Not Without Maedhros

Thinking about a Fingon fic set in Mandos where Fingon is ready for reembodiment but won't leave the halls without Maedhros. Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually seen Maedhros's spirit yet...

The only way he can tell the passage of time is the influx of spirits into the Halls, the halls get larger to accommodate them all. Surely Maedhros is around here somewhere.

It's about Fingon being asked if he's consider Life again and he says he has, but he'd like to wait for Maedhros first. He does not want to leave without Maedhros.

More spirits enter and he waits.

When asked again he is indeed ready for Life but it is disturbing to him that it as taken this long for Maedhros to find him. So he reaffirms that he is waiting, he will not leave without Maedhros.

Spirits come and some start to leave.

The asking stops, and in its place he is told: "it is to leave these halls", "you have lingered long enough", "you can feel the yearning for Life in you, go on, it's time to go". He always says the same: Not without Maedhros, not withouth Maedhros, not without Maedhros.

It seems impossible, but the population of the Halls actually seems to decrease.

And yet he waits. He waits until all of his family has walked out of those great, beckoning doors. He waits as his fellow spirits dwindle around him.

He waits, until he is alone in the vast, silent halls.

νοσταλγία (Chapter 21)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Kay, so, idk. I hope you like this, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Thank you for reading, I love you all! <3

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless 

@1950schick​ (Idk if you wanna be tagged in this story, you said everything Vikings but idk if this counts. Lemme know if I shouldn’t add you to this list, thank you! <3)

You lay on the bed alone, covered in warm furs and unable to get your eyes off the chains that dangle over your head.

Why on earth are there chains hanging over the bed?

You shake those thoughts off, and turn on your side and, burrowed under the furs and trying to find warmth, you close your eyes and let yourself relax into sleep.

Gods, this land is cold. That is your first thought as you wake after what seems like a blink of your eyes but the now quiet main hall merely a couple of walls away says were at least a couple of hours.

Before letting your thoughts wander into the horrifying realization that it isn’t even winter yet and you feel like setting yourself on fire again might as well be an alternative to consider, you cautiously turn around and face the other side of the bed.

Empty.

With a frown, you sit up -and immediately regret it as the furs slip from your shoulders-, looking around the room.

“Ivar?” Once your eyes adjust to the dimmed fires around the room, you find him sitting in that same chair that he was in when you retired for bed. “Ivar, why didn’t you come to bed?”

In an almost immediate reaction to your words, Ivar shakes his head and frowns, what is sure to be a mix of disgust and anger written in his features.

“Don’t-…” He stops himself, not looking at you and choosing to refill his cup with mead as he asks instead, “What you said before. That you would have said yes.”

“What of it?”

He turns to look at you, to meet your eyes, for the first time since you woke up. You cannot make out much of him in the dim light, but through his voice alone you’d know he is serious, uncertain.

“What did you mean?”

Swallowing past a dry throat, you offer the truth,

“If you had asked me to come with you when you were to leave Aneridge, I would have said yes. I would have asked for you to guarantee the Greeks’ safety, but…I would have said yes,” You take a deep breath, and rush to continue even if he is only passively looking at you, not intending to interrupt or speak it seems, “When you brought me here at first, before anyone knew you planned on making me your wife, if you had let me be free and asked me to stay in Kattegat…I would have said yes. Even after everything, if you had asked me to be your wife, I-…

Your words die in a choked intake of breath, and you shake your head.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. You didn’t ask. You didn’t give me a choice.”

It doesn’t matter what the Völva said, because even if you now know that making a choice is, like she said, easy, and what is hard is facing what that choice we made says about us; none of it makes any difference now.

Because you didn’t make any choices, you didn’t choose anything. He didn’t let you.

Ivar breathes deeply, and you are startled to see his gaze fall from yours, his eyes that lower and focus on some far away spot on the ground before him.

But before long his nose curls in anger, his hand raises and he lifts a finger to you.

“This isn’t my fault, it’s yours.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wanted you with me, and that Christian gave you up, I had every right to bring you here as a slave,” His hand drops to the armrest of the chair again, where he curls it into a fist. “But you-…you arrogant, insufferable woman, you hated me, you looked at me like-…”

“Did you think I’d thank you, Ivar?”

“I didn’t think you’d hate me,” He offers honestly, and the breath leaving your lungs in a stutter breath is all the answer you can give to the unevenness in his voice, to the vulnerability that shines in his eyes. “If I made you a free woman, I knew you’d run away.

For once you actually have no words, no idea on what to say. A part of you is still stubbornly and pridefully clinging to the outrageous idea that all of this is somehow your fault.

“But if I didn’t free you, you’d…what was it you said? You could never look at my with anything other than hate as long as I had you prisoner?” He turns his head to the side as his face twitches in anger. You don’t fail to notice even in his accented and foreign voice he still speaks differently, and a glance at the horn of mead still in his hand gives you an answer. You would have thought he’d be more explosive, not as…sulking. He returns his eyes to you, and insists, “It is your fault. If you hadn’t been so insufferable, I wouldn’t have had to make you my wife.”

