified that Thanos caught up to Peggy.

It’s not Thanos.

Well, not just Thanos, anyway. It’s Strange and Peter and Tony and the Guardians of the Galaxy and a one-armed, half unconscious Thanos. Without the Infinity Stones, they were able to team up and defeat Thanos. Strange never had to give up the time stone.

Thanos’ army realizes what’s happened, and they begin to flee.

With the extra time they bought, Shuri manages to get the mind stone out of Vision’s head. Wanda destroys that one too, for good measure.

After, they’re cleaning up the remnants of the battle, tending to the dead, to everyone else’s wounds. Steve is stitching Peggy’s leg back up and caring for her. They both know she’ll heal soon enough without his help, but Steve is still buzzing with adrenaline and energy and needs something to do with his hands and they’re not about to let each other out of their sights anytime soon.

Together, they watch Vision and Wanda hold each other, whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort in each other’s ears.

“You kept him safe,” Peggy tells Steve, who looks up at her with pained eyes.

“He offered to sacrifice himself when we figured out that our best chance was to destroy the stone.”

“It’s what we all would have done,” she agreed, her fingers now carding through his hair. “But you found another solution.”

“I thought about losing you when I crashed the plane. About you going up with Tony and Strange and the kid and the fact that I’d probably never see you again and... I couldn’t let them become us.”

“Funnily enough... in a way, they have become us,” Peggy told him, flicking her eyes to the pair. 

Vision kissed the palm of Wanda’s hand, both of them still clinging to each other.

Steve tilted his head until he was able to do the same with Peggy’s palm, closing his eyes.

They won. 

Once Peggy’s leg is healed and they’ve dealt with the fallout of Thanos, Peggy makes good on her promise to take Steve dancing.

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 3: coffee

summary: three times allen, coffee hater, is offered coffee, one time he drinks coffee, and one time he offers coffee.

notes: 

mass effect: andromeda au. connor is the human pathfinder. hank is his second. 60 is called clement here and is a member of the team. allen is an exile they recruited.

----

‘Coffee, Lou?’

No one has called him that for so long that it takes Allen a few seconds to realize that Clement is talking to him. Looking up from the pistol he is cleaning - a nice Carnifex that Hank and Connor, for some reason, bought but never used - he sees that the younger Ryder is holding a steaming cup in his hands carefully.

‘There’s only one cup,’ Allen says, dumbfounded. The lack of resources allows the Pathfinder team a lot of liberties and neither the Pathfinder nor his second are picky about the people on their team, but someone who is supposedly working for the Nexus being friendly to him… he’s still getting used to it.

‘I realized that you have not had the pleasure to have my mother’s coffee,’ Clement explains, ‘so I made one for you. It’s made from real beans.’

‘You went all the way back to the Hyperion,’ Allen stares. Hard. Should it make sense? ‘To make me coffee. While there’s a coffee maker right next door.’ He gestures at the door.

A shrug. ‘Why not? Connor and Hank won’t be back for a few more hours at least. I have time and...’ he averts his gaze and...is that a blush? ‘I want to share this with you. It has always been a great source of comfort for me.’

‘Comfort, huh?’ Allen wonders, pondering how to reject the man politely. He never likes coffee that much, the drink too bitter for his taste and the caffeine making his heart race and making him feel like he’s going to have a heart attack for hours, but what - or who - he does like is Clement. Dreamy, easily-distracted Clement who probably just wants to share his deceased mother’s coffee with his new friend (are they even friends?) when his brother and not-quite brother-in-law are out there being the heroes of the cluster by dealing with bureaucrats. ‘Why don’t you make one for yourself?’

‘I… I don’t want to waste good coffee.’

Clement looks so unsure now that Allen wants to stand up to hug him. ‘You drink it,’ the former exile tells him. ‘I don’t like coffee anyways.’

Clement visibly relaxes. Taking a sip of Actual Milky Way Bean Juice, he asks, ‘Can I watch you?’

The question comes so suddenly that Allen’s brain fails to deliver anything. ‘Uh…’ he indicates the disassembled pistol and the assorted mods scattered around the triangular table. ‘If you want to see me piece all this back together, sure. Go ahead.’

The other man slides smoothly onto the couch and sits close to Allen, the smell of coffee assaulting him and nearly making him sneeze. At this proximity, he can feel the heat radiating off Clement, and when he reaches for the parts he placed far away, he discovers that he can’t do so without pressing against the younger Ryder twin. 

Clement doesn’t move away. Neither does Allen ask him to.

----

‘Coffee, Lou?’

‘They have coffee?’

Allen is exhausted from the fight against - what’s that called again? Ah - the Architect. Sure, he grew up in the middle of nowhere in Alaska, but fighting a robot as tall as a building in a -50ºC cold is not fun at all. My scientists went missing his ass. That damned thing was a nightmare and caught them unaware, and he hopes that he’ll never have to deal with one again. It took four of them - Connor, Hank, Clement, and Allen himself - half an hour to take down that thing.

And of course the Initiative wants a fucking report.

‘Yes,’ says Clement from his seat next to Allen. ‘Coffee is considered an essential substance for every Initiative outpost. Taerve Uni possesses an abundant supply.’

No matter how much Allan blinks, the blur of the words doesn’t fade away. ‘Don’t like coffee.’ 

‘But it looks like you need some.’

‘I don’t -’ His jaw cracks open in another yawn. OK. Maybe he isn’t as awake as he thinks he is. ‘Stil no fucking coffee for me, though.’

‘Understood.’

Allen puts the datapad aside and takes a good look at Clement, noting his drooping eyelids and the way his eyes are unfocused. Someone is as tired as him. 

‘Where’s your brother?’ Allen asks when he notices the absence of the Pathfinder and his second-in-command. 

‘On the Tempest.’

The former exile very nearly cracks his head open on the table. ‘Did you just watch me work my ass off and decided not to tell me that our bosses are fucking resting?’

Clement looks taken aback. ‘I thought - I don’t wish to interrupt you.’

Allen sighs. ‘Listen, I - I appreciate that,’ he says as he digs a knuckle into his eye, ‘but you don’t have to follow me around. You can go back first. I see you’re tired.’

‘But I want to spend more time with you!’

The silence ensured is thick enough to be cut through with an omni-blade. Clement, as if just realizing what he said, blushes a very lovely shade of pink before putting his face in his hands. 

It is adorable.

Allen chuckles. ‘Look at me, Clement.’

The twin peers at him through the gaps between his fingers. Chuckling, the older man removes Clement’s hands from his face, and he laces their fingers together instead of letting go. Clement goes impossibly redder.

‘I want to spend more time with you too,’ Allen says. Stumbling for words, he adds, ‘I like you. A lot.’ Fuck. He’s so out of practice. ‘I think,’ he leans closer so that they’re breathing the same air, ‘getting together will be a great idea.’

A small, whispered ‘Yes!’ from Clement, and the next moment they are kissing; just a gentle press of their lips, Allen’s hands flying to the back of Clement’s head while Clement traces Allen’s cheekbone, and they’re grinning at each other like idiots when they part for air. 

‘Should we go back?’ Allen suggests, his voice low. Clement shivers. ‘Crew’s quarters should be empty at this time. We can watch a vid. Hoard all the blankets and cuddle underneath them.’

Clement kisses him again.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

----

‘Coffee, Lou?’

‘Don’t like coffee.’

‘I know. However, seeing that you’re not planning to go to sleep, you’ll need something to keep you up.’

‘As if this is not enough?’ Allen waves his datapad. ‘A space station as large as a metropolis? The angara - created? The Scourge - a weapon of mass destruction? How -’ realizing that his voice is raising, he takes a deep breath to calm down - ‘How can you be so calm about this?’

Clement blinks, his face devoid of any expression. ‘Calm, or numb?’ 

Allen feels like an idiot. ‘Clement, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s alright,’ says the other man gently. Sliding into Allen’s lap, Clement wraps his arms around the older man’s waist and hooks his chin on his shoulder. ‘You’re not the only one who’s shocked.’

‘I keep telling myself that if I know more about the network, I’ll be less terrified of it.’ A sigh. ‘Evidently, it only makes things worse. Now I’m not even sure if I want to stay in Heleus.’

‘There’s no me outside of Heleus.’

Allen hums. ‘You’re right,’ he kisses Clement’s temple. ‘Stay with me?’

‘Go sleep with me. Connor will want you at peak condition.’

Ah yes. The classic ‘blame everything on my brother’ excuse. ‘Of course.’

He switches off the datapad and promptly picks Clement up with his arms supporting his thighs. Clement shrieks in surprise and wraps his legs around Allen’s waist, cheeks turning pink and giggling uncontrollably even after Allen carefully deposits him onto the lower bunk farther away from the bathroom, the one they have been sharing for the past couple of months as they sail around the cluster and fix everyone’s mess. It is small and low, made for one average-sized person, but they make do by having Clement sleep with half his body on top of Allen. Or having Allen crush Clement underneath him with his bulk, which has become their preferred position to sleep in. They get to stay close to each other, so although cramped, they won’t have it any other way.

Allen presses a kiss onto the nape of Clement’s neck. ‘Night.’

‘Night, Lou.’

----

Allen loses track of how long he’s been sitting there simply looking at Clement. 

They have Meridian. They have the coordinates. They have a fleet of Remnant ships. They’re supposed to make for a final push towards the heart of the network. They’re supposed to, at fucking last, make Heleus their new home. 

Not the Archon taking the Hyperion. Not SAM being disconnected from the Ryder twins. Not Connor scrambling his brains to try to summon even more Remnant to help fight the kett. 

Not Clement nearly dying because he apparently needs SAM to survive. 

The med bay door opens and Hank steps in, looking like he’s just aged ten years, his eyes cold and harsh like Alaskan winters.

But his tone is warm when he asks Allen, ‘How’s he?’

Allen holds Clement’s hand to ground himself. ‘Bad. If we don’t retake SAM soon… Heleus will have a lot less kett by the time I’m done. How’s Connor?’

‘He’s gotten used to SAM boosting his physiology, so the crash is a bitch. But he’ll live. He’s just sleeping it away. And, uh,’ a shrug, ‘don’t suppose you have contacts with some of the exiles?’

‘Not much,’ Allen says. ‘I didn’t exactly play with the folks from Kadara or Elaaden.’

‘“Not much”? So you do have contacts?’

‘Believe it or not, quite a number of people left for Eos and started their own governments there.’ At Hank’s skeptical eyebrow, he continues, ‘Most of them owe me their lives. I can try to contact them, but seeing that they live in caves, I doubt many of them are space-worthy.’

‘There’s no harm in trying,’ says the N7. ‘If they can’t go to Meridian, they can at least defend Prodromos while most of their personnel are gone.’

Allen nods in understanding, and Hank leaves to presumably return to Connor’s side. As the door to Pathfinder’s Quarters closes, he lets go very reluctantly and goes to the crew quarters to make himself a cup of coffee. Sure, stim packs might have worked better than caffeine, but he doesn’t know how long it will be until everyone’s ready to launch an assault against the Archon, and he cannot afford the crash after the effects of the stim pack is worn off; coffee, no matter how bad it tastes, is the best option he has.

If only Clement can see this.

----

‘Coffee, Clement?’

Clement looks into the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen when he wakes up. The smell of coffee - not the shitty ones on the Tempest but the ones from his mother’s coffee maker - fills the air, and when he receives the sweetest of kisses from his boyfriend, he knows that they’ve won.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 36

Author’s notes:....I am so sorry in advance.

Chapter 36

The darkness weighing you down snapped away just as quickly as it came.

All the breath left your lungs in a sharp exhale, vision reappearing as the sound of the Void assaulted your ears. Whatever was wrapped around your arms vanished, tendrils retreating back into the burning expanse of your body like they were almost ashamed of betraying your trust. As they very well should be--you were getting tired of your own body being outside of your control, but there were more important things to worry about. When your eyes finally regained their vision, you were shocked to see the wooden beams of the ceiling forming above you after a flurry of black crystal. No longer the endless emptiness of the Void, the sound of howling fading to a dull roar until disappearing entirely. But...we’re not home, are we? It’s still cold, it’s still so cold here, so much that I can’t stand it.

I want to go home.

Arms caught you when you fell, Vergil’s low grunt easily signalling to you that it was him who held your body up--his face appeared in your vision next, teeth grit and worry in those sharp eyes. Worry and...anger. He looked furious, annoyed, and a bit concerned if you were searching hard enough. It was clear to you that something had happened while you were subdued, something that wasn’t good. Why did the Deity change your surroundings? What had he spoken to Vergil about in the first place? So many questions, not enough answers and bringing back that feeling of ignorance that had left you so hollow for all these months. You didn’t know how much more you could take, but this was definitely starting to get past your realm of capability.

Stop, You tried to tell yourself, heart picking up again and hammering against your ribs, Panicking will help nothing, and it certainly won’t help him--He needs you to be steadfast, focused, and you owe him that much at least.

After all...had you not involved yourself in his life, this mess would have never happened.

“Are you hurt?” Vergil’s low growl snapped you out of the racing thoughts, searching your face for any indication of pain outside of your look of panic and confusion, “Can you stand?”

Your breath was still coming in shallow gasps, body struggling to root itself in reality as you started frantically looking around. Just what the hell was this place…? You certainly didn’t recognize anything--it seemed like you were both in a kitchen, despite how unlikely it seemed. A beautiful one too, with tiles making patterns of flowers on the back wall and cherrywood cabinets lining one side. As you looked further, you saw a kettle on the stove and what looked to be the remnants of some baking going on. The illusion was so real that you could start feeling the cold of the Void dissipate, replaced by the golden rays of the sun coming through the open windows. It’s warm outside, your brain told you, despite the logic section of your mind screaming away in alarm. The scent of freshly baked cookies came next, making your mouth water and eyes widen further in confusion. What was the meaning of all of this, why had the Deity gone out of his way to create such an elaborate illusion?

None of this makes sense. None of it.

“Where are we?” You whispered anxiously, feeling no sense of ease despite how calm the feeling of this kitchen was. None of this should be taken as a good thing, you knew that much. The Deity was playing a game, and one that you didn’t understand.

But when you looked back at Vergil’s face...you could tell this game wasn’t for you.

He was not as composed as before, that was for certain. You could see a new level of panic and recognition in his eyes, one that made your chest ache with fear and apprehension--had you ever seen a look like that on Vergil before? Like his world was starting to crumble around him and there were walls just barely holding the flood in. If he grit his teeth any harder, his jaw was bound to snap under the pressure, breaths coming in harsh pants that did not slow. He is scared, you realized right away, catching the subtleties in his expression now and learning how he functioned. Anger was one of his ways to cope with fear, and judging by how furious he looked, this whole situation was rubbing him in the worst way possible.

What could you do to help? Everything was so raw from the harsh words that left you before, like open wounds still stinging with the swipe of claws and blades. This was a place of familiarity to Vergil, one of regret. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the spot. You were already trying to bounce back from your own problems after the Deity tethered you down and took your senses away, how could you possibly be stable for anyone now? Vergil was in distress, that much was clear, but you could do nothing.

It was confirmed by his reply, Vergil helping support you with one hand as he rasped, “The Outsider has quite the cruel sense of humor, doesn’t he?”

Excuse me?

Hearing the God’s true name on his lips made you jolt, more shock zipping through your head and coming out in a gasp. How long has it been since you heard that name uttered aloud? Only once had it graced your lips, sealed shut after you sold your soul as a showing of respect for the God. But now...Vergil knew his name. And that did not speak well for your situation.

“Y...you…” Each word came out in a panicked whisper, hand grasping the collar of Vergil’s coat between tight fingertips as you stared at his face in absolute despair, “You know his name…! Vergil you...you...what did you do…?!”

To learn the name of the God is to make a deal with him.

You prayed to the Void that wasn’t the case, that this was all by chance or strange consequence. But...you knew better, especially when Vergil looked away from your pleading eyes with something akin to regret.

“Your God means to test me,” Was his simple reply, voice low and terse as he slowly rose to his feet, “I had thought he meant a test of my fighting prowess, but…” He looked sullen, visibly uncomfortable as he gazed around the kitchen like it was nostalgic and...draining, “The bastard knows better, doesn’t he?”

A test? What kind of test? And why? Your mind was a whirlwind of questions and fears, all resisting to be tethered down and stabilized by reality.

You scrambled to your feet before he could even turn to look at you, swaying a bit and steadying yourself on the table--solid, real, it was actually there under your fingertips. The lengths the Deity--No, the Outsider--was willing to go for his little games astounded you like nothing else. Everything in the room had solidity, as if it was all real down to the spice rack hanging on one wall. But what purpose did this all serve in the grand scheme of things? A test, one for Vergil, and by the looks of it he was already feeling the strain. It wouldn’t take any brilliant brainstorming to figure out this was a place of regret for him, it was written all over his face and easy to read for once. But this supposed test was now at the forefront of your focus, especially considering the God was including you in it.

“Did you make a deal with him…?” You grabbed Vergil by the hand, forcing him to turn and look you in the eyes and finding your sense of balance again, “Please tell me you didn’t…!”

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t pull back from your grasp. Merely tilting his eyes to meet yours, something akin to apprehension flashing in his eyes before he released a light sigh.

“Making a deal implies I had a choice,” He replied, annoyance in his tone and several implications laden throughout, “Which I did not. The Outsider has his own ideas on how things should go, and gave me his threats in kind.”

Threats? The Outsider threatened him? That didn’t sound right at all, especially after all the interactions you had. When he had found you adrift in the Void, he had made everything your choice, given you every opportunity to refuse and had been a guiding force through all your suffering. There had been a period of pain, but that was contributed to absorbing the power of the Void. As for all the missions that came afterward...he never forced you into those either. At some point you started very willingly taking them, wanting some time out of the Void to discover yourself again. No trials, nothing like that for all you could remember. Why was he doing things so differently for Vergil, especially now?

And why was he allowing you to take part in it?

You felt your shoulders tense a bit, gaze traveling over the unfamiliar space with deep wariness, “This...doesn’t sound right...I don’t understand his motives,” You murmured, instinctively squeezing his fingers as a means to steady both yourself and him, “What is this place, why did he choose this to test you?”

Vergil visibly went rigid at the question, jaw tightening again and apprehension flickering in his gaze. As if on cue, a new sound filled the air over the birds chirping outside, one much louder and echoing through the nearby rooms. The voices of children, growing in tempo and shouting at each other in argument. It made you both jolt, your fingers feeling Vergil shudder like he had been doused in ice water. He blanched, seemingly getting paler and expression freezing like a deer in the headlights as he whipped his head around toward the sound. It wasn’t that far off, easily just doors away from where you both were and clear as a summer day. If this was meant to test Vergil, what was the test supposed to be in the first place? To test his resilience? Courage? Dedication?

It became all too clear what this place was just by the children talking. Their voices rang loud and clear through the hallway, followed by the pattering of feet approaching quickly down the hall. You tensed hard, heart hammering in your chest once you realized they were heading for the kitchen where you and the surly male were still standing. This was an illusion, right? You hadn’t be teleported into the past, they wouldn’t be able to interact with you like normal people would. That was if the Outsider hadn’t gone the extra step to make it so, which was completely outside your realm of understanding.

“Give it back! Give it back!”