“You chose that.” You remind him quietly.

“No, you made me!” He snaps, standing up with more difficulty than usual. He takes measured but wobbly steps towards you, but you hold your ground and meet his furious gaze. “I wanted you, but you weren’t you if I had you chained; and you would have left if I let you be free.”

“So you made me your wife.”

“You didn’t leave me any choice!” He snarls, and sits -falls- on the bed. He discards the crutch on the floor and with his free hand he reaches up and grabs at the back of your neck, but it is with surprising gentleness that he does. You could swear his eyes travel down to your lips as he whispers your name, making a thrill go down your spine. With the same hoarseness in his voice, he continues, “You forget you’ve chained me as much as you say I’ve chained you.”

Your eyes search his, and all you can offer him is a whisper, “What are we to do now, then?”

It seems he considers your question, but either doesn’t find an answer or isn’t willing to share it with you, for he lets go of you and with a grunt lets himself collapse on the bed on his back.

You carefully return to your previous position lying down on your side, and let time go by with you eyes slowly growing more and more heavy as the fire crackling and Ivar’s breathing lull you to safety.

Before you let yourself sleep, you whisper his name. A hum is his only answer, but at least you know he is still awake.

“I thought…you said you believed the Gods would reward you. That they fated me to be your wife.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t look at you.

“The Gods are not cruel. They wouldn’t reward me with a wife that can’t love me.”

Because you are nothing if not foolish and mad and hopeful, you whisper,

“You don’t believe I could love you?”

Ivar only huffs a bitter chuckle, and the defeat in the way he shrugs makes dread churn at your stomach.

“Who could?”

He settles against the pillow and closes his eyes once again, still on the armor-looking clothes from today, still with the braces -that you know by now are painful, not only looking the part- still on his legs.

But he seems to be willing to sleep that way, and you are not willing to risk your head being cut off for trying to get those contraptions off when he has snapped in anger for you merely looking at them.

So, you turn to lay back on your stomach, hugging the pillow underneath you, and you ask in a whisper,

“What is your Gods’ reward, then?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, and you can understand his answer because your foolish eyes are intent on his lips, and can read the words that leave them so quietly you can barely hear them,

“It’s still you.”

____

You wake when stray rays of sunlight start peeking into the room, and though you frown at whatever it is that woke you up, you soon realize it is the sound of metal hitting the ground, dull little thuds as Ivar takes off the braces in his legs.

He moves back the furs on the side he was occupying when you last fell asleep, and you groan at the frigid air that enters the warm cocoon you had for yourself under the covers.

You only groan, and hold on tight to the furs over your shoulders, sending him a glare when he turns to look at you in question as to why he can’t freely move the covers.

“I. Am. Cold.” You bite out, and even though you see the tiredness in his expression, more than one kind of exhaustion making not only his face but his whole body be coiled with a strange tension; Ivar smiles.

Faintly, almost against his own will, in a manner someone that didn’t know him would say is soft, gentle.

You offer a small smile in return, because your own lips betray you.

You notice he’s chewing on something as he settles on the bed, and with a strange warmth taking a hold of you it is that you realize is the piece of willow bark you left on his chest when -stubbornly, infuriatingly- he chose to sulk over the covers and with those painful contraptions still on his legs instead of going to sleep normally.

A foolish, stupid, part of you wants to know what he thinks, what his thoughts were when he woke up and found the same remedy for the pain you offered him once in Aneridge, when you were just a Priestess, and he was just this strange and fascinating Viking you would have followed to the end of the world, if only the two of you could find a way to remain just a Priestess and just a Viking.

But you don’t listen to that part of you, you don’t voice any questions. You just hum an agreement when Ivar murmurs that it is late -early- and you should continue sleeping.

When you wake up next, he is awake but still on his back, looking up at the ceiling. You turn and do the same, only to be faced once again with the chains that hang over his side of the bed.

You have half a mind to ask him what they are for, but the faint sounds of Kattegat waking up, of the world demanding you return your feet to the ground, make you realize what happened last night, yesterday as a whole.

You are married. You are now Queen of Kattegat.

A part of you mourns for a wedding that couldn’t be anymore, a wedding of happiness and free will and love; mourns for the life that could have been, mourns for the childish part of you that always thought marrying the one you want means the fight is over.

“We reached what was supposed to be the end, didn’t we?” You ask, hands folded over your stomach and looking up at the ceiling. He hums an affirmation, and you sigh, “Doesn’t feel like it, does it?”

“We can’t exactly start over, wife.”

You shake your head, and with the same amount of planning that took running towards that stream and jumping over it, with the same impulsivity and foolishness; you sit up and, folding your legs underneath you, you turn to him.