“No way! Not till you spar with me!”

The kitchen doorway burst open in a flash of white hair, both you and Vergil backing up against the wall as two boys tumbled in a flurry of limbs onto the floor. You felt your eyes widen at the sight of them, mind clicking several things into place. A child with slicked back hair looked furious, trying to grab what looked to be a book from an equally frazzled looking boy, both yelling and struggling in their efforts. The one holding the book  had hair a lot messier, framing his adorable face like a halo.

Vergil...and Dante? But so young, bright eyed and full of energy and innocence. A far cry from the two adults you had seen that very same day, from the one standing right next to you. But he was there in those sharp eyes and annoyed scowl, pressing one foot to Dante’s face as he tried to pry a book from his hands.

And, thankfully, neither seemed to see you or Vergil at all. Which was the only plus side, especially considering how absolutely frozen the son of Sparda seemed to be. You doubted be could pry his jaw apart for anything in that moment, so tense you were afraid he would break something. There was a stunned recognition in his eyes, one that spoke of just how long it had been since this moment all those years ago--he remembered it, didn’t he? His hand was now clenched around yours so tightly it was to the point of pain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to let go.

“Come on…!” Dante whined, drawing your attention back to the struggling children as he tried to tuck the novel against his chest in a last ditch effort to keep it from his brother, “Just an hour and you can have the book back…! Please!”

Vergil let out a sound of annoyance, his voice so young and soft in comparison to the surly man holding your hand as he snapped, “I said no! Stop taking my stuff…!”

This sibling conflict they seemed to have extended much farther than you expected, even to when they were children. You would have figured being twins would help them get along easier, but...their personality types seemed to clash. What could have caused that? Vergil had always seemed surly and bitter in disposition compared to Dante, but you assumed that was due to what happened after losing his mother. But...it seemed like even as a child he was grumpy, a tired look in his eyes and a hint of malice there for his twin. Or...was that resentment, jealousy?

You looked to Vergil for some kind of answer, even knowing there would be none. What could you say that would calm him at a time like this? To see oneself in a younger form, to relive a moment of time that had long passed...He looked uneasy, a rare occurrence for someone like him. And that is what this was, a look into his past.

When the Outsider tested someone, he never did it halfway, and from V’s soft-spoken recollections of the memories plaguing him, it brought forth great pain. Your sense of dread grew in spades, knowing damn well exactly what messed up Vergil as a child--losing his mother at a young age. This was starting to feel less and less like a test, and more like a punishment. Was the Outsider intending to make Vergil relive his past trauma? What the hell would that do other than make him retreat deeper inside his own mind, building up those walls higher?

You took a step closer to him, still letting him grasp your hand hard enough you were certain you would lose circulation, “Vergil...did you fight with Dante a lot at this age?”

Your voice made him jolt, as if you had seemingly shaken him from a trance. He ripped his eyes away from the forms of his former self and his brother, expression like stone as he met your eyes.

He looks cold and angry, but I think he’s scared of what’s to come.

“...Always,” He replied after some pause, tone clipped and hard as his icy blue eyes flickered back to the two wrestling brothers shouting at each other on the kitchen floor. Something dark was in his gaze, heavy and filled with resentment, “Dante was always a brat, and mother always...she…”

His words trailed off at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, echoing through the hall toward the kitchen door. Both boys froze when the door opened again, a woman appearing in the doorway with an expression of motherly disappointment--Vergil froze too, whatever he was about to say dying in his throat at the sight of her. Poised and beautiful, she stared down at the two boys and crossed her arms, a vision of blonde hair and red robes. There was no doubting who she was, judging by the way she eyed the twins and the way Vergil stared at her with sharp, conflicted eyes.

This was Eva, Vergil and Dante’s mother.

V had spoken of her in brief spurts during your travels with him, and always with great hesitation and vague descriptions. He claimed her to be a good mother, and you could tell he definitely loved her. But...there was always an underlying bitterness, something that made him cold and sad in regards to her--lonely. There was no denying her passing brought him unbelievable grief and trauma, and it showed in Vergil’s eyes the moment she stepped through the door. You didn’t even remember your parents...how must it feel to see her after all these years, after all he had been through without her?

Damaging.

“Fighting again?” Eva sighed incredulously, plucking both boys up from the floor and under each arm so she could place them on their feet, “Who started it this time?”

Both of the frazzled boys stubbornly pointed at each other, Dante beginning to grow teary eyed and sniffling. Those blue eyes were round and teary, breath hitching with sobs that wanted to wiggle their way out. He immediately started to cry, which made young Vergil flinch and step away from him. Was that frustration in his eyes? Certainly looked like it.

It tripled when Dante let out a hiccuping sob, rubbing some of the tears from his eyes as he cried, “I...I just wanted Vergil to play with m...me…! He never wants to play with me…!”

Dante was obviously the more emotional of the two...or at least it seemed that way. Vergil was more driven by his emotions than he was willing to admit, you knew that much. Reading children was far easier than adults--little Vergil looked like he was barely containing his own emotions, his own frustrations, jaw clenched in a similar way to his older counterpart. Dante’s actions brought a silent anger to his face, and what looked to be a hint of despair. You were trying to figure out what brought out such a reaction when Eva crouched down, a look of sympathy in her eyes as she wiped the tears from Dante’s face with gentle fingers.

Easily swayed by tears, it would seem. But Vergil wasn’t the type to cry.

“Oh sweetie,” She sighed, cupping his wet cheeks between her hands and staring at him with soft, adoring eyes, “You know not to bother your brother when he’s reading, right?”

Dante sniffled and nodded, looking immediately crestfallen by his mother’s soft rebuttal. Eva paused, a bit of a conflicted look in her eyes as they flickered to Vergil, taking in his annoyed expression and stiff posture as he stared right back. Her adoration did not dim in the slightest, but as soon as she looked at younger Vergil the one at your side flinched, fingers twitching in your grasp and letting some blood flow back. You immediately looked at him, surprised to see something cold and bitter in his expression, echoing what V had showed you all those months ago.

“But...maybe you can take just a little time to play with you brother?” Eva suggested gently, tucking some of Dante’s unkempt hair behind his ear, “Let’s try and compromise, okay? A little play time now, then reading after.”

Young Vergil didn’t like her answer. You saw that frustration coil and snap in his eyes, little shoulders trembling as he turned his gaze away from his mother. Before she could react, he snatched the book out of Dante’s hands, making a dash for the back door out of the kitchen with tears of anger in his eyes. For a moment, things seemed to slow, the boy passing right by you and allowing you to see his face.

Underneath that anger was something very sad, full of despair and dejection. Hurt. It wasn’t that his twin was more emotional, it was Vergil felt a lot more reluctant to show that emotion. He was trying to bolt before his mother saw him crying, before he showed the same depth of emotion his brother had. It was almost like...he saw this as a form of betrayal from Eva, like she had slapped him in the face without touching him.

But...why?

“I hate you, Dante!” He spat as he ripped open the door, Eva gasping as she tried to stop him from rushing outside. But he was a lot smaller and faster, sprinting off and out of sight before her fingers could grasp his arm.

Dante’s expression crumpled further from Vergil’s harsh words, tears forming again and running down his cheeks in rivets as he started wailing. The room was so loud now, you didn’t know what to do--there was an instinct to follow after the little boy as he left, but...something told you that you needed to stay, and Vergil too. You saw him try to move toward the open door where his mother stood, but he froze in place a moment later with the Void’s whispers forming all around you both.

No no.

No running away.

You will see. You will see with your own eyes what you base your foolish hatred on.

What the hell did that mean? And why were you able to hear them when this trial was clearly meant for Vergil?

There was clearly something here that the Void wanted him to see, that the Outsider meant to test him with. You knew only what V had told you, but…there was a feeling there tickling on the edge of your mind, one that had burst out when you were shouting at Vergil before. Why hadn’t it clicked with you then, in that moment of heat and anger? You had said something that was confusing even to you, especially considering the fact that it was something V had not told you in his stories. They had been so vague, just informing you of her death and how he wandered alone. But...you knew something, and it had burst from your lips like razors to cut Vergil in that time of pain.

But nothing will change the fact that you knew she was coming looking for you when she died.

“Vergil…” You whispered, voice soft and lilting as you squeezed his clammy digits, “Is...is this the day your mother--”

But he wouldn’t let you form the sentence, cutting you off before the words left your mouth.

“She always preferred Dante,” His tone was terse, eyes refusing to meet yours as he watched Eva yell after his younger self, begging him to come back even as he refused to listen. But she didn’t give chase, eyes darting back to the other boy sobbing on the kitchen floor, “He was her favorite, after all. Even at the end, she would rather stay with him and leave me behind.”

Is...that what this was about? You stared at him in shock, a few things clicking into place within your thoughts. That bitterness he carried with him...was that because he felt like his mother liked Dante more than him, loved the other twin more? As a child, some of the complications of being a parent and doing the right thing by your kids could be easily interpreted as a lack of love in the eyes of a child. Eva looked at both her sons with equal, loving eyes, but...to solve the conflict she tried to appeal to Dante’s wants, which left Vergil hurt. But it felt like more than that, running deeper and angrier than you could comprehend from a few moments of observing.

He felt like she had left him behind...because when he ran away, she didn’t go after him. She stayed with Dante to comfort him before all the conflict started, leaving him to whatever fate was to come. How heartbreaking, to realize how much that must have hurt him at such a young, tender age. A sense of abandonment was weighing on his shoulders, festering after years and years of trauma and warping into something deep and bitter--of course he felt this way, he had a long time of convincing himself of it, his emotions trying to find something or someone to blame for his pain.

“Did she though...?” You whispered, watching Eva wipe away Dante’s tears, eyes still shifting between him and the door the other boy had ran out of. There was worry written on her face, torn because she couldn’t very well leave one alone to follow the other. Where the hell was their father when all this was happening? What had happened to the notorious demon lord Sparda? “I think...I think that’s what this is about, Vergil...the Outsider means for you to see the other side of the story.”

Problem was...you were sure Vergil didn’t want to see it.

“What does this matter?” He hissed, whipping his hand out of yours and turning away from the sight of his mother comforting the distraught form of his sibling. He carded a hand angrily through his slicked back hair, eyes narrowing on the floor as he snarled, “This is all of little consequence. The past does not matter…!”

But it clearly does...especially when it’s the source of so much pain.

Pain the Outsider wants him to live through.

But...why?

You reached out and grabbed his hand again, halting him in place before he could start pacing as you replied louder, more forcefully, “It does matter--Because you’ve spent all this time refusing to acknowledge it, running away from it…!” Vergil looked back at you with a scowl, brow furrowed and fingers twitching in your grasp, “You feel content enough to continue living in ignorance, thinking that she abandoned you, but is that really the case?”

“And who are you to talk about running away from pain?” Vergil hissed in quick response, talking a step closer so he towered over your form. He lifted your hand away, eyes locked on yours and completely unyielding as he snarled, “So easy for you to just have your trauma erased, left with your weak counterparts so you can live without dealing with it…! Some of us aren’t so lucky…!”

He wants you to get mad, he wants you to lash out at him in an attempt to help him cope with what he’s feeling right now. But it doesn’t make what he said hurt any less.

You took a few deep, measured breaths, pushing down the anger and indignation his comments sparked. This didn’t warrant another fight, it wasn’t worth the time when this situation was so dire to begin with. Besides...you didn’t have to reprimand him. He flinched as soon as your hurt expression registered in his mind, agony flashing across his expression and falling to one knee with a hand to his temple. Just like before when he talked to you--each terse comment seemed lined with pain.

Why? What is going on?

You felt your anger starting to drain, crouching down next to him and watching his expression start drifting into anguish again. This trial...it was meant to hurt him, that much was apparent. And it was working, he was growing less and less in control of himself. How long had he sat on these traumas, refusing to acknowledge them and painting those warped images in his head? Years of suffering, convincing himself that gaining power was the only answer, the only way to make sure he didn’t feel so hurt again.

You kept your tone soft, placing a hand on his slicked back hair and feeling him jolt at even that slight touch. Providing comfort for him felt...strange, like it was meant to happen yet also not. It came coupled with that feeling of being split in two, the one that started when he kissed you, “It seems that way...doesn’t it?” You could feel them there, the ghosts of memories that had been taken from you so many times over. The lingering anguish without a point to tether it too, trauma that spoke with no voice, “But...I ended up in the Void for a reason, Vergil...Those memories were not taken from me to avoid pain, they were taken because the amount of pain they caused broke me to the point I could no longer exist with them.”

That made him take pause, his hand slowly lowering from his temple and the pain fading from his expression. Exhaustion was left in its wake, teetering on the edge of absolute stress.

When he said nothing in reply, you continued, sad smile on your lips as you refused to take your gaze from his face, “But this isn’t about me or what I feel...this is about you, Vergil. The Outsider wanted you to see this for a reason.”

And whatever that reason was, to either teach him or torture him...you didn’t know. But there was no running away from it.

“Oh sweetie--please don’t cry. I promise everything will be okay.”

Eva’s soft voice made you both pause, turning to see her pull out a handkerchief to dab at Dante’s tears. He was still sitting on the floor, hiccuping with the force of his sobs and puffy cheeked. Far more distressed than before it would seem, his mother’s words seemed to barely comfort him at all. Only now his focus was off of the book and sparring, taking a complete turn from how mad he just was at Vergil. His blue eyes were filled with anguish, distraught and full of despair as he stared at the door his younger twin had bolted from moments prior.

“He hates me…!” The little boy sobbed, hiccuping a few times in between his words and sniffling incredibly loud, “Vergil...h…he hates me…! I just wanted t...to play…! I don’t want him to hate me…!”

Ouch, that hurt a bit. Dante was now upset because of what the older twin had said in a fit of anger, taking it quite literally and growing distraught as a result. The older brother at your side stared at Dante with a frown, expression back to being unreadable as you both watched the little boy cry away, completely heartbroken.

Vergil rose to his feet, taking a step closer to watch the interaction between his brother and mother with a furrowed brow, something akin to confusion flickering in his eyes through the tight-lipped expression he wore. You remained close to him, knowing damn well you weren’t here to interfere, only to support him as he needed it. And judging by how taunt his shoulders were, hands balled into tight fists...something about this scene bothered him greatly.

Dante really loved his brother...didn’t he?

Eva looked softly at her child, stroking back his white hair in an attempt to soothe his tears and calm him down. You didn’t know what to expect from her, confused by all that Vergil and V had claimed about her in regards to liking Dante more. But...there were so many complications that came with being a mother, especially to twin boys so different in personality. How could she make one happy without upsetting the other? And in her attempt to find the middle ground between the two, could it have left an impression that she valued Dante more? And Vergil would have never been the type to talk to her about it, bottling it all in to suffer in silence until little outbursts like that happened.

There was no denying that Vergil still loved her, though. And that was what made it the most hurtful for the son of Sparda, caring so much about his parent but feeling like he was always secondary to Dante. Then came the pain of wanting to protect her, wanting to save her when the calamity befell their family, but not getting the chance to. His whole set of ideals and wants was shaped by this day...wasn’t it? By Eva, by losing his mother and carrying the guilt of it on his shoulders until his back bowed from the weight of it. It showed in those icy eyes, regret and pain in those depths as she comforted Dante like you were willing to bet he had wanted to be comforted.

You made V feel protected and loved.

And in the end...that’s what Vergil craves too, isn’t it?

“Vergil does not hate you, sweetheart,” Eva soothed, pressing a gentle kiss to his brow and leaning back with a small smile, “He’s just upset, he didn’t mean it.”

That managed to get through to the distraught child, making his hiccuping slow to small whimpers and sniffles, his eyes red and puffy from crying as he stared at his mother with something small and hopeful. How this cute, tiny child turned into the rugged Devil Hunter you knew from the future, you didn’t know. The two seemed world’s apart.

“R...really?” He croaked, voice cracked and broken from crying and wailing so much.

Eva smiled brighter, ruffling his hair with her free hand and replying in a kind tone, “I promise, your brother loves you very much. His temper just makes him say mean things sometimes,” She cupped his cheeks playfully, squishing them together as she teased, “Just as your temper makes you say mean things to him too, or take his books away when he’s reading them.”

Dante puffed up at that, looking a bit embarrassed once he realized his mother was reprimanding him for taking his brother’s things. He looked a bit ridiculous with his watery eyes and bright red cheeks, but that just came with the territory of crying. Eva giggled at his expression, leaning forward to press a loud, exaggerated kiss to his forehead and lean back with an encouraging smile.

“I love you both so much, you know that?” She pinched one of his cheeks, making him whine in annoyance and try to pull away, “How about we get some cookies and juice and go apologize to Vergil together? And maybe take turns too--some days he plays with you, and some days you read with him. You two have to look out for each other, and that means sharing in what your brother loves too.”

Her response made the older Sparda at your side freeze, shock making a home in his expression. This was the other half of the story, the things he never got to see when he ran off in his fit of anger. To live his entire life thinking his mother didn’t care, to hear her trying the very best she could to find a middle ground that would make him happy too...it defied all that he had taught himself, didn’t it? There was obvious caring in her tone, a motherly love that extended far beyond what you could understand. It made you a bit jealous--you couldn’t remember your own mother, but you got the feeling she was nothing like Eva, nowhere near as kind and loving.

But...this wasn’t about you. It was about them.

Dante perked up at his mother’s words, but nodded in slow understanding to her request. You could tell the idea of reading didn’t appeal to him very much, but...he was willing to give it a go if it meant making Vergil happy. In fact...he looked a bit guilty too for upsetting his brother, rubbing one of his arms and drifting his gaze back to the door Vergil had ran from.

“O...okay,” He mumbled, snuffling again and letting Eva wipe his nose with the handkerchief, “Can we make more cookies later too?”

Eva laughed again, rising to her feet and taking Dante’s little hand in her own with very gentle fingers, “Of course, sweetie. Now let’s go find Vergil--I bet he’s at the playground again.”

She picked up Dante from the floor, holding him easily with one arm despite him being an average sized eight year old. The motion brushed her right by the frozen son of Sparda watching with wide eyes. This was not what he expected to see, to hear, that was clearer than the sun starting to set outside. His mother passed right through him like he was a ghost, completely oblivious to his presence and moving toward the fridge for the juice she meant to take to her other son, the one who had fled away in anger. Himself--and what a strange thing that had to be, to know she meant him all the best in the world after thinking for so long that she cared about Dante more, that she just wanted to make them both happy.

It was hard. It had to be so hard.

You took a step closer to Vergil, watching the way he sucked in a slow breath between his lips and let it out, trying to find his composure. He lifted a hand to card his fingers through those silver locks, seeming at a loss for words. And honestly, could you blame him? One rarely wanted to face that which brought them agony, and he was literally being shoved into a room with truths his mind had fought for so many years. There was denial in his eyes, and frustrations you could both understand and not. Part of you wondered why so many things had fallen apart in your own life, and there had to be things that were different through your eyes compared to others.

There were always two sides to a story. Yours, theirs, and the truth that lay somewhere in the middle.

“She really cared about you,” Your voice was soft, barely heard over Dante chattering with Eva about what kind of cookies Vergil liked. Chocolate chip? He liked the peanut butter blossoms more, Mommy-- “They both do...a whole lot. I guess...it was just hard to see.”

Vergil didn’t reply, still not meeting your eyes with those broad shoulders held stiff, unmoving. You thought you saw his fist clench, but he turned away from you before it could register in your vision. He sat down at one of the chairs at the table, resting his head on his hands and closing his eyes, like the whole situation exhausted him beyond belief. But the anger was still there, hands shaking like he was resisting ripping the whole room apart. It would have done no good, and it wouldn't have helped.

“What if,” His rasping voice surprised you, coming from his lips low and full of doubts, “What if this is all fake, made up truths by your foolish God? Why should I believe a single thing that happens here?”

You sighed at that, sitting down at the table next to him. There was a point in his words--there really was no reason for Vergil to trust the God, but…

“I think you’ve known for a while that this is the truth,” You replied, voice steadier than you felt as you pulled your knees up to your chest, “But you never wanted to admit it. Trying to find something to blame for everything that hurt you, trying to cope. The Outsider is an omniscient being, he can see all and everything...He knows your trauma, your past, everything that happened,” you lifted your gaze, meeting Vergil’s cold eyes when they opened again and refusing to be swayed, “But he has no reason to show you something fake. This is about you running from the truth, Vergil, from your past. What value does it have if he shows you something untrue?”

Your response seemed to make him even more unhappy, a scowl forming on his lips and eyes looking away. The truth could be so painful, couldn’t it? When you found out the reality about V, it had sliced you open and left you bleeding out on the Qliphoth floor. But...it had been so needed, shaping you into who you were at that exact moment. And you refused to regret it.

“It doesn’t change the fact that she never tried to save me,” Vergil’s low hiss drew your thoughts back, watching as he started drumming his fingers on the hardwood--a nervous tick, it would seem, “She saved Dante, and I was--”

His words were cut off from loud screams in the distance outside.

Your head snapped up the same time his did, seeing several windows in the hallway shatter in a burst of flame that rained shards down onto the floor. Eva and Dante screamed, the bottle of juice breaking on the floor as she ducked down to shield his body with her own. What was that stench? Like rotting bodies mixed with sulfur--the scent of demons, you realized, scrambling up from the chair just as something shot by the kitchen windows, blowing a trail of fire in its wake. Vergil instantly grabbed you, pulling you back to the kitchen wall and putting out an arm when the kitchen windows shattered inward, raining shards on Eva and Dante. Help them! Your mind was screaming, trying to push your body forward, but one of the glass shards sliced the skin on your arm, making you yelp and stare at it in alarm.

We can still be hurt by this illusion?

Vergil was panting next to you, breaths coming in rasping gasps as Eva scrambled up from the floor, holding Dante’s wailing form against her with a look of absolute panic in her eyes. You could tell by her expression that she knew exactly what was happening, and it was just what she had feared. Her first instinct was to protect her child, seeing demon after demon starting to advance on the house, attacking other homes far in the distance and bringing chaos and destruction in their wake. Black smoke was billowing from the curtains, the wallpaper beginning to glow like embers and curl up from the heat. After all, a demon’s fire was not something to take lightly.

This was it...the calamity that had broken Dante and Vergil apart.

“Vergil…!” You grabbed his jacket firmly, yanking him down when another blast of fire sent the table flying up at you both. He snapped out of his dazed state instantly, cutting the table in half with the Yamato and pulling you to the side quick enough to avoid the smoke and flames.

Too close.

Eva swallowed a scream, putting one hand to her mouth and holding Dante close with the other. You saw her cough heavily, turning on her heels and sprinting through the hallway before it could catch fire completely. We have to go, we have to see! Your mind was scrambling, the chaos of the situation weighing down far heavily than you could have imagined. The room was starting to fill with smoke and ember, making you cough as well and practically gag and the horrible smell. You couldn’t stay, this room would be up in flames any moment. The Void was beginning to whisper, urging you both to move and give chase after Vergil’s mother, but…

He seemed rooted to the spot, staring at the doorway she had disappeared in with an expression of stony panic.

You grabbed his hand, trying to pull him along before the flames grew any higher. It was starting to grow so hot, burning and threatening to scorch your skin.

“We need to go…!” You coughed at him, grasping his hand and wrist to desperately tug him along, “Please…! We can’t stay here, we need to make sure they’re okay…!”

His fingers were shaking. He was shaking.

“I…” He rasped, voice low and barely audible over the crackle of flames, of demonic claws scraping the doorway and windows as they tried to force their way in, “I cannot...I do not want to see…!”

He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to be proven wrong, to live through his mother’s death again.

You were right--this isn’t a trial. This is a punishment.

But there was no other choice.

You steeled your own nerves, squeezing his fingers as tightly as you could and summoning a tendril to lift his chin up a bit. Meeting your eyes, seeing the resolve there and the panic of his own gaze reflected back. Vergil had hurt you, and you had hurt him...but you knew his trauma, knew V was inside his body aching to be acknowledged, to be embraced by the silver-haired half demon. And that part of him was something you couldn’t let go, these feelings refused to leave. Because at the end of the day, you still cared about V, and by proxy you cared about Vergil too. He was suffering, he was hurt and he needed someone, anyone.

He just wanted to be protected and loved.

“I will be with you,” Your voice was soft, a whisper that mingled with the fire crackling in your eyes’ reflection, “But this is your trial Vergil, and you can’t run away from it…!”

I will be here.

I swear it.

This time, someone will be there to catch you as you fall.

Dante’s sharp cries filled the air, making you and Vergil jolt in shock and whip around toward the sound. The son of Sparda still paused, seeming torn between his need to flee and the need to see what was going on. To face one’s trauma was not an easy thing, you knew that, you understood that more than anything. But... He didn't have long to think on it, there would be no time. The fire was curling up toward the ceiling, sending a beam crashing down right next to you both and making you yelp in alarm and move back. The heat from it made you jerk your free arm back, feeling the sting of glowing hot embers on your skin before they flickered and died. There’s no more time. Vergil let out a hiss, tugging you out of the way and moving quickly for the doorway just as demons started crawling onto the kitchen tile.

You held onto his fingers, keeping to the wall and coughing through the fire. Your free hand grazed picture frames, seeing smiling faces of family photos, of the children laughing with their mother...and their father? Vergil was moving you too fast to tell. He pulled you down a long hallway, seeming to remember the way through his former home despite all the time that had passed. You had to pass through what looked to be a sitting room, one that was still littered with books and papers from the boys’ homework. It was already catching flame, a demon trying to scramble through the window and screeching in anger and rage. Every instinct told you to attack, but Vergil proved it was of no use. He slashed with the Yamato, a snarl breaking past his calm facade when the sword passed harmlessly through the illusion.

We are helpless--how come this can hurt us but we can’t hurt them?

There was no time to dwell on it, hurrying along until you reached a foyer leading to the main doors of the home. You jolted with recognition, seeing the family portrait hanging above the mantle and the familiar floors you had once stood on with Dante, only more pristine and fresh. Not for long. A blast of fire sent Eva and Dante sprawling away from each other, the little boy hitting the floor hard and closing his eyes. A brief moment of panic hit you, resisting the urge to help him up with every part of your being, but it would never work. You and Vergil pressed against a nearby pillar, your ears ringing from the sound and lungs feeling taxed and overworked.

Vergil stared on with a numb expression, watching his mother pick herself off the floor with a low gasp and press a hand to her temple. She immediately saw Dante lying prone, scrambling to her feet and rushing over to pick him up. What could have possibly been going through her mind in such chaos? Fear, determination to save her child, despair? She didn’t hesitate to help Dante off the floor, breathless and desperate to move before any demons made their way into the foyer, seeing them in their attempts to escape. Problem was...there was no way out, the fire was growing everywhere, soon the whole mansion would be swallowed up by the burning red and orange hues.

“Come here…!” She whispered urgently to the dazed looking boy, ushering him into a nearby broom closet despite how he stumbled and swayed on his feet. She pushed him inside, placing both hands on the double doors and staring at him with teary eyes, “You need to hide, Dante…! No matter what happens, you mustn’t leave..!”

Inside a closet in a burning house? The very idea made your own fear and worry spike, staring at the tear-stained face of the little boy, half stained by soot as he gazed up at his mother. How terrifying it must have been, going from a moment of calm family life to mortal peril in an instant? Made worse by her continuing words, tempered with desperation.

Banging sounded at the door, sounding like demons trying to claw their way through to the foyer. Eva breathed heavily, turning her gaze back to the little boy and continuing shakily, “I need to find Vergil, I promise I’ll be back…!” She reached out to cup his cheeks when he started to hyperventilate, panic filling his wide eyes and followed by fresh tears. The Sparda at your side stared with wide eyes at her words, fingers stiffening in your grasp and squeezing tight enough to hurt again.

He thought she didn’t even try to save him, but she--

“I know this is hard…! You must listen to me--be a big boy, a man, huh?” Eva smiled as encouragingly as she could manage in such a dire situation, her own eyes filling with tears as she nodded at the distraught little boy. Dante swallowed his cries, nodding back shakily and pressing his fingers to her hands.

Eva paused, taking what you knew would be her final moment with her son, looking him over, memorizing every part of his face and stroking his cheeks with her gentle fingers. This would be the last time Dante would see her, touch her, feel his mother’s love and affection. And Vergil knew it too. His breath started to come in low pants, jaw clenched tightly and eyes alight with pain and anger. You stepped closer to him, wincing at the heat of the flames and feeling tears burn your eyes at the sight before you. This was too much, it hurt so much. This tragedy wasn’t yours, but it was clawing away at you inside like the flames themselves had shot down your throat.

They burned more by Vegril’s words, so quiet at first you weren’t sure if you heard them.

“It’s...it’s not fair…” He whispered, his usually cold voice sounding absolutely wrecked as he watched Dante share the final moment with his mother, without him there,  something you were willing to bet he would have given anything to feel right at that moment, “It’s not fair that he got to be with her and I...I…”

He ran away. He ran away and suffered through this tragedy alone while Dante got to feel his mother’s love one last time.

“If I don’t return, you must run. By yourself, alone,” Eva continued in a low, hushed voice, staring at her son with distraught eyes and leaning away from him, “You must change your name--forget about your past and start a new life as someone else…!”

With that, Eva started closing the double doors, Dante’s teary blue eyes the last thing both you and she saw before he disappeared entirely.

“A new beginning…!”

With that, Eva turned and started to run, not looking back as she dead sprinted for the double doors leading into the home. She ran past you and Vergil, tears in her eyes and feet pounding on the marble floor, her expression somewhere between agony and determination as she went to open the doors. For a moment, time seemed to slow, Vergil stepping out to try and touch her with outstretched fingers, just barely held back by you as more flames started to spread across the ceiling, walls, and rug on the foyer floor. It was no use, he wouldn’t be able to feel her, not in an illusion like this one. His fingers passed through her blonde hair, phasing right through as she dashed by and leaving him falling to his knees as she continued on obliviously, now desperate to find his younger self waiting outside their home.

“Vergil?! Where are you Vergil?!” She started to shout as she ripped open the door, the outside air causing the fire to burst more all around you all and followed by the screeching of demons. You felt your heart pound harder than it ever had, living through Vergil and Dante’s biggest moment of trauma and unable to process it. No...no no don’t go out there--it isn’t safe! Tears dripped down your eyes, a cry of anguish caught in your throat and fire burning in your lungs as you watched all that you knew would happen finally come to pass.

She is going to die. And we can do nothing.

Vergil stared on in horror as his mother screamed, illuminated by fire in the doorway as demons descended upon her, form vanishing under their grotesque, writhing bodies. The scream cut off by their snarls and laughs, dragging her body outside so they could finish the job with the other gathering monsters.

Vergil moved in an instant, unsheathing the Yamato in a desperate attempt to fight off the creatures killing his mother, a shout in his throat echoing through the foyer. He would have done it too--would have leapt through a wall of fire to try and save her. The flames licked the rug, surging when when of the demons spat some soft of liquid behind him--intending to raze the mansion on ash. Vergil would not be stopped.

But the Outsider wanted him to feel it again...that uselessness, that despair. It was of no use.

You grabbed Vergil with your tendrils, holding him back and wrapping your arms around his waist and sending you both slamming to the floor. Coughs wracked your lungs, aching and throbbing with agony at all the smoke inhalation. But you couldn’t care less, Vergil becoming your main focus over the danger. The fire had already scorched the skin of his sword wielding arm, the man oblivious to the pain as he struggled in your grasp, trying to reach his mother as the demons took her life. What could you do? What could you do? He was yelling over and over again, screaming for his mother and reaching as far as his fingers could.

“Stop…!” You begged, trying to pin him with the tendrils and feeling the tears drip down your own cheeks, “It won’t help…! This isn’t real Vergil…!”

Your words would not reach him. His eyes were glassy, not registering you at all as he was forced to watch his mother die with new eyes. In that moment he wasn’t the proud, sword-wielding bastard you had seen in the Qliphoth tree. Vergil was thrust back into the mindset he had as a child, one who just wanted to save his mother and be with family who loved him equally. And now the realization was there, the one that spoke the truth of that day--his mother had not abandoned him, she had tried desperately to save him just as she had Dante. But there was no chance of her making it out of the mansion, not with so many demons surrounding it.

And that was enough to break him. But you couldn’t let that happen. You had to tie him into reality, had to stop this madness before he lost this test and was forced to succumb to whatever the God wanted of him.

So you grit your teeth, wrapping your fingers around his eyes so he couldn’t see the horrific view anymore. Tendrils snapped out from your form all around, creating a cage around you and the struggling Sparda and weaving between each other, blocking the fire and heat like a dome of perfection. Vergil was hyperventilating, lungs heaving and gasping as his body tried to fling you off, but there would be no stopping you.

Subduing him like this was cruel, but there was no choice.

“Vergil,” You put your lips by his ear, breathing heavily and shuddering with the force of trying to keep the illusion back, “Enough--Enough! This is an illusion, a means to break you…! Please stop…!”

You felt him start to still, eyes blinked underneath your fingers and the sword clattering from his grasp. A strangled sound of absolute agony left him, that hand flying to his mouth as he started to retch, physically sick at the sight he was made to witness. He vomited, coughing and choking as you desperately tried to hold back his hair, one hand on his forehead and the other bracing your form above him.

This ended now. Anymore trials like this and it could break him as much as your own world broke you.

“Enough!” You shouted, eyes turning black as you snapped more tendrils out around you, still able to hear the crackling flames, “End this…! He’s seen what you wanted him to now fucking end it Outsider…!”

No more.

No more suffering.

No more games.

As soon as you spoke, the cold of the Void swept over the room, taking with it the smoke and ash and making you gasp in shock. You clung to Vergil’s frame, closing your eyes at the sound of rushing crystal, whipping around both of you and taking the illusion of the mansion with it. No more demons, no more fire, no more heat. Only the bitter chill and the dull howl of the Void, tendrils retreating back and leaving you both laying on a piece of debris as you had before. You opened your eyes, pants still leaving your lips and eyes still black as you gazed around, seeing the familiar hollow glow and endless blackness of your former home.

And even more shocking, the Outsider stood nearby, watching you both with flat black eyes.

You met his gaze, shock and anger traveling through you as Vergil continued coughing, wheezing gasps leaving his lungs as he sat on his hands and knees. His eyes were wide, hair messed up and draping over his forehead as he struggled to drag himself out of the panic attack gripping him. He looked devastated, damaged, broken. All the things you knew too well, all the emotions you had suffered through for so many years. And that broke you inside, seeing him in the throes of pain and misery that had no way out, no reasoning, no meaning. Despite all the terrible things he had done, despite all the death and carnage...No child deserved that, no child deserved to see their mother die and live alone. No one deserved to be forced back into childhood trauma and pain.

What fucking purpose did it serve? What lesson did this teach? That so called trial had given him the truth of what had happened to his family, but at the price of being so damaging Vergil couldn’t drag himself off the floor. And that wasn’t okay, it would never be okay. To make matters worse, the Void whispers seemed to be enjoying Vergil’s pain, brushing past your ears in low purrs and groans.

He hasn’t broken completely, I’d say he passed.

Indeed indeed.

There is still more to see.

Read on AO3

Like what you see? Consider buying me a coffee

Tagged: @silentwhispofhope @slightlylunatic @nightshadow4713 @just-call-me-no-name @efiicitia @raven-huntress @shaelin444

[chloebeale]

FRIENDS DON’T | CH. 7/?

Original prompt

RATING: T | WORDS: 3,411 | ao3

To say that nothing happened last night would be a lie. No, maybe they didn’t take things too far, but the kiss — multiple kisses, in fact — she and Chloe shared still replay in her mind, still linger like the sweetest memory on her lips, and as Beca wakes with the bright Georgia sun shining obtrusively through the gap in the heavy hotel drapes, protective arms wrapped comfortably around her, she takes a moment to reflect. To study Chloe’s face as she sleeps so closely beside her. And Beca finds herself smiling.

They hadn’t removed their makeup last night. Nor their dresses, for that matter. Things had been too intense, too urgent for any of that. Remnants of yesterday’s mascara flake beneath Chloe’s lids, dotting her pale cheeks. Her lipgloss is barely there anymore, though a pink tint remains. Beca could get used to this, she thinks silently to herself, to waking up beside Chloe.

And maybe that’s a dangerous thought.

Still, she can’t deny that she just feels so... Normal. So comfortable, so safe. It’s not like she never felt comforted by Jesse; of course she did, Beca’s feelings for him were true and strong, though she has to admit, at least to herself, nothing has ever felt like this before. No one has ever made her feel the way Chloe does. That’s something she’s known for a long time. Whether she has tried to deny it or not.

She can’t help herself as she lifts a hand to delicately push a chunk of red hair softly behind the other girl’s ear. Her touch is feather light, but it causes Chloe to stir, and Beca can’t even feel too badly for it, because although a part of her thinks it’s unfair to wake her, another selfish part of her wants her here, in the present. She wants to know that last night had not been a dream.

“You can go back to sleep,” she whispers, her voice low enough that if Chloe isn’t actually awake yet, it won’t disturb her. She finds herself running her fingers gently through red hair, brushing the same chunk slowly behind her ear once more.

“Mm, maybe,” the redhead’s mumbled voice sounds into the early morning air, the sleep it’s laced with making for one very much adorable Chloe Beale. Her eyes remain closed, and Beca feels her wiggling closer, feels the way Chloe’s arms tighten protectively around her slender frame. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Beca admits. She’s unsure of where her phone is, and a part of her is kind of scared to find it. She knows it’s selfish, but she doesn’t want to see any texts or missed calls from Jesse. She doesn’t want the reminder of what she did to him, how she hurt him. Of course, it’s there in the back of her mind — how could it not be? Beca isn’t so self-absorbed that she’s somehow forgotten. She knows this feeling of sleepy elation is only temporary, and that she’ll have to deal with the fire she so carelessly started later. But for now, she has Chloe. In the way she has always wanted Chloe. And she can’t help but choose ignorance for now, for just a few more moments of bliss.

It’s almost like Chloe can read her mind, hear her thoughts ticking loudly in her brain, because blue eyes appear from beneath heavy lids, and Beca finds herself pulled in by them the way she has been so many times before. Except this time, it doesn’t scare her. Not the way it used to.