“I want to offer an arrangement.”

Ivar only considers you in silence before closing his eyes with a sigh, “You think you have the answers to everything, don’t you?”

You ignore his taunt, choosing instead to go ahead with your explanation.

“I made a promise. Not only to you, I made a promise before that,” He knows you mean your promise to have Stithulf die before you allow yourself to rest, you see it shining in his pale eyes. He says nothing, gives away nothing, yet you still continue, “That promise isn’t fulfilled. While he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.”

Ivar considers you in silence, a barely-there narrowing of his eyes the only tell before he asks,

“And when we kill him?”

Even when Stithulf is defeated, you know you’ll still have reasons to wish to stay. You know, but you cannot say it. You know the choices you would have made, but those choices don’t matter -and they don’t say anything about you, you tell yourself- for you didn’t make them.

What matters is the choice you would make once you are able to. Once Stithulf paid with his blood for the Greek blood he spilled, once your promises are fulfilled, you will, like Prince Ubbe said, have to make a choice.

You don’t know what the choice will be, because you don’t know who you’ll be once the Christian is dead at your feet, you don’t know how long it will be, how foolish and soft you’ll have allowed yourself to become, or how relentless on your pursuit of Attica you’ll be. Bu you need to know you’ll be able to make that choice.

That way, you’ll allow yourself to feel free here and now, you’ll allow yourself to be -if only for the time while the Saxon is hunted down and killed- as you were in Aneridge. Like you allowed yourself to pretend there was not a world past the door of that hut, you’ll allow yourself to pretend there’s not one past the walls of Kattegat.

They say power is not the same thing to everyone, and you find yourself agreeing. You feel powerful when you are free, when you can choose, when you have no binds. And you know, because you’ve come to know him in these past months, that Ivar feels powerful when he is control, in control over the kingdom and its wars, over himself, over what people say and think of him, control over you.

So you look into his eyes and continue, “I want you to make a promise. To honor the promise that you made in Dublin. Let me be free to choose. When Stithulf is defeated, when I have no promises to keep, let me choose.”

“Choose to leave me.”

“Choose to stay with you,” You retort as easily as he bitterly pointed out the other alternative. With your eyes searching his, you insist, “You don’t want a prisoner out of me, but I can’t be a wife if I can’t have it be my choice.”

And that is the question, is it not? Whether he is willing to rescind power to you in allowing you this freedom, the same way you rescind power to him in allowing him this control over you.

Whether whatever desire he has for you can surpass his desire for power.

Your mother’s words echo in your head, a painful reminder and the advice that makes a knot of dread clog your throat and a pit of grief -for the could be’s, the could have been’s, the hopes that can be crushed with but a word from Ivar’s lips- to form on your heart; “Never trust a man to choose you over anything, much less a man in power to choose you over the illusion of holding onto said power.”

Ivar’s jaw clenches, his eyes leave yours as his lips curve into a snarl.

“I don’t have a choice, you know that,” He sentences, and your lips part to let a shaky breath leave your lungs as you wait for him to continue. Looking back into your eyes, searching in the for something you don’t know if he can find, Ivar looks…uncertain, as if he stands as conflicted, as overwhelmed, as scared, as you. Finally, with but a twitch of anger in the angular face you’ve come to know so well, he states, “I agree.”

Your eyes fall closed as you breathe out a sigh, as your shoulders drop and a strange peace sets over you.

Sincerely, you offer, “Thank you.”

“One more thing,” Ivar calls out as you move to get out of bed, and you stop, bare feet on freezing ground. His eyes narrow slightly, his head tilts to the side, as if he is awaiting the chance to call you out on a lie as soon as the words leave his lips, “If Stithulf were to die today, what would you choose?”

You open your mouth, but close it again when no sound leaves your lips. Swallowing hard, you attempt,

“It is of no use to disc-…”

“I asked you a question. Answer me.” He demands, expression hardened as he raises his chin and squares his shoulders.

You meet his demanding gaze with your own, taking a deep breath.

“I would leave.”

He accepts your words with a hard nod, a moment where his eyes seem to want to lower from yours that tells you maybe, deep down, he expected a different answer.

But you know he tries to not give anything away, even if the underlying rage that simmers under the surface as he speaks next does,

“Tonight we’ll discuss what the scouts found on Stithulf’s movements. It is in your best interest to be there.”

The King dismisses you with a gesture of his hand, and you bow your head and take your leave.

____

So, that night you do as you were told and follow familiar paths to the room where his brothers await. You curl yourself into a ball in one of the softer chairs and watch the Vikings debate. Night is close to being over and the brothers still argue of battle. A thought of the rams in your homeland bashing their heads together for hours on end is brought forth in your mind, and you have to stifle a laugh behind the goblet you take a drink from.