“Hi,” Chloe says, voice small and still a little mumbled. She seems to pause for a second or two, almost daring herself to continue. “Are friends allowed to like waking up with their friends like this?”

Despite herself, despite the way this should be entirely terrifying to her, Beca can’t help the way her lips curve upward a fraction. She can’t help how her gaze lowers to Chloe’s lips, though she pulls it back up again, enticed in by ocean blue orbs once more.

“Want me to let go?” Chloe asks, arms staying put. Beca swears she can feel her tightening her hold a little bit, so she scoots closer, body curling up against Chloe’s, forehead nuzzling comfortably into the crook of her neck. The action pulls a soft, breathy chuckle from the redhead. “I’ll take that as a no?”

Long fingers begin to brush coolly through the back of her tangled hair, right the way from her scalp and down to the ends. Beca’s hair is pretty long now, she knows she needs to get it cut. She enjoys the feeling of Chloe playing with it the way she is, though. Honestly, she kind of wishes they could just stay like this. Just forget the world for a day and just... Stay.

“Bec?” Chloe’s voice, a little less sleep-engulfed by now, breaks into the comfort she feels as she lays pressed against her, breathing in the sweet scent of last night’s perfume as it lingers on her skin.

“Mm?”

While her fingers continue to move, to brush so naturally through mousy hair, Chloe lets out a gentle sigh, and Beca braces herself for whatever is to follow.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” Chloe continues, her volume a little quieter now. “But I think we should talk about last night.”

Beca is always pretty quick to recoil. She knows it, and Chloe knows it, too. So the way her body stiffens comes as a surprise to neither, though the feeling of a soft, lazy kiss pressed gently into her matted hair is much more relaxing a sensation than Beca has ever really experienced.

“It’s okay,” Chloe promises, tone hushed and reassuring. “We don’t have to get into anything heavy, I just think it’s important that we talk, you know?” Slowly, somewhat cautiously, Chloe pulls herself back just a little bit. She’s close enough that her arms are still able to wrap easily around Beca’s body, but now she can actually look at her, and even if Beca wanted to look away, she couldn’t.

“You know that I suck at that stuff,” Beca frowns, gaze drifting upward to lock with the other girl’s. In spite of herself, she knows she owes Chloe an explanation, and while Chloe is looking at her almost sympathetically, she also isn’t backing down.

It’s almost physically painful for her to pull back, but that’s just Beca, it’s just the way she is. She’s the kind of person to isolate herself, to deal with her problems and her emotions on her own. Apparently, Chloe knows her well enough. She allows her to slip from her arms, and then turns onto her side, elbow supporting her face as it rests comfortably against a flattened palm.

She shouldn’t be comparing them. Beca knows that’s the last thing she should be doing. But the way Chloe isn’t crowding her, the way she’s giving her the time to collect her thoughts, to be in her own space... It’s something that was lacking with Jesse. He always wanted to help, always wanted to be right there, but as admirable as his efforts were, as well as she knew he always meant, that’s just not Beca. Chloe knows it, too.

“I’m not sorry for kissing you,” Chloe finally states, voice quiet and calm. Beca wonders how the hell she can remain so cool, how she can keep such strong eye contact when she’s laying it all out there. Fortunately (for Chloe, anyway), Beca is drawn in by sapphire blue, mesmerised stare trained on the other girl. “But on the other hand,” Chloe continues, just as calmly and coolly as before, “I kind of am.”

The statement is confusing, and Beca’s face apparently expresses as much, because it pulls a soft, quiet chuckle from Chloe’s lips, before she’s letting out a small sigh, eye contact finally breaking.

“I don’t regret kissing you. I wanted to kiss you. Honestly, I think I’ve wanted to for a long time. But you have a boyfriend, Beca. And I’m sorry to him, and I’m sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position.”

For a brief moment, Jesse had left her mind, but the mention of her boyfriend jolts him back to the forefront, and Beca finds herself licking over dry lips, teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she finally responds, noting from the corner of her eye the way Chloe’s brow arches the smallest bit. Beca isn’t looking directly at her anymore, but Chloe is looking at her, she can tell. “Yesterday, in the bathroom, that’s what I was doing. I called Jesse, and I broke up with him.” It sounds even more pathetic when she says it aloud, and Beca’s sigh mirrors Chloe’s previous one. “I know, over the phone... I’m a total coward.”

“You’re not a coward, Beca,” Chloe promises, her tone sincere. Beca’s gaze flickers toward her, and Chloe’s eyes catch her own all over again. “You’re not.”

Beca’s small, barely there laugh is a sarcastic one in response. “Yeah? I feel like one.”

She can practically see the cogs ticking in Chloe’s head, imagine the way she’s contemplating moving closer, but Chloe decides eventually on staying put, and just looks at her with that same genuine air, that same sincerity. “You’re not. It’s obvious that you care, and that it wasn’t an easy thing for you to do. I saw how upset you were, I saw how hard you were crying. Cowards don’t care like that, they don’t have the guts to.”

All Beca can do is lightly shrug a shoulder in response, offer Chloe a sheepish kind of smile.

“Can I ask why you broke up with him?” Chloe asks, for the first time this whole conversation looking a little more timid, a little more afraid of Beca’s response. “It wasn’t... It wasn’t because of me, right? Because of what happened in my room the other night?”

Beca doesn’t even have to think about her answer. She quickly shakes her head, and she knows she isn’t lying, not to either of them. “No. No, it’s not that.” Beca may feel something for Chloe, something she hasn’t allowed herself to fully explore before now, but Jesse isn’t just someone she could throw away, not even for someone like Chloe Beale. “Things just haven’t felt right. For kind of a long time now, in fact. I thought about breaking up with him before, but I figured the distance might... I don’t know, help in some way?” Her eyes lock with Chloe’s intent stare again. “I know that sounds so stupid. But they say it’s supposed to make the heart grow fonder or whatever that cliché is.” Chloe nods, and it’s clear she’s actively listening. “But it didn’t. The whole time I’ve been out in LA, away from Jesse, I haven’t been sad about it, you know? I haven’t been thinking about wanting him there with me.” She pauses, throat a little dry. “But I thought about you.”

The expression on the other girl’s face doesn’t change. Beca can’t tell if she said the right or wrong thing, but she’s opening up, she’s speaking her truth, and that’s all she can do. Finally, Chloe seems to form her thoughts into a verbal response.

“I understand that,” she nods, that somewhat sympathetic look gracing her features again. If it was anybody else looking at her that way, Beca would roll her eyes, make some sarcastic comment. But it isn’t anybody else. It’s Chloe. So Beca just looks, just listens, waiting for her to go on. “It’s hard, and I understand it, because I’ve been feeling the same way. I’ve been missing you, Bec.” The redhead doesn’t hesitate as she reaches out a hand, the one she’s not resting her cheek against, and delicately pushes a chunk of hair smoothly over Beca’s shoulder.

At first, Beca doesn’t know how to respond. She just watches the motion of Chloe’s hand, takes comfort in her calming presence. “So what do we do?” She finally asks, voice much smaller than she’d intended.

“I don’t know,” Chloe admits, shoulder shrugging gently. “I don’t want to push anything.” Her gaze drifts over to settle on Beca’s again, and the brunette feels herself drawn in once more, just watching that powerful stare. “I just know that I’m Chloe and you’re Beca, and we’re best friends. Maybe we’re something more than that. But I think that’s all we need to know right now. No pressure, no expectations. We can just keep doing our thing, keep being Chloe and Beca. And I guess we don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Until recently, Beca would deny that she’d ever held anything back. It’s clear that she’s only lying to herself in saying so now, though. Because this is the most natural she’s felt in the longest time, the most free she’s felt around anybody, Chloe included. And maybe that’s because they’re not just friends, and they don’t have to pretend to be. Maybe there’s something more.

It’s bold of her, almost uncharacteristic even, but Beca doesn’t give herself the chance to question it too much, and soon she’s ducking her head to press a soft kiss to Chloe’s lips. It doesn’t last too long, but when she pulls back, she doesn’t freak out like all of the other times. She doesn’t have to freak out anymore.

It’s like Chloe had said, they don’t have to hold back. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe their wounds are still fresh from those who came before, but Beca knows that this has been a long time coming. That she and Chloe were never just friends, there’s always been something more.

There’s a small, almost lazy smile creeping across Chloe’s lips as she gazes toward her, and Beca wonders if she can feel the lingering sensation of her lips against her own the same way Beca can feel hers. “Not holding back, huh?” She asks in her same calm, quiet tone.

“No,” Beca shakes her head, somehow finding her own zen right there in that very moment. “And you shouldn’t, either.”

---

As it turns out, Chloe doesn’t hold back. Not that that’s exactly shocking; Chloe has never been one to do anything very subtly. But she also doesn’t plough in full steam ahead, and Beca appreciates that. It doesn’t matter how long this has been underlying, Beca still hasn’t properly spoken to Jesse, and Chloe has only just gotten out of a serious relationship, too. They’re not trying to slap the ‘girlfriend’ label on one another, but they’re just... They’re not holding back.

The weekend is over pretty quickly, and this time, traveling back to LA is bittersweet. Beca is ready to get back to work, to fully settle into her job, but leaving her friends is difficult. Leaving Chloe is even more difficult than that. But Chloe drops her off at the airport, and the two share a chaste kiss before Beca has to leave. It’s a soft, kind of shy kiss. Nothing too full on. But the memory is ingrained in Beca’s mind, it lingers throughout the entire plane journey, and once she’s back on the ground, she’s excited to talk to Chloe again.

Beca decides on a phone call, rather than texting her. Honestly, she’s still ignoring Jesse’s texts, still afraid of what he has to say. She knows it’s stupid, she knows it’s pathetic, but she can’t help it. Maybe she isn’t as tough as she’d like people to believe she is.

So, a phone call is safer, she decides, and Chloe picks up on the third ring.

“You’d better not be on the phone while you’re driving, Mitchell,” Chloe warns, and Beca can so clearly picture the scowl on her face, the way her nose wrinkles and her brows furrow. It makes her chuckle, despite the fact that she’s tired, and that she just wants to get home.

“Relax, Beale. I’m in an Uber.”

Normally, Beca is not the kind of person to interact with her driver. But she finds herself catching his eye in the rearview mirror, the two exchanging something of a smirk, one that says ‘my girl is worried about me/your girl is worried about you, and it’s fucking adorable’. It’s like Beca is different somehow, like a weight has been lifted. To think of Jesse as that weight is unfair, but it’s also not inaccurate. Beca will have to deal with that later, she knows she will. For now, she has the content, cheerful sound of Chloe Beale humming breezily in her ear, and Beca doesn’t even stop herself from smiling.

They talk the whole way from the airport, with Beca only ending the call once she’s arrived outside of her apartment building, and even then it’s only because she has to -- she needs both hands to carry her luggage and let herself in. Once she does, once she’s finally back in the comfort of her own space, she knows that it’s time to make a move, to put on her big girl pants and deal with the consequences of her actions.

Jesse’s muted thread of text messages is unsurprisingly full. They range from things like ‘Please don’t do this, Bec,’ to ‘Three years and this is how you’re going to end things? Good to know how much I meant to you.’ Each one of them feels like a punch to the gut, but Beca knows that she deserves it.

For a few minutes, curled up in the standalone chair in her tiny living room, Beca begins and then erases text message after text message. Nothing she has to say sounds good enough, nothing gives Jesse the closure she knows he deserves, so with a shaking hand, she finally decides on a phone call, and Beca can hear her heart beating in her ear as she waits for him to answer.

“You’ve reached Jesse...”

Beca’s heart almost stops. Her eyes widen, and her body freezes up, until she realizes what she’s hearing, realizes she’s gotten his voicemail. And suddenly she’s taking the coward’s way out again, because Beca knows that talking to him, when he can’t even talk back, might just be the easiest way this could go. For her, at least.

Tongue flicking over dry lips, she waits for the prompt to talk, then straightens up and decides to just... Talk. To just tell him what’s on her mind.

“Hey, Jesse. It’s Beca.” She begins. Already she feels like she’s saying the wrong thing, but she continues, because Jesse deserves an explanation. He deserves a real ending here. She can’t open a new door, not fully, until she’s properly closed the last. “I’m sorry.” She shifts position, free hand coming up to run through her hair, almost just her fidgeting, trying to distract herself. “For a lot of things. I’m sorry that I didn’t answer any of your calls or texts this weekend, and I’m sorry for... Well, all of this. But mostly I’m sorry because you deserve some answers, and I don’t know that I really have those.” Beca pauses, teeth scraping gently along her lower lip. “I know it’s so stupid, that whole it’s not you it’s me thing, but you just have to believe me that, in this case, it really is. It’s me, it’s not you, you didn’t do anything, and I care about you, I do, it’s just...” Her voice quietens. “It’s just not in the right way anymore.” Everything she’s saying sounds so dumb, so callous and unfair, but it’s better than ignoring him. At least she thinks so, anyway. “Okay, well, I’m going to wrap this up, because I don’t know how long these things last. But I am truly sorry, Jesse, and I hope you can forgive me. But I understand if not. So, uh... Bye.”

The whole thing is painful to replay in her mind, mostly because it just wasn’t good, it wasn’t the explanation he deserves. She’s sure it’s even more painful for Jesse to hear, but Beca decides not to overthink it. She doesn’t erase it and try again like she probably should do, try to find the right words to bring him some actual comfort, she simply ends the call.

If Beca had felt cowardly at all before, it doesn’t compare to now.

She doesn’t unmute their text thread.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin under A Purple rain prt 20 full draft