“The warriors are tired and we lost too many, Ivar. Going after them now is a stalemate at best. Both your people and mine will resist.” Prince Ubbe insists, eyes firm and yet beseeching as they search his brother’s.

But the Viking King doesn’t give an inch, arguing with the tone of a man that refuses to even offer the possibility of losing a semblance of anything he deems his. In this case, power, his city, his army, whatever it is that seems to drive such a hard division between the two brothers.

“I don’t care if they resist, I am King, they are to follow my commands!”

Hvitserk stands up, standing next to Ubbe and narrowing his eyes, “You talk like a tyrant, brother.”

You watch from your seat as the King’s shoulders rise swiftly with a quick intake of breath born of anger, of fury.

“As King,” The Viking starts, and now it is, without a doubt, a jab at his brothers to recognize his authority, even if his next words carry responsibility, truth, “It is my duty to keep our people safe. They will not be safe while we have a nearby city willing to support the Saxon army that threatens our borders!”

You have a feeling the more they argue with him, the more stubborn he will remain on his stance.

Before he can speak, though, you try your best to avoid unnecessary death.

“If I may.” You try, keeping your eyes on King Ivar. He motions with his hand, impatient.

“Speak, wife. That’s what I want you here for.”

“Right now the Saxons are more than vulnerable.” You quip. Your stomach turns into knots when so many pairs of eyes settle on you.

“Exactly.” The King grits out, but you shake your head.

“I am not agreeing with you,” You are quick to retort, feigning courage when you walk up to the table, “What I told you, it proved to be right when you reached Dublin, did it not? Stithulf doesn’t care about the numbers in your army, he cares about revenge on you and your brothers. He will not move if he’s being scouted, because he does not care about hurting your army, he cares about returning with enough strength to get close to the sons of Ragnar and avenge his King.”

“If we can lure him into moving, we intercept them when there’s little chance an ambush awaits us.” Hvitserk agrees, his eyes on yours for a second longer than normal, you think relaying a silent message you cannot understand.

But Ivar doesn’t acknowledge his brother, keeping pale eyes on you. You offer him a small smile, even as his lips press into a thin line in annoyance.

“You wanted me here, Viking.”

Ivar shakes his head, “I’m not regretting it,” He promises, before turning to his brother and stating, “We dim their numbers while they are on the move, and we can buy ourselves time to take that fucking town before they can set foot on it. I will find a way to smoke him out of hiding.”

Conversation regarding Prince Ubbe’s desire to send settlers somewhere further North soon starts, and the revenge, both yours and Ivar’s it seems, for very different reasons, against Stithulf and his men is forgotten for a while.

After a while, you lay a hand on Ivar’s shoulder to call for his attention, and whisper that you’ll be retiring for bed. He considers you in silence for a moment or two, his pale eyes searching yours, before he nods and returns tired eyes to the men before him.

You say your goodbyes to the people in the table to then stand up from your seat and motion for Whitehair that you are retiring to your quarters.

As you walk away, a figure by the doorway stops you with a murmur of your name, and you turn to find Prince Hvitserk offering you a smile. He dismisses the white-haired man with firm words, and although the older man hesitates, he returns inside and lets the Prince escort you to your rooms instead.

The Prince offers you his arm with a flourish that makes you laugh, and you take it, walking slowly in the late night.

“So, turns out you are no guileless prisoner, witch.” Hvitserk says with a chuckle, and you answer with a shrug.

You clean the blood off your hands and arms on the ceramic pot offered by one of the slaves, and tell him quietly that he is dismissed to go rest. After all, they have spent as many countless hours as you and the other healers trying to keep as many men alive as possible.

“How are you feeling, little one?” Sieghild asks as she motions for the place by the entrance of the tent where you agree to take a seat.

“Tired,” You mutter, rolling your neck to relieve the tension and feeling your skin tacky where a soldier grabbed onto the back of your neck with a bloodied hand as he sought relief from the pain. With a grimace, you add, “Sticky.”

The Varangian chuckles, and passes you a wet rag to clean yourself further. You do so, feeling her always-probing green eyes on you.

“Why did they lose?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why did the Abbasids lose today?” She grabs a small stick from a pile by the fire, and tosses it to you. The gesture is so familiar and so much of a routine by now that you only laugh and start mapping out the battlefield on the sand.

“I was taught well.” You offer in response. He answers with an affirmative hum.

It is only after a while of silence that you hear him speak again, “I told you Ivar listened to you.”

“What I know is useful,” You answer simply, “I know how Stithulf acts. He is also allied with Arabs, whose ways of war I know. Your brother is not blind enough to ignore my advice.”

A chuckle answers to your words, but you don’t think Hvitserk means it as an offense, so you say nothing as you approach your door. When you reach it, you let go of his arm and murmur your goodnight to the Prince. He leans closer, towering over you as he says lowly, just for you to hear,

“Ivar is very blind when it comes to you, just not in this matter.” Hvitserk promises, granting you a smile of goodbye as he leaves you at your door.