Things had gone to hell. Things had gone to hell and it’d been all his fault. Keith was dying, and it was his fault. His whole team... it was all his fault. If only he hadn’t gone after Kosmo. If only he’d woken Keith up when their fur son failed to come at his call. Now Keith could be dying, but now one had come to tell him what was going on. He’d been shunned. Forgotten... Unwanted... Abandoned. * Waking in pitch darkness, Lance hadn’t been able to do anything. His fall twisting his knee in a way he was sure his knee wasn’t to go. Gingerly, he felt at the spot, crying out in pain as his fingers brushed his hotly swollen knee. His sweats torn from his slide down on his arse. That couldn’t be good... That couldn’t be good at all. Calling for Kosmo was all he could do. He couldn’t get himself out, because he couldn’t see anything. Left calling for Kosmo, Kosmo finally came to him. Wrapping his arms around the cosmic wolf, he buried his face in Kosmo’s dirty fur. Without his comms, he couldn’t call for help. He couldn’t hear anything come from any of the others. Nuzzling against his shoulder, Lance held him tight as Kosmo licked at him, his full weight across Lance’s leg left “I’m sorry, boy. I can’t get us out of here... I’m so sorry. This is all my fault... I fucked up so badly. You’re so special to me... but... I messed up” Kosmo stayed with him, snuggled up and keeping him warm until the wolf was recovered enough to teleport him back to the ship in multiple bursts. His leg couldn’t bare his weight. His calls to Krolia wouldn’t connect... Pawing at him, Kosmo was begging him to go back for Keith. For his real father. Lance hadn’t intended to leave them. Not... not when... No. This was all his fault. He had to help Keith’s team... Kosmo first. Kosmo obeyed his command to sit still as Lance cleaned his wounds, then bandaged his torn up legs, and scraped nose. He’d pulled the splinters out that he could, but some of the deeper ones would most likely require surgery. The brambles like a cheese grater where Kosmo had stripped away his protective fur layer. Nothing seemed broken, not when it came to Kosmo. His knee was another story. Cutting away the remnants of his pants leg, his knee was three times it’s usual size. Ugly and pulsing with pain. Gritting his teeth, Lance had nothing to make a splint from, so bound his knee as firmly as he could. He probably lost the twins... He’d probably fucked up everything to the point it could never be fixed... He... He owed to Veronica to save Acxa. He owed it to Keith to save him... even with what he’d said... All he’d wanted to do was help Kosmo... maybe, just a tiny bit, prove to Keith that he could serious and competent when it counted. After all, he and Kosmo had boobytrapped half the forest in the third and fourt quadrants... Kosmo was smart, but he could be a dopey fool, especially when chasing prey... Returning to the cave in sight, Lance was constantly hitting his comm button, praying to anyone listening that someone would pick up. He’d tried Shiro. He’d tried Krolia. He’d tried his mother. They were the three contacts he kept dialling over and over as he went about setting up. The rain had finally come to a stop while he’d dressed Kosmo’s wounds, the eerie feeling of the forest remained, yet as he tied the rope he’d found around the base of the most stable looking tree in his work base, nothing naturey tried to kill him. The leaves over head rustled, but that was only due to the cold breeze in the air... The forest had fallen silent again. This was important. He wasn’t sure how it factored in, but he knew he absolutely had to remember this. He had to remember everything. Whatever had infected the team could still possibly infect him. Or perhaps he’d been infected already and didn’t know? Running the rope to the edge of the crumbly creator, he tied off the second piece of rope. He had his comms. His knee might have been too busted for him to be pulling this abseiling bullshit, but if his babies were gone, and his marriage was over, nothing matter anymore. Not his life. Not his health. Nothing. Reaching the bottom of the cave in, brambles lay broke across the muddy, leafy floor. Whistling to Kosmo, the space wolf teleported down to join him as Lance turned the light of his comms on. For some reason, everything from his and Keith’s camps was piled up in the ships cargo hold. Using Kosmo for support, he’d dragged his useless leg around as he’d gathered supplies. He wouldn’t be able to move everyone at once, yet if they got them out the hole then... then the hard part would be over... Get them up. Get them out. Get them back to the ship and take care of the wounds. He had protect them... He’d failed them... He’d... he’d go back to the outpost after this. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t smart. He also wasn’t stupid... but he was. Working through the night and late into the following quintant, Kosmo helped him uncover the others. Keith, Nerlo, Melda and Acxa all had deep prickling from the brambles along their faces. Zethrid on her arms. Ezor had a nasty gash to forehead, and head... floppy thing? Krystaal had been buried alive with Legre, Legre trying to shield him in the fall. Regetta and Second Rachel were unconscious, but seemed relatively unharmed when compared to the others. Lance was on the verge of collapsing from the continuous teleporting back to the ship, followed by the walking back to the sink hole. Kosmo was in a rough shape, he wasn’t about to make hi-Keith’s precious puppy over exert himself any more than was necessary. Treating everyone’s wounds were overwhelming. His guilt felt as if it were physically eating him alive from the inside out. He couldn’t stop crying, and for the first time in his life, he’d... he’d had to preform an emergency tracheotomy. First then Keith’s lips turned blue from lack of oxygen due to an allergic reaction, then ticks later when Acxa had also taken a dramatic turn downwards. His stupid comms still wouldn’t connect with Krolia. Everything he was doing felt like stop gap measures. He’d isolated their clothes from that night... just the outer wear with bramble still caught in it... He might be married to man, yet he was still hopelessly bi-sexual. Acxa, Keith, Zethrid and Ezor knew as much. The last thing he wanted was to upset them further. The Cuban only removed what was absolutely necessary for treatment. He kept the bramble debris. He’d fallen into sobs when he’d pulled Keith’s boot off and found the bramble piece had gone right through and was caught in the tongue of his husband’s boots. For three quintants he barely slept. Unless he passed out. He barely ate. His knee was still completely useless. He didn’t want to give up... Everything hurt. Everything hurt and he just wanted to go home. He’d stopped calling Krolia. He’d stopped calling Shiro. All he could do was hit redial on repeat. He wanted to go home to his mother. He wanted to curl up in his bed, high enough that his stupid brain would shut up, but aware enough that he knew she was there. He was so tired. His eyes playing tricks on him. His heart was skip a beat thinking one of the squad were awake, only for it all to be in his mind. That’s how he nearly missed his chance for help. Calling home again, he’d lost count of the number of time’s he’d called. Sitting with Keith laying unconscious next to him, he’d dialled as he changed the cold compress on his husbands forehead. It was all he could do. Every day checked everyone’s wounds. He removed any particles of debris forced up during the bodies natural healing, then cleaned the wounds out, slathered them in antibacterial cream, and dressed them. Having run out of supplies the same day he’d finally been able to recover everyone, his gauze and bandages were made from butchered bedsheets. Gazing at Keith’s pained face, he would have given his heart and soul not to see the expression his husband wore. His black hair hung so limply. The bags under his eyes so deep and sunken that he couldn’t stare for more than a few ticks at a time. When his mother’s small voice came through the comms, the tears he’d thought he’d cried dry come flooding back with a crackling sob “Mami? “Mijo? Mijo, are you crying?!” “Mami, we need help. Our mission went wrong and everyone’s... everyone’s been hurt because of me” “What happened? Are you safe? Are you ok?” By now he felt so guilty, he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to feel that way. His mother’s innocent questions felt as if someone had dropped a cruiser worth of guilt right into the pit of his stomach “I can’t get through to Krolia! There’s some kind of contagion on the planet! They’re not waking up...! I... Mami... it’s all my fault. Keith’s... dying. Acxa’s dying... I ruin everything... I... can’t lose him... I can’t...” “Alright, Mijo. You’re alright. You stay strong. I’m going to call Krolia and tell her. I’m going to get you help. You’re so strong, my boy. So strong. You’re all strong” “He... might not ever wake up...” “Hush... He will. I know he will...” “He wants a divorce!” Wailing into his comms, his call cut out. His mother probably hadn’t heard him anyway. If Keith was awake, he’d tell him none of it was real. He’d tell him he was hallucinating... what he wouldn’t give for that... his husband was... his husband was so gorgeous. His goofy hair. His soft thin lips that were always warm as he spoilt him with love filled kisses. His soft milky white skin, that burnt far too easily in the sun. His hands... his hands were the hands of a man who could break him in half, yet they were the soft warm hands of the man he loved. The rise and fall of his chest as Lance lay with his head near Keith’s heart, letting the strong rhythm lull him to sleep as if it was the sweetest lullaby in the world. His quick temper. The way he pouted when he couldn’t figure something out. The way he pouted and scrunched his brow up in a huff over losing. The heat of Keith’s body as he slept in his arms... His husband was the single most precious gem in existence. Hundred’s would have damned their soul for a chance to tame Keith, yet Lance had. He’d shackled his husband and called him his. He’d done the impossible and found someone to love him... only, Keith didn’t. Not anymore. Soon those amethyst eyes would look to someone else. Those words of love they whispered, would be whispered to someone else between the sheets. All the expressions he’d memorised, wouldn’t be just for him anymore. He’d fumbled things so badly. The only course left to them was separation. He’d seen the signs coming. The hair flicks and causal shoulder bumps with Krystaal. The non-stop talking over the man when Keith came home. The fact Keith had felt the need to hide that Krystaal looked like a Galra god... and he was male. The way Keith lit up... like used to when it was just the two of them. Krystaal boosted Keith up, where Lance weighed him down. * Making himself scarce, help arrived the following quinant. The only thing strong enough to withstand the magnetic solar storm was a the triple reinforced shield of the new prototype cruisers the Galra were developing. Dressed in full Blade outfits, the reinforced waterproof fabric, and inbuilt filtration system prevented contamination or infection as one by one Keith’s team was recovered to the safety of the ship. The fighter jet they’d been leant, as well as Keith’s own ship, were quarantined in the abyss of the lower levels of the ship, Lance along with it. He’d handed every sample he’d collected over. Begged them to help Keith, Kosmo and Acxa, was forced to strip naked and be hosed down, before given a fresh set of clothes and let lose on the cruiser. They’d tactfully allowed him his privacy as he went through the procedure, or maybe they’d been so angry and disgusted with him that they’d hoped it would turn him to ashes as if he was a vampire in the sun. Lost, and lonely, he stayed near the entrance they’d taken to get onto the ship, curling up to hide in the stairwell closest to the main doors. It’d be a pain leaving everything behind, but the first chance he got, he’d be doing the only thing he’d ever done right in his life. Leaving. Leaving before he ruined things further. When the ship landed at the Palace, Lance slipped free. What he hadn’t accounted for in his brilliant plans was that his Mami and Veronica would both be waiting. Rushing to him, his mother pull him in tight. Lance’s good knee half giving out as he melted into his mother’s arms “Lance, what’s going on? What happened to Acxa?!” Wincing at his sister, he had no words for her “What went wrong!? She said it was simple training mission! What happened?!” Whimpering away from his sister, someone else must have appeared from the retrieval crew because Veronica was pushing off of them and running suddenly “Oh, my poor baby. What happened? Are you alright?” “No... Mami... I... everything’s a mess” Rubbing his back, his mother held him tighter “Whatever it is, we can work it out together” “I’m pregnant... and Keith wants a divorce... my knees ruined. I failed the mission. I failed Kosmo. Everyone got hurt because of me... I don’t... I don’t know what to do... I don’t know anything... I don’t want to be here... can you take me away?” “Lance, you’re not making any sense, Mijo” “I’m pr-pregnant... or I was... I’m so scared...” “Space has muddled you brain, sweet boy. You can’t babies...” “I can if my ex-girlfriends changed my body... please, Mami. I can’t face everyone... I don’t want them to know” Clinging to her blouse as tight as he could, Lance was so scared that she’d reject him on the spot. He didn’t know how he was going to tell her, yet now he had, he wanted to never let her go “Keith... he hates me so much... I was so stupid... of course he doesn’t want a freak like me... no one wants a freak like me...” “You stop that right now. Keith is crazy about you. He absolutely adores you, and don’t think for a single second that I doubt that. You’ve have a big scare. We need to get you to the hospital” “I don’t want to go” “Lance” “I deserve this. I’m a failure. I was so happy that I got to prove myself... I’m useless Mami... he said he understood why Allura killed herself to get away from me” His mother let out a mortified gasp “That can’t be. The Keith I know would never say that” “He’s right. I’m loud and always in the way. I’m stupid and self-centred, and I take up all his time... I thought we could make our marriage work, but he wants me gone” “I’m sure it must have been the pain. I’m sure that’s not how he feels” “Mami!” Yelling at his mother, Lance broke down into hard sobs. He didn’t want to be on Daibazaal. They were going to kick him off the planet the moment they heard how worthless he’d been “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mijo. Here, come with me and we’ll get you some help” Shaking his head like a toddler, he’d already told his mother he didn’t deserve help “You’ve has a horrible shock. Please, Mijo” “I can’t...” “Lance” “I can’t... not here... they’re all going to hate me” “I’m sure that won’t be the case” “You weren’t there Mami. Keith’s team... it’s like their elite go to team and I hurt them all!” “Then come. Come home with me, Mijo. I don’t like you out here as it is. I worry for you so much. Come home to Earth” “I can’t” “Lance...” “I can’t! Keith wants to raise the twins there... but... I’m not ready...” With everything catching up to him, his mother waved over a medic. Strangers hands and strong arms helped him on to a gurney where he was blinded by a pen light. Pressing against his right knee, Lance shrieked in pain at the pressure he was being tortured with. By his side, his mother swayed on the spot as his leg was revealed. Most of his body now a massive bruise, given he’d taken two heavy falls in the space of 12 Vargas. Holding his hand, his Mami stayed with him the whole time. There to soothe him when he caught a glimpse of Keith being wheeled away from him. It’d taken four Galra to hold him down as he screamed for Keith. His hand reaching out, despite knowing he’d never make it to him. With a small pick to his arm, a sedative was introduced to his system, his body falling numb as the Galra released him, his mother’s soft voice near his head as he wheeled further from his... from Keith. Awake and lucid mentally during the examination of his leg, it wasn’t broke, only a bad sprain that would require him to be on crutches. Lance would have preferred they’d drugged him completely. Knocked him out so he wasn’t basking in the delicious feeling of nothingness that his body had taken on. They’d sedated him without his permission. He’d been so damn careful. He’d worked so hard not to fall back into the habit. His body had craved this feeling as if it was as important as drawing his next breath. Now it’d been forced upon him again... He didn’t deserve such a welcome release, not after he’d nearly gotten Keith’s team killed. Working himself to the bone to take care of the team was the least he could do. He deserves every single pained movement. He deserved every tweak and twinge that had him chewing up the inside of his mouth so as not to cry out in pain, out of fear of waking the others. He kept a full log of their temperatures, heart rate and recovery. None of it was enough though. He’d failed. Krolia would never let him out the in the field again. * Pain medication was glorious... But not as glorious as his Mami.... Maybe tied. She’d brought him clothes from home, that smelt like home. When they’d heard nothing from Veronica, Krolia, or any other number of Galra working in the hospital, she’d raised hell to get information for him. Keith and Acxa were both awake, but the whole team was quarantined until the contagion left their system. Due to her planet selection system being only mostly random, Krolia had been sending them to planets that hadn’t been visited by the Galra for some time. With no records, Krolia had no idea that both the rain and the organic matter on the planet triggered violent fits in Galra. Kolivan had been the one to make that discovery when presented with the analysis from the water, clothes, and plant samples Lance had bagged up. None of the team had been in control of their actions. The news should have been welcoming, yet it wasn’t. He wasn’t some kind of computer where he could flip a switch internally or click on a file, then delete all the bad shit. If every his brain injury needed to make him forget, it was not, yet the stupid traitor didn’t. His Mami was also glorious in the way she let him out of bed to shower, against doctors orders, then demanded the sheets changed while Lance was enjoying the sensation of mint in his mouth, and not being covered in mud and dirt. Making the mistake and catching himself in the mirror, anguish hit him all over again. He deeply regretted being the idiot he was. His body was heavily bruised, the only place semi healed was the bramble scratches on his hands. Now he was carrying twins, every ounce of energy went to them. His healing had slowed once getting off the drugs, though it was still faster than the average person. The third way that his mother was glorious was she sprung him from the hospital, and back to Altea. Krolia had barely left Keith’s side, sitting on the other side of the quarantine shield as she watched over him. Kosmo hadn’t left Keith’s side either. Too scared to face Keith, his mother scolded him gently for running, yet having been forced to accept that Lance may indeed be pregnant from his changing body, she arranged for him to receive medical care on Altea. Kolivan delivered them personally, which was weird and awkward. Perhaps the man had realised that Lance had been left nearly newsless for far too long, as he spoke in a rushed hushed tone. Zethrid, Keith and Acxa were being monitored closely, breathing tubes removed and Keith was a shit mood. Ezor was driving everyone crazy. They were administering care to each other so no one else would be contaminated, yet Lance was lucky. Under normal circumstances, the anger was infinitely more violent. If the group hadn’t been rendered unconscious, they all would have turned in each other. Essentially everything they did and said was the direct opposite of their usual thoughts and actions. Kolivan used far too many words to spell out the same thing Lance could sum up in three. Mission doomed from start. Sure. It was four words when he said it out loud, but if he’d talked at the same speed as Kolivan, it would have been one word garble. Nothing but stubborn, he refused to allow himself to sit during the quick flight over. His arm was looped over his Mami’s shoulders, and in his head he was already making a dash for freedom. Barely two vargas later, Lance was remembering why never told his mother anything. Not about his body at any rate. She’d kept his secret on Daibazaal, yet when sitting next to him as his belly was ultra sounded, she was demanding answers. So many answers to so many questions he didn’t have the answers for. She was furious with him for hiding that Allura had changed his body. Confused that her son. Her biologically externally male son, was carrying her grandchildren. And furious all over again that his marriage with Keith had hit the skids when they had two innocent children coming. She knew Keith wanted a divorce. He’d sobbed it into her shoulder so many times that he’d sounded like a broken record. She’d witnessed him having his first seizure when everything had hit him between doses of sedatives and realising he cared more about the drugs than he did Keith’s twins... Yeah. He wasn’t winning any “Son of the Year” awards any time soon. If anything she was madder than ever since meeting her future grandchildren... But that was more at him keeping his mouth shut after being exposed to the contagion, as both the twins vitals had been a little lower than expected, and he was now trapped in hospital on Altea, with sensors stuck to his belly and his leg propped up so high that his muscles were cramping. He didn’t need the extra pillow beneath his knee... One had been plenty. Two had been a “fussing mother”. Three constituted revenge on her behalf. Laying on the slim bed, Lance watched as injection after injection was pushed into his IV line. Saying no to anyone earned him a scowling from his mother, then she’d apologise to the nurse and explain it all away as “He’s just come back from a traumatic mission and doesn’t know what he’s saying”. He knew exactly what he was saying. Keith was going to be so mad at him for letting himself take the painkillers. She just didn’t get it and he couldn’t explain it. Dissolving into an argument, he’d very nearly told her “to fuck off back to Daibazaal and Veronica”, when Coran came rushing in... His mother throwing up her hands in defeat and storming out the hospital room, leaving with the parting comment of “Maybe he’ll listen to you, because he refused to see reason from me” Left alone with Coran was infinitely better than being with his cranky Mami. With Coran he could ask for what he needed, and he did “Coran, you can you please take the IV out... Mami won’t listen... I don’t want the drugs... please...” “My poor boy, you’re bruised from head to toe. Are you sure? Krolia filled me in on what happened” “Please... I can’t go back there” He meant he couldn’t go back to being an addict. Though he probably couldn’t go back to Daibazaal. Walking around to the left side of the bed, Coran nimbly slid the cannula from him the crease of his elbow, moving Lance’s right hand from his stomach to apply pressure where the needle had just slid free. Fiddling with the cord, he looped it up out of the way, before sitting on the edge bed “Thank you... Mami doesn’t... she doesn’t know... and I want it so bad...” Reaching out a kind hand, Coran wiped at his tears with a soft smile “I’m sure she was only doing what she thought was for the best. I see you’ve been hiding something from me” Biting his bottom lip, that same guilt he’d harboured for quintants flipped his stomach “Don’t worry, my boy. I’m sure it came as a tremendous shock to you and Keith” “I’m sorry... I wasn’t ready... I’m not ready” “Shhh... I’m not mad. I’m worried though. Krolia said the mission went wrong. Keith’s been restless since he woke, he didn’t take you leaving Daibazaal well” “He wants a divorce... He doesn’t love me anymore... He always has to take care of me and he’s done. He can’t do it anymore. Mami won’t listen... To anything. We haven’t... planned for the twins. I lied to her. I don’t want people knowing I’m pregnant... so many things could go wrong so we weren’t telling anyone... but Shiro... now she knows and she’s going to tell everyone and I can’t... they...” Leaning down, Coran drew him into a firm hug. Lance moving to hug him back “You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to. Have you talked to Keith at all? Or Shiro?” “N-no... Kolivan filled me in... but Krolia didn’t come see me... Veronica yelled at me... and Coran, it felt so good to feel numb... I nearly killed them all... but all I can think about is getting high” “My dear boy, no. If that’s all you could think about, you wouldn’t be so upset over Keith. You do know that the toxin you were all exposed to...” “I know. Logically I know... but they all came looking for me. And I got them all hurt... They were right. I’m useless... I’m useless. I talk to much. I’m always being taken care of... It was like I was hearing every one of Keith’s thoughts” “Keith loves you” “But he’s always forced to take care of me. No one even offered to let me see him... They only told me anything because Mami made them... How am I supposed to face Krolia. I’m knocked up with her grandkids when she’s busy with her own pregnancy. No wonder she doesn’t want me near Keith” “That’s not true at all. She was quite upset you were transferring here. Keith’s been asking for you, but he’s been in and out of fits of anger. He was quite distressed to hear you’d left Altea” “It’s probably just the toxin...” “Krolia assured me it wasn’t. He remembers everything that happened...” That only made Lance feel infinitely worse. It would have been better had he not remembered at all. Yes. He was being selfish... but it’s far easier to pretend nothing had happened if he was the only one who remembered. “... he said he really wanted to see you and really wanted to thank you for helping Kosmo” Not for keeping them alive. Not for changing the cold compressed. Not for picking every piece of bramble free that he could. Not for nearly vomiting at the sight of the thick bramble through Keith’s foot, or the red tendrils radiating out from the stinking oozing wound. No. Because he’d caused it all “I can’t... You don’t know... it was all my fault” “I’m sure it isn’t... Why don’t you tell me how it happened?” “I quiznakked up” Coran released him from his hug, moving his hands to hold Lance’s face as he leaned back to break the hold “Lance, you have always tried your hardest. You’ve always done what you thought was right” “I’ve been a hormonal bitch” “You are most certainly not a female dog from your planet” Coran gave a weak chuckle at his own joke. Such a “Space Uncle” thing to do “A hormonal horrible human than. I worked really hard to make up the training exercises fun. Keith was teasing me and I snapped at him... I snapped at him when all he was doing was being himself. I’m a horrible husband” “Stop that right now. Your body is flooded with hormones. You’re stressed. Tired. Injured. Hurt by the words of the others. Though they did not need it. Covered head to toe in bruising. And blaming yourself for natural planet conditions. You can’t control the weather, Lance. Not that I know of... though there was the one time you zapped Keith... No. I’m sorry for digressing. Please tell me what happened” Explaining what happened to Coran, Coran listened to all his stupidness with the same gentle consideration that he always showed him. Talking to Coran was completely different from talking to his Mami. He could talk to him about the cravings he’d been having, despite the shame he felt. He could talk about falling out the tree the night before, without being made to feel quiznakking stupider. Humming and “ahing” when appropriate, Coran let him talk... though Lance wasn’t entirely honest with him. He neglected to tell the Altean about the photos, he’d seen the photo of him with Klearo, but not the multiples on the now broken holopad. He couldn’t tell him. Keith thought him crazy over it. Shiro listened. But trying to talk to Keith over talking to Shiro... he’d smelt Keith’s jealousy. No matter what happened, he wasn’t getting between the two brothers. “I think you should return to Daibazaal to talk to him” Lance felt somewhat blindsided. Coran was supposed to be on his side. Not agreeing with his Mami “Before you say no, I believe that if you do not talk to him, Keith will track you down himself” “I can’t talk to him” “You can. He’ll listen” “I can’t!” “If you see him, I’m sure you’ll...” “He’s in the same room as the others... We can’t talk alone” “Ah... Ah! You could send messages via your comms! No one would see” “Keith hurt his arm...” “Uh uh uh. You’re making excuses. He only needs one hands to use him comms. I’m certain he’s as deeply distressed as you are” “It’s not just me to think about...” Snowballing wasn’t working. Playing the pregnant card wasn’t working either “Precisely why you should reach a decision and resolution sooner rather than later. If you and Keith do divorce, know that you’re always be welcome here” “I... don’t know what to do without him. I guess I’ll go back to the outpost and try not to die before Mami meets her grand kids” “And what about you?” “I don’t know how I feel about it” Coran got that misty look in his eyes that he always got before launching into a story of the past “I remember that feeling all too well. You should have seen Alfor when learned his wife was with child. He was sure he’d drop her. Forget her. Or harm her with his strength. The day Allura was born, was the proudest day of his life. He was prouder of her than anything he ever created, including Voltron. All new parents have the same fears. It’s natural to be afraid” “Our marriage... is barely a marriage. I didn’t want to leave the outpost, but I thought... I wanted to be with him, Coran. I was so sick of not seeing him. He was always training. Always working. I’d rather he dump me properly then feel like I’m still being strung along” “All you’re giving me is reasons why you should see Keith. I can come with you, if you want?” Knowing he should go see Keith, and having the courage to follow through, were completely different reasons. There were... He was with... Things would be different if Keith were alone. If they could speak in privacy... He was still too much of a coward to see him... but if Mami was there... she might be able... She adored Keith. Everyone adored Keith. Keith was adorable. He was rugged. Manly. Grizzled. He oozed the kind of raw sex appeal that left Lance so far in the shadows he wasn’t even an after thought. He was smart. Passionate. Dependable... Wonderful and so incredibly giving... He loved with a fierceness that scorched the senses. Standing beside him in battle... His supple body. The way he danced and moved. At one with his weapon in its entirety. He loved his husband ridiculously. And now he was seeing how right he’d been about not letting him in. Not letting his walls crumble. Because the weight of the pressure on his chest felt like an impossible burden to carry. His precious husband had been hurt because of him. His husband who’d spent countless nights soothing him back to sleep. Who’d held him through bouts of nightmares. Nuzzled and kissed his nightmares away. Who’d made love to his body until he felt infused to Keith with his very soul. Keith who he still fought with, but now had learned how to say sorry. He was still terrible with his words, but not with him. Not with Lance... because Lance understood mostly what his husband truly wanted to say. Hearing “I love you” from Keith was like walking on clouds. The worlds rolled off his lover’s gifted tongue and swept away his worries as if he were a summers breeze. If he didn’t face Keith, then this dream wouldn’t end. But if he didn’t face Keith, and Keith took a turn for the worst... His barely contained hysteric would burst forth, robbing him of his sanity and reason as it did. “I’ll... I’ll return... Mami will want to still be there for Veronica” Lance’s voice was low. His head felt as if it was beating in time with his heart. He’d cried so much that his throat was wrecked, yet being drugged up erased the pain, leaving behind the effects without the punishment. He knew he was in for a world of hurt when the medication left his system. The medication leaving him flying high like Icarus, yet knowing he would be falling at any moment “You’re scheduled for an overnight stay. I’ll see to it that you have a decent meal, and one sent for Miriam” “I don’t know what to tell her...” Gesturing to the IV stand, Coran gave a nod “Let me handle this one” “No offence, but you’re awful at lying. No matter what I say, she’s going to insist I don’t know what I’m doing. That stupid needle is going to have to go back into my arm... I...” “I’ve changed many an IV bag before. Let me swap the line out for fluids instead” Lance gaped. He didn’t mean to gape. He seriously didn’t “Just a little switcheroo between friends. If you’re on pain medication, they’re likely to swap to oral delivery upon discharge” Tablets... The arch-nemesis of his throat. Simply feeling a tablet in his mouth had him violently gagging. Maybe his body would be happy to swallow down pills on the provision he could finally feel that high again? “Do you... Do you have time to do it, before Mami comes back?” “Of course. Now let me get you all settled. You’ll feel right as rain after you’ve had a nap” A healing pod would have fixed up any deep tissue damage, yet they couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t risk the twins or how his body would flush any remaining toxin. With the twins the most thing going for him at the moment, he’d refused pod treatment. Knowing that the pain he felt was only going to grow “You... you won’t tell Mami... will you? She has so much to worry about back on Earth as it is...” “You’re safe with me, number three. Let me just pop that new IV bag in, then I’ll get her for you” Lance nodded as he sniffled “Thank you, Coran. I’m... sorry I didn’t... Thank you for listening to me” “Any time”

[the-heartbeat-carries-on]

With My Heart in My Mouth

(Original fiction by Mod Cuore of @the-heartbeat-carries-on)

Here it is! Decided to write a bit of original fiction with a cardiophile theme :D This was fun. A little rambling and very informal (and first person, present tense, what even), but still fun to do. I hope you all enjoy it! (Rated PG for mild language)

~~~~~~~~~

Right now, teleportation sounds like the best idea in the world.

Picture me, a young woman in love, having brought her boyfriend back from the airport after a nervous but still joyous car ride. I'm beyond excited and happy that he's finally in the same house as me instead of a few thousand miles away. Picture him flopped over on the couch. He's exhausted from all the travel, but still eager to spend time with me and is in cheery spirits (even if his eyelids are dipping every so often).

And then, picture me, wanting to dive into his arms and flee the country at the same time (the latter possibly including a new identity). We’d hugged for a long while at the airport; in fact, I’m pretty sure people stared as the minutes-long embrace went on… and on… and on… So why was I getting cold feet about… well, about this?? Isn’t it natural for a girl like me to want to cuddle with her boyfriend? And listen to his heartbeat? Even though it’s something he doesn’t like? His heartbeat, not the cuddling. Jury’s out on the cuddling. But I know for a fact that he’s said before he doesn’t like heartbeats. Which you’d think would be a dealbreaker for someone like me, a cardiophile who’s loved hearts for as long as she can remember.

But noooo, my heart didn’t think that was a problem. So here we are, in my house, me sweating like a fountain and him stretched out on my couch… looking so nice and relaxed… and looking like he has the perfect spot next to him where I could fit in nice and neat--THERE I GO AGAIN.

Unfortunately, for me, he seems to have picked up on the anxiety. “You all right, Jenny?” Dammit. Either I was too obvious or he's just that good at reading people. Probably both; he’s always seemed like a people-person.

“I…” Right now would be the perfect time to lie about it, right? No, no good… he hates liars. I suddenly found just about every piece of advice I’d ever heard about honesty starting to flood my head. “Communication is key,” it all says. “It’s important to talk things out,” comes another voice. Sage advice to be sure, but with my heart pounding as hard as it is right now, can I even get the words out?

“You…?”

My lips finally part. “...Are you tired?” DAMMIT, Jenny. Just… go bury yourself in the corner, why don’t you.

He nods. “Yeah, I mean… it was a really long flight. But you look tense.” He pauses a moment, an odd look of shame crossing his face. “Oh, no, sorry; you probably wanna sit. Hold on.” In a few swift moves, he’s sitting up on the couch, cheeks a little red. Nooo, Will; that’s the LEAST of my worries. You’re not taking up space.

Well... if he’s offering me the spot, it’d be rude to not sit there, right? It’s a few moments before I find myself creaking toward the couch, like I’d just hopped off of Frankenstein’s table. Will isn’t keeping it a secret from me that he’s confused by the way I’m acting, his bushy eyebrows doing all the talking. Honestly, he has every right to be; I feel like an idiot. And all because I want to cuddle up next to him and…

He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re looking really pale; you sure you’re all right?”

I try to look over, but the gaze from his slate blue eyes is a little too much. My heart punches me in the back of my ribs and I cough a little. “I’m… just kind of…”

His expression melts into one of warmth and concern. “If you’re nervous, you really don’t have to be. I mean… wait, what am I saying…?” He takes his hand off my shoulder and buries his face in his hands. “I mean… okay, I’m a little nervous myself. But… I guess a bit of nerves in the beginning is healthy. Means you’re not taking this lightly or for granted.”

That’s true; after all the time I’ve spent, thinking about me and him together, I’m not going to let any of it seem as though it’s something I’m owed. Heck, the fact that I’m together with anyone seems like a miracle in of itself after all these years (crushing on people is hard… at least for me. I feel lucky this even happened). So, with that in mind… I guess I can relax a bit. I smile, trying to look at him but still avoiding his eyes. “Y-You’re right. I guess I’m just nervous. I just… I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He smiles, his slightly crooked teeth glistening in the remnants of daylight streaming through the window. “Me too,” he says.

A few moments of thick silence (save for the ticking of the living room clock and the ridiculously loud pounding my heart is doing, what the heeeelllll) pass before I decide to clear my throat. “Um… I h-hope this isn’t too forward of me, but…”

What am I doing?

“...I was wondering…”

Oh no.

“...if you wouldn’t mind…”

MAYDAY, MAYDAY; SOMEONE OVERRIDE MY STUPID MOUTH, QUICK!!

“...could we, you know… cuddle, maybe?”

...I blew it. That was WAY too forward, wasn’t it? I mean, this is only our second time of meeting in person, the first time we’ve met as a couple. Heck, maybe he’s not even into cuddling. He’s a hugger, sure, but… but maybe… ohhhh, I blew it.

“...Sure.”

There’s no way I can accurately describe the tone of his voice. A period doesn’t do it justice, and an exclamation point makes it sound way too enthusiastic. But there’s a definite tone of… happiness to it. It’s lighthearted, gentle… maybe not super eager, but it actually sounds like he’s… into it.

I can feel a stupid grin crawling onto my lips; good luck prying that off, I tell myself as he starts stretching back out, watching me, waiting for me to… oh, he’s patting the side next to him. I look at his face.

He’s smiling. Ohhh heavens, I can’t take this. Maybe it’s quicker than I should move, but I almost slam myself down by his side trying to fill in the space.

“Whoa! That was a rush and a half…”

I breathe in sharply. “Are you okay?? I didn’t hurt you, did I??”

Thankfully, he’s shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. That was just, I dunno, REALLY sudden.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry…” I mutter, resting my head on his chest. I try to make it as casual as I can, but, truth be told, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m just hoping HE’S okay with it.

I can feel him gently wrap his arm around me as I settle my head down, suddenly hearing the sound I’d longed to hear ever since my feelings for him developed.

B-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump…

I am both simultaneously mesmerized and flustered. On the one hand, I’m finally getting to hear his heartbeat. On the other hand… so much faster than I was expecting!

...And I suddenly realize that it’s probably beating that way because of me. My own heart skips a few beats, something I don’t realize he can feel.

“I think something happened…” he says. I look up into his face; his eyebrows are still reaching for his hairline.

“A-Ah, yeah…”

“It felt like your heart just kinda had a freakout.”

A wave of warmth rushes through me as he says that word, “heart.” Ordinarily, anyone saying that word would make me smile, but him? The way he curls the vowels and the “r” sound just… it’s too much. My face goes a little redder.

“I’m just… I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows crease even further. “Sorry? Sorry why? You literally haven’t done anything you need to apologise for.”

I sigh, more blush creeping up my neck. Might as well remind him, shall I? “Okay, I… you’re right,” I start. “I just… d-do you remember that first letter I gave you? Way back when we first met?”

He closes his eyes as he thinks back. “Man, that was so long ago. So much happened too; what was in it?”

No use turning back. “Well, I… I told you in it about my being a… a cardiophile.”

Yep, there’s a definite silence here. “A what?”

“I like hearts. A lot. It’s like…” The words just started pouring out. “It’s like a lifelong obsession for me. I’ve liked them ever since I was little.”

“Ohhhh…” he says, looking up as though he’s searching his brain for memory banks. “So that’s why you’ve got all that heart stuff on your blog.”

I nod slowly. “Y-Yeah…”

“So…” He looks down at me. Not two seconds go by before someone turns on the light behind his eyes (I could almost swear I can see it). “Ohhhh. You can hear my heartbeat right now, can’t you?”

All I can do is nod. “I just… I just remembered something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You said on your blog, a while back, that you don’t like heartbeats.”

He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I just, couldn’t really stand hearing my own so often. Like, lying in bed at night when I’m trying to sleep… Also kind of reminds me of all the horror games I’ve played. And that’s not something I want to have when I’m trying to sleep.”

He stops a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “Buuuuut I mean, if you like hearts, hey, who am I to judge?”

...Did he just say that? Really?

I can hardly believe it; it feels as though a weight has been lifted. “You’re… okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? If it makes you happy, then like away. Just because I don’t like my own heartbeat doesn’t mean you can’t. I mean... it’s not hurting me or anyone else if you do. At least, I’m assuming you’re not gonna plunge a dagger in and scream ‘Kali-ma!!’ or anything like that. If you do, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to rethink this relationship thing.”

I giggle. I have never felt so good or validated in my entire life. Smiling intensely, I let my head nestle into the gentle curvature of his chest, taking in every enthusiastic beat. A few seconds slip by before I say “In that case, let me love the parts of you that you don’t like. That way, all of you can be loved and appreciated.”

“Awww…” His expression lightly rumbles through his chest and his heartbeat picks up slightly. I catch a bit of blush on his cheeks before he closes his eyes, sighing deeply. It’s a few moments before I realize that he’s drifted off, finally robbed of consciousness at last by all the travel.

Welp. Looks like I’m stuck here beneath his arm, nestled between him and the back cushions of the couch. But with his stamp of approval and my new location next to his heart, you won’t hear me complaining. In fact, you won’t hear me at all. I can’t hear his heartbeat if I’m making any sounds of my own, after all.

[cardshcrp]

FIVE TIMES KISSED

FIVE TIMES KISSED.

@prctettcre // BILL WEASLEY // always selectively accepting !

                                                                                                                     i.

         So it isn’t his most graceful moment in the world when he yelps and nearly topples right off his seat, but that’s just what happens when someone pops up when you’re half-dozing, which he’d been plenty guilty of. Bill hardly notices, swings himself right onto the bench to face Remy, straddling the wood as he details his latest escapade. 

Remy’s groggy brain finally catches up, realizes it’s the boy he’s spoken to a few times, can tentatively call a friend even if it’s only been a couple of weeks since he’d arrived. And maybe it’s the sunshine keeping him drowsy enough to forget that not everyone follows the customs he’d grown up with, or maybe it’s the vague need to make Bill stop and slow down so he can actually comprehend the elaborate scenario being laid out for him, but - 

He leans in, fingers curling around Bill’s shoulder, and brushes his lips to one freckled cheek and then the other, the chatter cutting off abruptly.

“Bisous,” he offers belatedly once he pulls back and sees the look of frank astonishment on Bill’s face as he stares at him. It’s only then he realizes that maybe this doesn’t carry over for Brits, he isn’t quite sure - and that even if it did he probably should have done bises and not bisous for a new friend, but he’s always been affectionate - but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Bill just grins at the way Remy’s going pink all down his throat and starts his story over. 

Remy decides later that day that he rather wants to keep Bill Weasley and that he’s quite fun, mostly spurred on by the fact that they construct a very elaborate prank to play on one of the snobbier Slytherins over dinner, and maybe also because when Bill next bounds up to him, he stops to give Remy bisous.

                                                                                                                    ii.

         When Bill had offered Remy a place to come for winter holiday, he hadn’t been sure exactly what he’d expected, but the reality of it was much better. The Weasleys make everything feel like home, which is rather odd because he already has one, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. 

Neither does Jean-Luc, who’s mostly just pleased his son has made friends, though Henri is the practical one that gives Remy an extra deposit to stay in England instead of coming back between their father’s scattered cheers and enthusiasm.

Instead, he lets himself get swept off in the humdrum whirlwind of activity that is life at the Burrow, sure to stick cold finger and toes on Bill’s ankles and cheeks every morning and laugh out a good morning one each to Molly and Arthur. He also makes sure that Ron gets a liberal amount of tummy tickles, and he learns not to protest very much when Bill is put in charge of dressing him the once they venture into Ottery St. Catchpole, because as it turns out Remy is wonderfully good at wizard fashion and a disaster at the ordinary kind.

It’s easy to settle into a scratchy sweater and kick his friend half out of his place until they can scrunch in together on the couch. It’s easy to yelp when the twins latch onto his legs in a coordinated attack and bring him tumbling down. 

It’s easy to kiss Bill properly for the first time when they’re back on Hogwarts grounds with snow stuck to their hair and scarves, easy as breathing to wrap his arms around the other boy’s neck and just steal his lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Later he wonders what he’d been thinking, because he could have ruined everything, but it doesn’t matter so much then either because he’s got his fingers laced through Bill’s and his head on his shoulder, and it all fits pretty nice.

                                                                                                                   iii.

          He’s panicking. That’s the first thing his very helpful brain tells him, which really makes everything worse, but there isn’t a whole lot he can do about it because he’s on one knee and ow the gravel drive is really taking its vengeance out on him, but he’s staying put, damn it.

Served him right for being to chicken to go according to plan, anyway. If he had, he would’ve dropped down an hour ago before they headed home from the Muggle concert he’d gotten them tickets for (which was, as usual, some band that Bill very much liked and Remy thought was nice but had no brain space to remember the name of).

“Uh,” he starts, very eloquently, and cracks open the ring box - it’s simple enough, really, just a gold band inlaid with tiny, complex patterns that shifted and changed with movement, but that sudden sinking weight of what if he doesn’t like it settles deep in his belly anyway. “I thought, um - since the world is going to shit, and you know I love you, and I meant to do it a little while ago but I got nervous. And, um, uh, if it doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, that’s totally fine, I don’t know if it will fit anyway, I tried to guess the size just holding your hand and this was a horrible idea, I am so sorry - ”

Bill is just staring, mouth half-open and jaw working wordlessly as he stutters something incomprehensible, and suddenly Remy is that much more anxious because oh no, he sees more ginger heads peeking just barely out of the Burrow and this was the worst idea, absolutely terrible, he’s about to get dumped in front of the whole Weasley tribe and suddenly he can’t tell if he’s speaking in English or French but he would bet it was the latter and - 

That’s about when Bill decides to slap a gentle palm over Remy’s mouth and haul him up to his feet. “Yes, I will happily marry you,” he tells him, and then he kisses the absolute hell out of his stupid French fiancé, who very nearly faints on the spot in absolute relief, not that he would ever admit it.

It’s alright, though, because they’re equally embarrassed when they make it back into the house and have enthusiastic questions and congratulations peppered off of them, and it’s quite enough that Remy’s hair (though not the rest of him because angry is the last thing he is at the moment) catches fire in half a minute, and that’s a whole fiasco in and of itself.

                                                                                                                    iv.

          His hands are sooty and stained, bloody too, when they go back to looking like his own hands and not twisted with claws. They’re also shaking, all the noise and clamor lost in the way his ears are ringing but he does hear one thing, and he recognizes Jean-Luc’s face hovering before his, warm eyes anxious as he brushes hair flaking ashy remnants of dye away from his son’s face. 

“You hear that, boy? He’s alive. Go. Je l’ai.” And really, what did it say that they’d put up shields, hidden him in the middle of a dying battlefield for losing his temper in all that rage and grief and oh, no, he’d done it, hadn’t he? Remy’s eyes dart to Charlie’s face, and he swallows hard, but he’s already reaching for the younger boy’s outstretched hand. 

After all, his father was good at memory spells. If even one person left remembering what they’d seen, it would be strange - and there was time to worry later.

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

He keeps turning the word over in his head, a half-prayer as they stumble off and make their way to the infirmary. It’s the only word that matters when unsteady fingers drift over the gashes on Bill’s face, not touching for fear of infection - it’s the only thing he thinks when he looks up to see Molly staring at him with some kind of wariness on her face, like she’s expecting something bad from him; he doesn’t have anything else in his head, can’t process what that means. 

“He’s going to be okay,” he rasps, and it comes out like a question, more hopeful than maybe is allowed and god, he’s fucking terrified. He’s so small all of a sudden, or he feels it, squashed with the weight of all that fear and fuck, just fuck, but the next thing he knows he’s getting swept into a big warm hug (the Weasley specialty, innit) and they’re both crying all over each other but that’s alright too.

Remy loses track of how long it takes for Bill to wake up - days, probably - but when he does, it’s with a whole lot of anxious family hovering over him, and the first thing he says is “My face hurts,” sounding vaguely indignant. It’s enough to earn him several eye rolls and sighs of oh, he’s fine - Remy opts for bursting into tears of relief. He hadn’t meant to, but he does, and Bill looks awfully startled, but he can’t help it.

It takes a while longer for everyone else to filter out, but they eventually do, leaving Bill to rest and Remy to settle back into the chair at his side. Before he does, he leans in, brushes careful lips over the corner of his fiancé’s mouth, fingers curled under his jaw so soft he thinks he can pick up the ache from all the torn flesh above. 

“You’re an idiot,” he tells him, tart, and Bill shakes a little with a laugh he can’t quite get out without it hurting. “You picked me. Who’s the idiot now?”

                                                                                                                     v.

          Ras Abu Gali is very much off the beaten path for Muggles, let alone wizards, and the local Bedouin are friendly enough that they stay there awhile; they are strange no matter what they do, so Remy doesn’t bother to dye his hair and lets it hang to his waist like moonlight though he does cover it most days. 

It’s comfortable, he thinks, the way he can roll over under heavy travelling blankets to kiss Bill awake, weave long fingers through red hair and press a scarred cheek to his collarbone and fall back asleep. It’s nice, actually, that he dresses in stupid loud colors and glaringly mismatched patterns and no one cares at all even if Bill rolls his eyes at the worst combinations. 

He ducks his head down, bites soft at his husband’s ear with a low hum, a chuckle slipping from him at the answering grumble of protest. Bill tugs the cover up over their sleep-rumpled heads to block out the light, and Remy kisses him, still smiling.

“Vite-vite, wake up,” he murmurs, and pinches Bill’s side gentle, rolling them until he’s resting atop him with chin settled nice and neat on his hands. “We need to pack. We’re going back to visit today, remember?”

Bill sighs, and Remy presses warm lips to the underside of his half-sweaty jaw, thumbs tracing warm circles over his ribs until he finally shifts, toppling Remy onto his back instead and pinning him there. 

“Five more minutes,” he sighs against Remy’s skin, and with a snort Remy gives in, wrapping his arms tight around him like he really minds at all. Five more minutes.

And then if he didn’t get up, Remy would shove ice down his pants.

[erlenmeyertrash]

Doorways, Part 6

oh goodness

tag list: @a-blog-just-for-sanders, @countessmissyshort , @hardcoremoonlover,  @dragonangel-funandfire , @that-space-gay-writes (if you want to be tagged just let me know!)