____

So, Ivar refuses to take responsibility for the shit he did, I hope that doesn’t surprise you lol. Between you and me, I headcanon (tho this is my story, so it is basically canon) that a part of him, however irrational or small, believed to some degree what the reader talks about here: that once you marry the one you wanted/loved, the story was done, the war was won. That didn’t work out how he expected it to tho, did it?

Anyhow, thank you so much for reading, I truly appreciate all of you, you have no idea how important you are to keeping me inspired and writing and motivated. Thank you. <3

Abuse and how it plays into Identity in Tower of Nero

While abuse has played a role in previous Trials of Apollo books, and in the Greco-Roman main series as a whole, Tower of Nero digs into it most deeply.

Identity and recovery from abuse are deeply linked here, with much of the abuse recovery coming from forging an identity separate from the abuser.

Previously it mostly came up in The Hidden Oracle and The Burning Maze, with Meg’s relationship with Nero prompting Apollo to examine his own relationship with Zeus. 

Apollo knew in the back of his head that Zeus was abusing him, that his rage against the Cyclopes for creating the lightning bolt Zeus used to murder Asclepius, for instance, was him redirecting his anger onto a safer target because raging against Zeus directly was so unsafe, but he tried not to let himself think about it too much, and he tried to fool himself into thinking that Zeus DID care about him, that he loved him, at least enough that he’d help him if he saw him in trouble. 

Seeing Meg with Nero, how he manipulated her, how he subtly blamed her for anything bad that happened around her, for anything HE did, while trying to seem gentle and kind; seeing the abuse he went through reflected in this young girl led him to cope with his own abuse better. 

His experiences with abuse, with Zeus treating him as a scapegoat and ‘forcing’ him to punish Apollo if he stepped out of line, with his own feelings about the abuse and his own coping mechanisms and behavior as a result, are a useful reference for understanding and helping Meg through her experiences with Nero.

And helping her cope, separate, and try to grow after being manipulated by Nero for so long? Helps him come to terms with his own experiences.

He’s pretty explicit about the comparisons too. Like when Meg talks about how Lu used to help her pretend to kill people for Nero, helped her how she could, but Apollo’s mostly just horrified that Lu stuck around and didn’t take Meg and run... and yet part of him understood.

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to oppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything. (TON 57)

Lu may not have been quite as dependent on Nero as say, Meg - at least psychologically. Lu’s not a child by any means. 

But Lu’s only immortal because Nero is, and he can, presumably, revoke that. Nero provides her employment, a home, probably her entire social circle, AND he has the power and the will to go after her and anyone she cares about if she strays, if she tries to defy him. 

In those ways, her situation mirrors Apollo’s even better than Meg’s does - and while he’s angry at her for not defying Nero, he also understands. 

I suspect part of his anger and suspicion at her is also anger and suspicion of himself, for falling into a similar trap.

Still, though Lu has her own baggage with Nero, Meg’s is focused on a lot more, with how she’s grown and changed, and her desire to hang onto who she’s become while separated from Nero, to hang onto her own identity and personality and not what Nero attempted to shape her into. 

It’s to the point that she can barely comprehend who she was under him, how she used to think, what she did.

“I betrayed you once,” she said. “Right here in these woods.”

She didn’t sound sad or ashamed about it, the way she once might have. She spoke with a sort of dreamy disbelief, as if trying to recall the person she’d been six months ago. That was a problem I could relate to. (TON 114)

Meg hasn’t really changed at her core as much as Apollo has - as much as she’s gone through, she at least wasn’t much of a jerk in the first place. Well, relatively speaking, when compared to Apollo. She’s abrasive, but not much beyond that.

But she HAS changed, in large part BECAUSE she’s more able and willing to stand up for herself in ways that she couldn’t do remotely safely while with Nero. She’s broken free of his psychological hold. 

During The Hidden Oracle she was ALREADY rebelling against him, she refused to burn the woods, but... well, she DID go with him, DID believe she could change him for awhile. 

But she broke free after realizing he wouldn’t, escaped and returned to Apollo, freeing herself from Nero’s grasp once more. 

For her, I think the difference between who she was six months ago and who she is now has less to do with her actual personality and worldview - those haven’t actually changed all that much throughout the books - but just in being free, somewhat safe (well, safer emotionally at least), and genuinely cared for. To not be under Nero’s influence to the same extent.

With Apollo... well, it’s a bit different with him. Zeus wasn’t as controlling as Nero, Apollo COULD have kept his space from him before; his sister has been doing that for millennia. But he has still changed a lot, moreso than Meg did, to the point that he’s almost unrecognizeable from who he was when he first fell to earth in THO.

Newly experiencing kindness, regular affection, and just having other people care about him though? He shares that with Meg.