(words: 1878 | pairings: none | cw: slight mention of violence/injury)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

Virgil was in a much better mood this morning.

For one thing, the swirl of negative emotions was gone this time around. He was also hungry enough to earn a heaping stack of Patton’s special pancakes, made with extra love and doused with so much powdered sugar it looked like a snowglobe had exploded over his plate.

It also helped that it was quiet. Virgil wasn’t even noting it in a snarky, thank-god-Roman-isn’t-blabbing quiet, even; just a peaceful, lazy, sleepy Saturday morning stillness. The four sides were all seated at the table, allowing the others to wake up on their own time. If Virgil was more Patton-like, he would have hugged them all.

Speaking of Patton, he was the first to break the silence. “So, what’s everybody got planned for today?” he asked, pouring a lethal amount of syrup onto his pancakes. Logan raised an eyebrow at the serving size but didn’t comment.

Virgil shrugged, swallowing the piece of pancake in his mouth before stabbing another. “Nothing much happening for me. Thomas has had a bit of a break in his schedule lately, which I appreciate.” He nabbed the pancake off the fork and pointed it at Logan, as if to say, I appreciate you for that. Logan blinked and his lips curved upwards slightly.

“Yes, the going has seemed pretty smooth. I was going to go over his coursework from the astronomy class sometime this afternoon, but it is otherwise looking like an excellent day to simply rest and recuperate.”

“What about you, Roman?” Patton prompted, pleased with the others’ responses. “Any fun quests you’ve got planned? Any stories to tell?”

Virgil snuck a look at Roman. Ever since he had found out the prince’s “secret” about his quests, it made him listen that much more intently to the stories, just to see if Roman ever… well, messed up.

He didn’t. Ever.

Even though the majority of the plots and villains were rather ridiculous, they all passed any scrutiny Virgil could dream up. Roman really did go all-out in his planning; from accurate descriptions of the changes in time of day to the seasons to obscure magic potion recipes to injuries from previous quests to the type of shrubs that were native to Northeastern Europe in the late 1800s. Even Logan would have been impressed by the number of things Roman always thought out so well. Virgil had a whole new appreciation for the storytelling, to say the very least.

Roman, in response to Patton’s question, suddenly had a strange look pass over his face. He flashed a quick look to Virgil that the anxious side couldn’t read before leaning forward and giving Patton a thoughtful look.

“Actually, Patton… would you like to help me on an adventure today?”

Virgil choked on his pancake. Logan hiccuped on his sip of coffee. Patton’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Would I ever!” he squeaked, hands covering his cheeks in a dramatic yet genuine expression of surprise. “Oh, my goodness, Roman, I would be so honored! How could I help you?!”

“...Well, truth be told, the charge of this quest is quite steep for just one prince. I am in need of some unpredictable spontaneity and a few extra helping hands. Actually-” Roman turned to Logan, then Virgil, and smirked at the sides struggling to keep their breakfasts down- “I could use a little help from all of you.”

“You insolent fools. You have no idea the fate you’ve sealed. What idiots, to put your minds at my mercy for the sake of one simple little prince and his kingdom.” The hooded figure smirked evilly, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“There is no nobility in hurting innocent people,” the first prince growled, hand reaching for his sword. His hand shook slightly, but he would never show his own fatigue on his face. Not now- they were too close.

“You think nobility has ever driven my actions?” The figure laughed darkly.

“Our nobility drives ours- and will lead to your demise, you evil beast!” The prince’s companion marched up next to him, dagger drawn. His clothes were torn and tattered, and what was left of his splintered shield dangled from his left arm, but his eyes shone brightly.

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The figure suddenly launched a silver, sparkling ball of magic at the two, who dodged in opposite directions. The projectile slammed into the side of the cave, showering the floor with hissing sparks.

The prince rolled to his feet, but before he could charge another ball was launched at his head. He barely had time to dodge out of the way of that one as it exploded above him, sending rocks thundering down from overhead.

Meanwhile, his companion raced toward the evil mage, dagger raised. The mage quickly drew his own sword and parried the attack. He sent another silver curse to his side, causing more rubble to crash down from the ceiling. The Prince jolted sideways and narrowly missed his leg being crushed- but in the act, another stone caught him in the back between his shoulder blades. He stumbled and fell, landing heavily on his side and letting out a sharp grunt of pain.

“Roman!” His companion, distracted, turned towards the noise. It was all the enemy needed- he swung his sword in a huge arc, aiming to slice straight through the solider. At the last second, Roman’s companion managed to bring up the remnants of his shield. The two pieces of metal met in midair with a huge, reverberating clang. The mage bore down with all his force, and his sword started to glow a deep green.

Roman struggled to stand, shaking off the dizziness, and saw the scene in front of him. He raced forward, praying the shield wouldn’t melt or shatter before he crossed the cavern. His companion strained with the effort of holding the shield in front of him; his back leg seemed to wobble slightly.

Suddenly, the mage froze, sword immediately losing its shine. He coughed, and as the soldier shouldered the interlocked weapons away, the mage crumpled to the ground. Behind him stood another figure, small knife in hand and torn ropes around his wrist.

Roman could barely believe his eyes. “...You’re alive!”

“And you saved my life!” His companion cried, throwing his dagger to the floor and attacking the other man in a hug.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” Roman rushed forward, checking the other prince’s wrists. The ropes had burned them slightly, angry red marks crisscrossing the skin; there were slight scars littering his face and palms.

“I’m fine- thanks to you two. You distracted him enough for me to cut the ropes. I-”

The other prince suddenly broke off, choking on his words. Roman glanced at his paling face, panicked.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“...I- he-”

The man suddenly swayed and pitched forward; the soldier barely managed to catch him in time. Roman looked down in horror to find the mage’s pitch-black hand curled around his victim’s ankle.

“Oh, my- no no no no no-” Roman fell to the ground and threw the hand back towards the body, the soldier immediately pulling the body away.

“The Touch of Death- Oh, Roman, no! We have to- please- he’s going to-”

“He is not going to die. You are not going to die, do you hear me?!” Roman yelled, grabbing the other prince’s shoulders and shaking them as he struggled for breath.

“...Roman… I…”

“No. You’re going to fight it,” Roman seethed, shaking him further. The soldier hiccuped beside him, hands attempting to hold Roman back but to no avail.

“We’ll figure something out, I-”

“Roman, he-”

“Roman, my brain is rattling around in my head.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Roman dropped Virgil’s shoulders, then winced as his head crashed into the ground, his crown skittering across the floor.

“Ow! Hey!”

Logan snickered from where he was crumpled a few feet away. “Well, if he wasn’t going to die from the Touch of Death-” the logical side rolled his eyes- “you at least sentenced him to a concussion from that.”

Patton stuck his tongue out at Logan. “Well, what was I supposed to call it? You didn’t kiss his ankle!”

Roman cracked up at Logan’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Of course I wasn’t going to kiss his foot! Your royal damoiseau had been kidnapped and locked up in my tower for days! Who knows how many magical germs were on him!”

“Excuse me, mister Evil Mage, your secret lair is definitely not up to any health standards!” Virgil retorted, sliding the shoelace “ropes” off his wrists. “You’re one to talk about my hygiene condition.”

“He’s right, you know,” Roman interjected through peals of laughter. “Just look at that filthy hand-  no gloves in sight!”

Logan frowned at his eyeliner-covered palms, attempting to wipe them on the black robe from Roman’s closet as well as the carpet. “This is going to take ages to wash off.”

“You’re not the one spouting a black eye over here,” Patton grumbled, scrubbing at the blue and purple eyeshadow surrounding his left eye under his glasses. “Thanks for that move, by the way.”

“You didn’t seem to mind being the valiant, wounded soldier, Patton!”

“...Speaking of minding our roles,” Roman cut in, “can we just appreciate how good of a villain Logan was?!” He gestured to Logan, who blushed slightly.

“Mad props- seriously. I thought I was the bad guy,” Virgil added, giving Logan a few claps of applause.

“I must admit I had some desire to try playing the part. Evil genius is a commonplace yet fantastic literary trope. Virgil, dare I say you also did quite well performing as the rescuee- distressed, but not pathetically helpless.”

“Well, what can I say? I had some well-written heroes to help me out. And great narration.” Virgil looked to Roman and Patton, who beamed.

“Roman, this was so fun! I know you have a lot of quests, but can we do some like this- with all of us- more often?!” Patton fixed the knotted ends of his cardigan-turned-cape around his neck and picked up his plastic dagger, leaping up onto Roman’s bed and brandishing it proudly. Roman sat back on his heels, watching the other two nod in enthusiastic agreement.

“Absolutely, Patton! I can’t believe I never thought of this before. Combining my love of adventures and acting- and with three handsome new characters to help me out! These will be much more fun with you three in tow.”

“Oh, gosh! Can’t wait to have more adventures, and go-” Patton winked- “Roman all over the land with my heroes!”

“...That was pretty bad, dude.”

“Excuse you, he used my name, it was excellent-”

“I feel as though there were better options-”

“Sorry, guys, I guess I’m- sword- of out of it at the moment-”

“...That’s a dagger, Pat-”

“I will say that one was marginally improved-”

“-Aw, hey! Roman, those little crafty glitter star things are all over your bed now! It looks so magical and sparkly-”

“LOGAN I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO AVOID HITTING MY BED WITH THE BALLS OF GLITTER-”

“ROMAN IT WOULD DO YOU WELL TO REMEMBER THAT THOMAS HAS FOUR SIDES AND NONE OF US ARE ATHLETES, THE MAN IS NEARLY THIRTY YEARS OLD AND CANNOT RIDE A BIKE-”

A/N: ...Thomas can probably ride a bike. I have 0 knowledge as to his ability to do so. I just really like using the bike joke in this fic for some inexplicable reason.

also wow this was SO fun to write *and* imagine. so cutesy. i just- Roman incorporating the other three as actors and narrating an adventure for them all so they can all have fun together like little kids and Virgil not having to play the villain unless he wants to. :’)

comments and critiques are always appreciated!! one more part to go after this :)

[aliceslantern]

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 31 and Epilogue

[Summary:  Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

On FF.net/on AO3

This story is now complete.]

"…We used to do things the old-fashioned way," Braig said conversationally. "But you remember Larxene. Things got out of hand, fast. Nobody we're questioning is good to us dead. Now, I don't mind a mess, but it's hard to get a stain out of white tile. Doesn't improve morale during questioning. So they sent Vexen to work in his labs. How do we get what we want while still making sure our victim stays young and pretty? This was the answer."

Demyx didn't know how long it had been, but it must have been hours, because now a creeping fatigue was blotting out the remnants of the pain. And he was so thirsty. The air was so dry in here; it was like it was sucking the moisture right out of him. A headache dimly pounded in the back of his skull. It took him a while to realize Braig was no longer holding him down. He propped himself up. His elbows were shaking too much to take his weight.

"Your job was to come here and lie, right?" Braig began. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, like he was about to join a drum circle. "Was any of what they fed you completely true?"

Again he was struggling against his own tongue. The pain was fading, but the rest of the effects remained like glue. He grit his teeth. He would just have to stay quiet. He could do that. It was the easy way out.

Braig sighed. "What do you really owe these people? All they did was lie to you. You tell me now, you might be able to help them, in the long run."

Demyx didn't want to believe him.

He took out the needle again. "It's a yes or no question, Demyx."

His name made him jump.

"Wouldn't you like to know your name? And the truth? We don't have to keep playing like this. It could be easy. No more nasty man. Let's go back to being friends." Demyx saw the fresh vial and his eyes watered. "Tell me."

He looked away. His mind was racing.

"If you think one CC hurt, I don't think you'll like two," Braig said.

One felt like nothing compared to two. He didn't think he was physically capable of holding this much pain. It spread out through him like water, shredding every cell and locking every muscle into a spasm. It gnawed his organs. For the first time, he felt something jabbing into his heart and his hand went to his chest automatically.

"It'll just keep pushing you from here," he said. "The effects don't wear off after two CCs. Your heart's already pretty damaged. You probably can't take three. Why risk it?"

The committee said they wouldn't blame him if he ended up speaking. Was it his fault if he were physically unable to lie? Even if he survived this, the beginning, what would this Organization tell him? They couldn't trust him. They knew why he was here now. There had to be some way to salvage this. But he couldn't think with his head pounding.

The agony continued for an indefinite and infinite amount of time. Every breath felt like fire. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. His mind was muddled and everything was blurry. All the while the ache around his heart deepened. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the truth left him alongside a jagged noise. "No."

Braig digested this. "Man, you guys were stupid," he said. "How desperate do you have to be? They just don't want to fight. Now tell me the truth. With all that you know, do you think that the committee has any chance of surviving this?"

Another struggle, another answer. "No."

"How much of coming here was a quick way to bite it? You don't have to answer that."

His vision was swimming. Thin, brittle tears ran down his face. He gagged on the pain.

"So they sent you here to get information on us because they have none," Braig continued. "Now, Demyx. What do you remember? Do you remember anything? Think hard. Be a good little boy. What do you remember before the Organization?"

He trembled and spat more blood. "There was a desert, and…" It was taking all of his strength to form complete sentences. "You turned me. You turned me twice."

"Not the word I'd use, but more or less on the nose," Braig said. "You were from a real shithole. That place made some pretty good Heartless though, I won't lie. All the people who hurt you… they're Heartless. And what happened to you? Your will somehow pulled you through, whole, as a child." Braig leaned down next to him. "What do you remember from when you woke up?"

"…When I…" He could barely comprehend just what Braig was saying. Fog and pain seeped through him in equal parts.

"After you fought Sora."

A pulse of pain shot through his chest. "…I… It was dark… and… it rained…" He hadn't really been conscious until Ienzo began bandaging his wounds that day long ago. "I saw… your face… You said something." The pain in his chest surged and he fought hard against the words. "You told me to…" Blackness washed over his mind. When he came to he could feel his heart racing. "Kill…"

"Kill who? Sorry. Whom."

He hiccupped. Sweat oozed out of every pore. "Leon?"

"Well. That's what was supposed to happen," Braig said. "You got your foot in the door with the committee. It would have been great; complete destruction of Sora's entire support system. And it would have made him distrust the rest of the old Organization instantly. But it didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

The question was directed at him. "I don't know, I…" He felt sick. He'd never even had so much as a negative thought about Leon. Not to mention, how it would make the other members of the committee feel…

Braig seized his collar. "Tell me."

"I don't know! I swear!"

"I think you do. I think, in your heart of hearts, you know the answer." Braig chuckled. "Nothing pisses me off more when people I trust lie. Wouldn't you agree?" He took out the syringe again.

"No!" His voice was hoarse. Braig crumpled the space around Demyx again and he collapsed.

"If this won't get you to tell the truth, nothing will," Braig said. This time, the needle pierced his spine. "You better hope you live through it first."

Every bit of him imploded. Brightness throttled his cells, eating though his extremities before concentrating on his organs. It slithered into his heart, melding with the faint fracture lines he could really feel for the first time.

"Something healed you enough so we couldn't use you," Braig said. "I see it in your eyes now. It was… the girl." He shook his head. "For fuck's sake. You converts to good are all the same. That shit's really good and inside you now, isn't it?" He nudged Demyx's leg.

The pain seemed distant at this point, leaving behind a drowning numbness that was slowly creeping over him. Only the piercing in his heart remained. He forced his fingers into a fist. Pushed through the thinning fog in his head. Braig hadn't seen the need to give him a second dose to anesthetize his powers.

"What are you—" Braig asked, but before he could so much as react Demyx snapped the largest blood vessel he could find in Braig's brain. He hit the ground.

The corridor took the rest of his strength and then some, and for a few minutes he was sure he was going to keel over in the realm of darkness. The pain in his heart tightened around his throat. His hands touched the smooth stone outside the corridor and he fell in a heap. It was hard to breathe, so he didn't try. He shut his eyes. Maybe sleep wouldn't be so bad.

EPILOGUE--Waking up. Again.

Cold and numb and white.

Cold and numb and white and pain and breath—

Binding a consciousness takes time. It took him a while to even realize that time existed and was passing. It must have been, because the white gave way to gray and then black, then gray then white again.

After a while, color. After that, dreams.

When he was a kid sometimes he and his mother would leave the village and head towards the horizon. She would pack a lunch, always the same rice balls, seasoned with jasmine. They would walk until the dry grasses of the plains gave way to total sand. One day, she reached down into this sand and dug for close to a minute. She held up something round and white. "Look, little fish." That was her name for him, because when she was pregnant she could feel him flopping in her belly like a fish. "You know what this is?"

He touched it. It was ridged, and smooth, about the size of his thumb.

"It's a seashell," she said. "Long ago, all this used to be an ocean. But the spirits were angry with humans, for their violence and their cruelty, and they took the ocean away with a song. They say if you listen well on a windy night, you can still hear that sound on the breeze." She smiled. "It's a story. But this is something that's true. You love music, little fish. Sometimes I swore you'd bring the ocean back. Remember this song for me."

She sang something low and soft and simple in a language he did not understand. It shook him to the core, bringing tears to his eyes.

"My mother gave it to me, now I give it to you," she said. "When you think of it, that's me loving you."

He slept for a long time.

He didn't wake up all at once, but in pieces. His body was a sprawling, aching thing that needed to be taken care of. A heart that beat. Lungs that needed air. Also, the fact that he existed was sort of boggling.

The memories took their time arriving. The years and pain came boiling in, but he was at a safe distance from it. The more things came, the more he was aware he was missing part of the puzzle. A lot of parts, actually. There were whole expanses unaccounted for, gaping in his mind.

Who was he? There was no name, only that slight numbness, a pinch in the chest. There was the alias, the fake name, the one he'd clung to for so long. It was tight and didn't fit. He waited a while but the rest of it never showed up, and he knew he'd have to wake up for good. So he did.

This room was blue, not white. A soft bed. Tubes stuck in his hands. Dank, damp, frigid air. He tried to sit up, only to immediately feel every muscle complain. The second try was a little more successful. Someone had put him in a linen nightshirt and it was coarse against his skin.