Not that people have never been nice to him before, that’s not the case. But to have people be nice to him who he wouldn’t think would need to be, when he’s vulnerable... there’s a reason he’s been extremely touched when that’s happened even back from THO, and in this book he breaks down pretty much every time.

Meg struggles with needing to retain her independence, the new sense of herself she’s acquired during her journey with Apollo.

“I have to go back,” Meg insisted. “I have to see if I’m strong enough.”

Peaches cuddled up next to her as if he had no such concerns.

Meg patted his leafy wings. “Maybe I’ve gotten stronger. But when I go back to the palace, will it be enough? Can I remember to be who I am now and not… who I was then?”

I didn’t think she expected an answer. But it occurred to me that perhaps I should be asking myself that same question.

Since Jason Grace’s death, I’d spent sleepless nights wondering if I could keep my promise to him. Assuming I made it back to Mount Olympus, could I remember what it was like to be human, or would I slip back into being the self-centered god I used to be?

Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance. Survivors of abuse, like Meg, have to get away from their abusers. Going back to that toxic environment was the worst thing she could do. And former arrogant gods like me couldn’t hang around other arrogant gods and expect to stay unsullied.

But I supposed Meg was right. Going back was the only way to see how strong we’d gotten, even if it meant risking everything. (TON 114-115)

Meg needs to keep her identity she’s created for herself away from Nero. But her question about remembering to be who she is now versus who she was back then fits Apollo’s conundrum better, something that is clearly not lost on Apollo.

I knew my anxiety about my own weakness was getting mixed up with my anxiety about Meg. Even if I somehow made my way back to Mount Olympus, I didn’t trust myself to hold onto the important things I’d learned as a mortal. That made me doubt Meg’s ability to stay strong in her old toxic home.

The similarities between Nero’s household and my family on Mount Olympus made me increasingly uneasy. The idea that we gods were just as manipulative, just as abusive as the worst Roman emperor… Surely that couldn’t be true.

Oh, wait. Yes, it could. Ugh. I hated clarity. (TON 225-226)

Meg’s captured, being fully under Nero’s influence once more, with him trying to twist everything to be Apollo’s or Meg’s faults, trying to twist it so that every bit of distress that he puts Meg through is somehow the fault of her or her allies.

She picked up the chair and threw it across the room - but not at Nero. It whanged off the window, leaving a smudge but no cracks. I caught the flicker of a smile on Nero’s face - a smile of satisfaction - before his expression fixed back into a mask of sympathy. “Yes, dear. This anger comes from guilt. You led Apollo here. You understood what that meant, what would happen. But you did it anyway. That must be so painful... knowing you brought him to his end (TON 235)

This kind of manipulation is Nero’s trademark, he uses it for most of the book. Telling Meg what she’s feeling, telling her that she’s feeling this way because of something wrong SHE did, not because of the horrible things NERO did. Trying to rewrite her reality to fall in line with what HE wants her to believe, to think.

Nero makes her change clothes, has her scrub up, even has her get a pedicure. 

Normally this would sound like a good thing. But it’s just one of the ways he tries to rewrite who she is, to break her sense of identity and replace it with one more to his liking. By taking away things that showed her own personal style, he took away reminders of who she is, as well as showing his ability to exert control over her, make her believe she has no choices.

My heart broke. Meg looked elegant, older, and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip away everything she had been, every choice she’d made, and replace her with someone else - a proper young lady of the Imperial Household. (TON 285-286) 

Nero continues to try to twist the circumstances, to brainwash Meg into believing that he’s her savior and Apollo and the others may harm her. But Apollo keeps protesting, leading to this scene:

I tried to contain my horror. “Meg,” I said. “There’s only one person you need to listen to here: yourself. Trust yourself.”

I meant it, despite all my doubts and fears, despite all my complaints over the months about Meg being my master. She had chosen me, but I had also chosen her. I did trust her - not in spite of her past with Nero, but because of it. I had seen her struggle. I’d admired her hard-won progress. I had to believe in her for my own sake. She was - gods help me - my role model. (TON 293)

Ultimately, MEG’S the one who decides. Who fights back. Because she was able to listen to herself, to not be twisted by Nero’s lies and deceptions.

“I didn’t kill my father,” she said, her voice small and hard. “I didn’t cut off Lu’s hands or enslave those dryads or twist us all up inside.” She swept a hand towards the other demigods of the household. “You did that, Nero. I hate you.” (TON 295)

This was the tipping point. When she announced, to herself and everyone else, the truth. The reality. Rejecting Nero’s attempts to rewrite it.

Nero hissed. “Ungrateful child. The Beast-”

“The Beast is dead.” Meg tapped the side of her head. “I killed it.” (TON 311)

I notice here she tapped the side of her head. Of course, she didn’t literally kill The Beast; Nero’s still alive after all.

But The Beast was a psychological trick Nero used on Meg, to make her separate him into two people; the ‘nice’ stepfather, and The Beast that takes over and punishes if she misbehaves. 

She ‘killed’ it, because she killed the concept.

There was never a Beast.

There was only ever Nero.

And now that she’s gotten out from under his thumb? She reasserts her own identity.

Meg had thrown away her sandals, braving bare feet despite the arrows, rubble, bones, and discarded blades that littered the floor. Someone had given her an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, which she’d put on over her dress, making her allegiance clear. She still looked older and more sophisticated, but she also looked like my Meg. (TON 323)

I like the emphasis on how she looks older, but also like herself. She looks like what Nero made her into still, in a way - she’s still wearing that dress after all - but she’s made it her own, integrated herself into it.

It nicely parallels Apollo’s own situation, with needing to integrate who he’s become as Lester, who he’s grown to be, with his godly identity. Because things WILL be different once he’s a god again; he’ll have power he doesn’t have now, will have exposure to other gods that he doesn’t currently have. So he needs to figure out how to handle that, how to be a god, how to be Apollo while not losing what he’s gained as Lester.

Even if I survived, I would not be the same. The best I could hope for was to emerge from Delphi with my godhood restored, which was what I had wanted and dreamed about for the past half a year. So why did I feel so reluctant about leaving behind the broken, battered form of Lester Papadopolous? (TON 327)

Like Meg was, Apollo’s struggling to get ahold of his own identity before he has to face his abuser again, has to re-enter that old toxic environment. He fears that if the trappings of “Lester” are destroyed, then like with Nero changing Meg’s clothes, that he’ll lose part of his connection to who he’s become.

As Apollo fights Python, his mortal body becomes less and less mortal, bringing him into an in-between, in-flux state that mirrors his internal identity crisis.

“YOU CAN’T HIDE!” Python bellowed. “YOU ARE NO GOD!”

This pronouncement hit me like a bucket of ice water. It didn’t carry the weight of prophecy, but it was true nonetheless. At the moment, I wasn’t sure what I was. I certainly wasn’t my old godly self. I wasn’t exactly Lester Papadopolous either. My flesh steamed. Pulses of light flickered under my skin, like the sun trying to break through storm clouds. When had that started?

I was between states, morphing as rapidly as Python himself. I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.

The realization burned away my delirium.

“I won’t hide,” I muttered. “I won’t cower. That’s not who I will be.” (TON 339-340)

Like with Meg before, he’s deciding, affirming for himself what kind of person he is now, who he wants to be, different from who he was before.

Even during the fight with Python, some small part of him hopes Zeus will intervene, will see he’s done enough and help him, save him. But here, that instinct is quashed for the final time.

I had done my best. Surely, Zeus would see that and be proud. Maybe he would send down a lightning bolt, blast Python into tiny pieces, and save me!

As soon as I thought this, I realized how foolish it was. Zeus didn’t work that way. He would not save me anymore than Nero had saved Meg. I had to let go of that fantasy. I had to save myself. (TON 341)

Much like with how Meg hoped back near the beginning of the series that Nero really would change, really was a good person deep down, Apollo kept up the hope in early entries that Zeus DID care about him and would come to save him at any moment. And even in later books, heck, even in THIS book, with Meg still calling Nero her stepfather a few times and the part of Apollo hoping that Zeus will intervene now, it’s hard to break the desire, the belief that that person who SHOULD care about you, surely will now.

But both of them break past that. Meg calls Nero out, rejects his attempts to rewrite reality, and Apollo kills the idea that Zeus might intervene on his behalf.

By the time Apollo’s a god again, he has a firm bead on the kind of person Zeus is, as well as the type of environment Mt. Olympus is, with most of his family just watching his trials and tribulations, everything he and his friends went through, and betting on the outcome. Only Artemis and Hera seemed to take things seriously, seemed to deeply care whether he lived or died.

Not that the others could have interfered against Zeus’s wishes.

As much as we pretended to be a council of twelve, in truth we were a tyranny. Zeus was less a benevolent father and more an iron-fisted leader with the biggest weapons and the ability to strip us of our immortality if we offended him. (TON 366)

Apollo just kind of hangs back for the council session, having little to say to anyone except Artemis, not caring much about what the other Olympians thought, and not really feeling like one of them as a whole. Though that was true even before he actually walked into the room.

I remembered my dream of the throne room - the other Olympians gambling on my success or failure. I wondered how much money they’d lost.

What could I possibly say to them? I no longer felt like one of them. I wasn’t one of them. (TON 358)

And finally, the long-awaited confrontation scene with Zeus. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t flashy. Unlike Meg, he couldn’t attack and get rid of his abuser, couldn’t get out from under his influence entirely. Zeus is King of the Gods; realizing that he’s an abusive asshole doesn’t change that.

But he COULD change his own response to the situation.

My father coughed into his fist. “ I know you think your punishment was harsh, Apollo.”