He asked himself the question mostly because he had to. Was he dead?

He hurt too much to be dead, but his luck was rotten enough that it was hard to be sure.

Something wasn't adding up.

He stretched. He could tell he'd lost a lot of time. Weeks, maybe longer; he was borderline atrophied. He could see the veins in his forearms. He'd lost more weight. How was this possible? How was he here?

He took a deep breath. Something like a strange laugh came out of his throat.

A door he hadn't previously noticed opened and in came Ienzo.

"Yes," Ienzo said. "Luxord said you would wake up one of these days. Demyx."

He shivered and tried to speak, but he was too hoarse.

"I'm sure you must have a lot of questions." Ienzo approached him and checked his pulse with a cold hand. "Your vitals are already so much more stable."

He swallowed in an attempt to get more moisture into his mouth. "H-how—"

"About three months," Ienzo said. "It's the tail end of December. Xehanort is dead. You, on the other hand, are very much alive."

Demyx shook his head. He couldn't believe this. It was a dream, a hallucination, something—

"For quite a few weeks we weren't sure you would make it," Ienzo said. He sat at the foot of the bed. "A living body, but a lack of consciousness—we figured your heart had shattered. But when I tried to reach your mind, your consciousness was repairing itself, albeit very slowly. Do you follow?"

He nodded. The cold in the room was incredible. Ienzo helped him tuck the blanket around his shoulders.

"Things started to make sense to me," Ienzo said. "Your lack of memories. Your instability. These were the same things Even and Dilan experienced the first few days after their reformation. And I realized something crucial. Your reformation was never tampered with because it was never fully allowed to happen in the first place. They were able to stop it, somehow. What you've experienced these past few months—that was the real reformation, triggered by an apparent cessation of life. Perhaps Lea and the others knew this, or figured it was possible, which is why they pushed so hard for you to go on the mission. But if that's the case they did a very good job keeping it from me."

When Demyx didn't respond, he continued.

"The damage done to your Nobody's growing heart was irreversibly woven into your psyche. It's healed, but it's left behind scars, so to speak. You might still have trouble recalling things. I'm sorry. But the good news is that you will be healthy."

It was hard to process this. This room was so painfully bright.

"Do you understand me? Demyx? Of course this must be all so very overwhelming."

He nodded. He was feeling dizzy now. Ienzo took his hand. "Yuffie?"

"Yuffie's alive and well and very worried about you."

"This can't be real," he whispered.

"I assure you it is," Ienzo said.

His eyes watered. These emotions seemed even bigger and even harder to keep track of. Ienzo hugged him, solid and warm, while he cried.

It was clear that this recovery would take longer than all the rest. Not just physically—though that in itself was staggering—but emotionally. Most of his memories were still gone, but less so than before. Old ones, awful ones, would stab him while he slept; and considering how weak he was, he slept upwards of twelve hours a day. There was no sedative that could keep the dreams at bay.

Even and Ienzo took to counseling him. At first sharing such traumatic things with them made it even worse, because there was the added humiliation of having to describe it. But sometimes Ienzo would walk with him through the memories, talk him through it, and while the pain was still awful, at least he knew he was justified in how he felt.

They didn't let him see Yuffie until two days after he woke up, because they were concerned about him getting too overwhelmed at once. But when she did come, he barely saw her before she was pulling him into her arms. "You came back," she said. She was shaking all over. "You really did."

He breathed in her warm, slightly salty smell, and let himself be relieved for the first time that he'd survived.

It took weeks, then months. He had to put back on the weight he'd lost in the coma, then go through physical therapy to try and get some of his strength back. Yuffie was with him most of the time, and so were Ienzo and the others. After about a month he could manage most things on his own, even if walking the length of the town still tired him.

But he wouldn't find out what really happened with Xehanort until nearly spring. The battle had happened after all, but under different circumstances. There was no thirteen darknesses versus seven lights. Mostly, it turns out, because one of the darknesses had already been killed in action.

"It was you all along," Lea told him. He was looking haggard and tired still, but Demyx could sense the relief weighing heavily on him. "So it wasn't in vain. Luxord. That bastard. When you killed Braig… you set the whole thing off. We started picking them off, one by one, like Sora did with us in the Organization. So when we finally faced Xehanort… it was tough, but it was easier than it would have been."

"He was right about some things," Demyx said. It was snowing in town today, a late winter snow, and it caught in the wool of their hats and scarves. "I did die. Even said I was technically dead for ten minutes, and that's when they found me. But then the reformation started. I was actually a Nobody the whole time." He shook his head. "If somebody had told me that all I had to do to get fixed was to get myself killed, I probably would have done it a long time ago."

Lea laughed. "Believe it or not, you did your part in saving the world. Congrats. How does it feel?"

"Unreal," Demyx said.

"Yeah. You've got me there." Lea took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Ienzo said they might actually try that, with the others. A controlled way to heal them, as well. We'll actually all be okay. I can't believe it."

"I know. No more Heartless. Soon, no more Nobodies. The darkness probably won't rise to the same degree again, at least, not for a while. We're… free. As free as we can be, anyway. Thing is… what do we do now?"

"Whatever we want," Demyx said.

When spring came he was just about healthy. Without Heartless, the committee could actually turn towards improving the town fully. Of course, every now and again they'd find a pureblood they'd missed, but all the artificial types had been destroyed or vanished. Soon, there would be no more than the natural kinds, and hopefully none of those would be created in Radiant Garden.

The committee work gave him something to look forward to, even when his mind would torment him with the memories. Especially now that he was fully a part of it. He helped Aerith build an irrigation system for the new gardens. When he was stronger, he started helping Yuffie, Leon, and Cid with the construction.

"I thought of a project you might be good for," Leon said one April afternoon when they finished their work for the day. "Now that the infrastructure's getting up to speed, we can start thinking long term. We used to have such a rich artistic history. It was something Ansem the Wise was very proud of. I was thinking maybe you could go around and talk to people, get them to tell you Radiant Garden's legends. Or to sing you the folk songs, so you can write them down. It's your history now, too. What do you say?"

How could he say no?

When summer came, he'd been in Radiant Garden a year. Despite the horrible dryness, it was peaceful.

He spent most of these nights with Yuffie. Walking, mostly, now that it was safe to.

"I forgot how much I missed being out at night," she said. She breathed deeply. "It's so quiet. And calm."

"I thought you were an agent of chaos," he teased.

"Oh, I absolutely am," she said. "Still, sometimes I like peace and quiet. Now that I have time to think about stuff."

"What do you think about?" Now that they had all this time, they were learning so much about each other. He realized that she had a thoughtful, tender side she usually kept guarded, though he had no idea why.

"I've been thinking long term," she said. "About the town. I get so excited about what we can do that I can't sleep. But then, you know, eventually it'll be nice again, like how it used to be. Then what do I do? I don't know who I am without the committee. I'm not like you. I'm not an artist, I don't have anything I'm really passionate about. The only other thing I'm good at is fighting, and that's almost completely useless now."

"Well, you can learn," he said.

"I didn't think I ever would be able to," she said. "That's the thing."

He kissed her hand. "We can do it together."

Towards the end of August Ienzo volunteered himself to be the first one to purposefully trigger the reformation, or "re-reformation" as Demyx was calling it.

"It's almost completely certain that I'll pull through, but still I'm… hesitant," Ienzo told him the night before. Demyx realized that all their recent confidence in one another had resulted in something genuine; without meaning to, Ienzo had become his best friend.

"Well, yeah, I would be too," Demyx said. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Even said it will be painless. He'll put me to sleep, then trigger an overdose with opiates. And then… well, hopefully things will go according to plan. It has to be me first, before the others. We need to know this works." He nodded to himself, but he looked terrified.

"I'll wait for you," Demyx said.

Ienzo smiled. "If somebody had told me, back when I was in the Organization, how things would turn out, I wouldn't have believed them. It's simply impossible."

"Tell me about it," Demyx said.

And he was there for all of it. He was with Ienzo when Even injected the drugs. He was there when Ienzo's heart stopped, when he stopped breathing.

Even had so far been cool and collected, but sweat was beading along his forehead. "It takes minutes. Minutes," he muttered to himself.

Demyx couldn't help but worry too. It seemed to go against the grain, killing yourself to be alive. Seeing Ienzo there, motionless, brought tears to his eyes.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Even quite suddenly left the room. Demyx took Ienzo's hand.

"Come on," he said. "Please."

Demyx sat there, numb, for a long time. It was just taking a while, that was all. Any minute now and it would kick in and everything would be fine. He wouldn't let himself cry because there was no reason to. Ienzo's skin was still warm, he kept telling himself that.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke with a jolt, his neck at a harsh angle. The body next to him was breathing sharply and harshly and Demyx's fear gave way to relief.

Days passed, then weeks. Unlike when he had been going through it, there was no way to monitor Ienzo's progress, just to keep him alive long enough for him to wake up. Demyx hadn't realized how much work it took, weeks of tubes and bags and medicines and vitals and needles. After a while he asked Even to teach him. Sometimes Demyx would read to Ienzo, or play him songs. He hoped that it helped.

Ienzo woke up in October, disoriented and pale but whole.

"Welcome back," Demyx said tiredly.

"Demyx," Ienzo said hoarsely. "Have you been here the whole time?" He spoke slowly, with difficulty. "I thought I heard music. I figured it was a memory."

"It's not right for us to struggle along alone," Demyx repeated.

He wasn't quite sure he would ever believe that this was real. He was rebuilding his life; the town was rebuilding, too. Every day he was learning more what it meant to be human, to grow, to create. While now and again the pain would come unbidden, he knew it would pass, that he would be fine.

Well into that second year, he and Yuffie sat at the overlook, leaning into one another on a blanket. There were more than just ruins here now. The gardens had once just been for food, but now flowers were starting to grow again.

"So Even was fine?" Yuffie asked.

"Yes, he's recovering now," Demyx said. "He's the last one. It's all over. Finally. You know, it's kind of weird. Some days I actually miss that. Must be the sadomasochist in me."

"Tell me you're not actually into that."

He flinched. "Oh, god, no."

"Sucks. It'd be kind of hot."

He rolled his eyes. "No, I miss the traveling," he said. "Theoretically, I could still do it, but I'm not ready to try the corridors. That darkness scares the shit out of me."

"Maybe someday we could do it together," she said. "You know, I'd actually like to get out there and see what this has all been about." She sat up suddenly and snapped her fingers. "I think I figured out what I want to be when I grow up."

"What's that?"

"I was already thinking about opening a shop in the marketplace. What if we found cool things out in the world, and brought them back here? People'd love it. It'd really shake things up."

"You know, that doesn't sound too bad," he said.

"So what do you say? In a few months, or so, we go out there?"

"I'd say it's a deal," he said.

She kissed him softly, and there they sat, thinking about what could come next.

[tessatechaitea]

Star Trek: The Next Generation, S1, E6: "Lonely Among Us"

This episode contains an episode that we never get to see and I'm a little bit upset about it. The Enterprise picks up dignitaries from two races who hate the fuck out of each other. One of them eventually winds up dead and the mystery is left to be solved by Riker at the end of the episode. Maybe it was a crossover episode with The New Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Or maybe the mystery wasn't much of a mystery. The victim was killed by one of the other race's dignitaries and now it was basically just a whole lot of paper work to settle the matter (which is probably why it was funny that Riker was being forced to handle it?). Although it would have been nice to see Riker and Data discuss old episodes of Scooby Doo only to have Data rip the head off of an alien at the end thinking he was unmasking it. The "two alien species aren't getting along and are giving Picard a headache" plot is a good example of an ST:TNG parallel plot that doesn't really matter which I mentioned in the previous review. Instead of looking at a ST:TNG episode as having a Plot A and a Plot B, we should think of ST:TNG as having Plot What The Crew Was Doing and Plot What Fucking Happens To Them As They Tried To Do The Other Plot. I had never really noticed this aspect of the show until this rewatching of the series and it's a good example of deconstructing a show correctly. What I wanted to initially do was hate the show for not doing the thing I expected the show to do. "Resolve both fucking plots," I scream into my Hamms Beer, clutching my testicles so hard I almost vomit. Then I'd go onto the ST:TNG Reddit and begin pointing out how stupid the writers of the fucking show are because they're too dumb to figure out an ending that satisfies the two parallel plots! But instead, I allowed myself time to think, "Okay. This is a thing which I don't like. Why don't I like it? How does it figure into the show on its own merits and not according to my brain which is thinking up ways to insult the writers' mothers' choice of procreative partner?" Whenever something happens in a book or film that you think is stupid and incorrect, you owe it to the creators of that thing to look at it anew, giving it the benefit of the doubt. The problem with most criticism of art is that the critic thinks they're the smartest motherfucker in the room and anything they initially think is beyond reproach. In this episode, we learn that there's a planet called Parliament. It's a neutral planet where alien races hold conferences and diplomatic meetings. Hopefully we'll get an episode later that really goes in-depth into how the planet is run. I hope the episode is called "November Fifth" and it ends with the entire planet being blown to bits. Even though it's probably more interesting, let's forget about Plot What They Were Doing. It's never resolved and just adds a little background entertainment as two different groups of aliens constantly try to murder each other on board (and one of them eventually succeeds and it's treated like a fucking joke! I guess it is kind of funny to have a bunch of cat assholes trying to murder a bunch of snake pricks who also want to see the cat assholes die in a fire). The Plot What Fucking Happens To Them As They Tried To Do The Other Plot happens when they fly too close to a space electrical storm. I don't know if electrical storms can actually take place in space but I also don't know if a fancy man with a penchant for playing dress up can create matter at will, teleport people around the universe, and fall in love with a Starfleet officer so I'm willing to accept it as science fiction fact. What I'm also willing to accept because it's a made up story about humans in space in the future is that the electrical pulses are sentient beings. It makes sense, right? It's like the Enterprise flew too close to a giant space brain and one of the brain's thoughts (maybe a stray thought about how it wouldn't mind fucking that sexy moon which looked like Felicity Kendal's ass) accidentally boarded the Enterprise. That's actually not a great simile unless we also believe that each of our thoughts are individual beings and every thought we ever have exist as members of a giant family that constitute our brains. Because it's more like some mischievous static electricity based teenager hops on board the Enterprise to check it out and then gets stuck as the Enterprise flies off toward Parliament. This entity fucks up the systems when it begins to panic, realizing the Enterprise has pulled it far from home. It begins trying to learn how to fly the ship itself so it can turn it around and, in doing so, kills Engineer Singh (which means I still don't know who's in charge of the engines and giving all the power they've got). Once everybody realizes what's happening (because the entity takes over Picard and, when the crew can't quite tell what's going on, it tells them directly through Picard), they decide to forgive it and fly it home. Oh, it definitely happens with a lot more drama than that but I think I covered the important bits. Once they return to the space brain, the crew realize Picard is going to transport himself into space to live with the brain pulse people. Counselor Hotpants is all "What the fuck?" and Doctor MILF is all "What is he doing?" and Future Sunglasses is all "Whoa whoa whoa!" and Angry Face is all "RAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH!" and Horny Police Chief is all "I can't let you do this, Captain." But the Captain does it because I don't think he really has a choice. The alien acts like it's Picard's idea to join him but I think Picard is probably screaming obscenities at it in the back of his head. Nobody keeps a close eye on Picard or sedates him so he manages to sneak off and zap himself into space as transporter data. Almost immediately, Picard regrets it. The teenage electrical pulse abandons him to go fuck off with its mates and Picard's mind is left to bounce around unincorporated for the rest of eternity. Luckily he can still feel feelings as transporter data. Deanna Troi feels his loneliness mere seconds after Riker is all, "I guess the ship is mine! Let's go to Parliament!" (which happens mere seconds after Picard zaps himself into space). And this is when we learn too much about the ship's transporter system. Apparently the data of anybody beaming out of the transporter gets stored in the computer. That means you can replicate the person at the point they last used the transporter. I don't think you can create a new version of the person willy-nilly! You still need what naive people call "the soul" or something. So they lock onto Picard's loneliness and replicate Picard from his last known data. Which means he doesn't remember the experience of being a space current. Which also means this isn't the real Picard! Maybe I shouldn't say "real". I mean "original." My theory is that the moment Picard transported off of the ship, he was as good as dead. Sure, maybe the Betazoid (Betazed?) could still feel the remnants of his existential loneliness that brought him to the point of committing suicide. But it's essentially not Picard, just brainwave detritus and emotional flotsam. But through replicater and transporter technology along with a final blueprint of Picard's body, the crew of the Enterprise basically clone Picard. Sure, it's Picard with all of his memories and thoughts and feelings. But it's not the original Picard. That one's fucking gone, man. This theory makes me fucking hate the transporter because now I just see it as a suicide machine that disintegrates the original person and merely clones them on the other end. How would anybody know if the person stepping into the transporter was killed and then cloned on the planet below? Sure, it has all the thoughts and memories and personality of the person who stepped into the transporter so it wouldn't matter to anybody else. But the thoughts and memories of the person who stepped into the transporter end when the system is engaged. It's lights out for the Away Team! Now meet your new Away Team: clones of the original Away Team! And then when they transport back, it's now clones of the clones! Holy fuck, I'm getting sick just thinking about all the fucking death of ego on this ship! It's too depressing thinking of the transporter as a suicide machine so I'm just going to pretend it works like the show tells me it does. That being said, it doesn't mean original Picard survived this. He definitely died. So from now on, I guess I have to refer to Picard as Picard II.