I did not answer. I tried my best to keep my expression polite and neutral.

“But you must understand,” Zeus continued, “only you could have overthrown Python. Only you could have freed the Oracles. And you did it, as I expected. The suffering, the pain along the way… regrettable, but necessary. You have done me proud.”

Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let’s be honest: some fathers don’t deserve that. Some fathers aren’t capable of it.

I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished.

But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us.

You cannot change a tyrant by trying to out-ugly him. Meg could never have changed Nero, any more than I could change Zeus. I could only try to be different than him. Better. More… human. And to limit the time I spent around him to as little as possible. (TON 367-368)

Apollo just... let go of any attachment to Zeus. It reminded me of the Cumaen SIbyl, with how she forgave Apollo for her own sake, how Apollo felt that he himself was being erased by that. 

This isn’t a reconciliation; this is simply Apollo putting Zeus as far behind him as possible and trying to let him take up as little space in his life as he can. He may not be able to cut all ties to him, but he can at least minimize his connection to him, his influence over him.

In the end, Apollo doesn’t even really consider what he went through to be a punishment; not really.

To be honest, though, I could no longer consider my time on Earth a punishment. Terrible, tragic, nearly impossible… yes. But calling it a punishment gave Zeus too much credit. It had been a journey - an important one I made for myself, with the help of my friends. I hoped… I believed that the grief and pain had shaped me into a better person. I had forged a more perfect Lester from the dregs of Apollo. I would not trade those experiences for anything. And if I had been told I had to be Lester for another hundred years… Well, I could think of worse things. At least I wouldn’t be expected to show up at the Olympian solstice meetings. (TON 373)

Like with his conversation with Zeus, he’s minimizing Zeus’s control, his influence over himself and his life. 

And in the end, Apollo leaves Mt. Olympus as soon as he can to spend time with all the new friends he’s made, away from the toxic influences of Olympus and of Zeus especially. Reaffirming his new identity, his new self by appearing in his Lester form, the form he’d grown in, that he’d forged for himself.

I just really love how in-depth Tower of Nero went, especially with the way it emphasized the identity manipulation and erasure involved with some kinds of abuse.

the christmas work party

fem!reader x tyler breeze

reader's work Christmas Party doesn't go as she expected it to ...

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: angsty (kinda), dirty talking, smut

— i’ve just realized that i have yet to post a tyler breeze christmas imagine .... anyway, here it is and here we go —

masterlist || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You sit at a table with come co-workers, laughing and chit-chatting. The annual Christmas party that your office usually threw is something you've looked forward to every year, and this year is no different.

They have the best caterer so the food tastes amazing. The free drinks are always a plus too, but you've never drunk much at these events.

The evening goes on pretty much uneventful, until about eleven.

"Excuse me," you say, getting up from the table. "I have to use the ladies' room. I'll be back shortly."

You take your clutch and walk toward the bathrooms. You do your business, even fixing up your makeup and smoothing out your red gown.

There's a dress code at the Christmas party every year. Last year was ugly sweaters or ties. This year, it's formal attire, but it has to be red.

So, you went shopping last week and found the dress you're currently wearing. You found a red satin dress with a slight v-neck. The top of the dress, from the waist up, hugs your body and pushes your breasts up slightly. A sparkly silver belt sits on your waist, adding some extra color and a little sparkle to the dress. The skirt kind of flares out. The best part? The dress has pockets.

As you leave the restroom, you hear a voice in one of the conference rooms. It's your boss yelling and screaming.

"I don't care if it's not done!" he yells. "It's due tomorrow at 9 in the morning. Get it to me or else your ass is gone."

There's a slam then a sigh.

Your boss isn't the nicest person. As a matter of fact, he rarely cares for anyone but himself and this business. He never shows emotion toward his employees, unless it's anger or annoyance. You've seen both. It's not very pretty for someone who's nickname is 'Prince Pretty', but that's usually only about his looks.

Before you can leave the hallway, the door opens and you quickly turn to leave.

"What are you doing here?" you hear come from behind you.

Putting a confident look on your face, you turn toward Tyler Breeze and say, "I was using the restroom, Mr. Breeze."

Tyler walks up to you and asks, "I mean, what are you doing here? At the party. Don't you have files you need to go over before our meeting on Thursday?"

Confused, you say, "I'm not allowed to come out when I have to go over files?"

Your boss says, "Not when this meeting is one of the most important in your entire career. It's important to make sure you have every detail down."

This is the annoyance that Tyler always shows. He's not holding back.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you say, "You doubt my skills if you think that I won't have every detail memorized before the meeting on Thursday. It's still four days away, and I've already gotten through half if not most of the files. I apologize for coming to the office Christmas party, sir. It won't happen again."

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away until Tyler's hand grips your upper arm. He turns you back to him and you find yourself standing extremely close to Tyler Breeze.

"I didn't appreciate the tone that you just had with me, Miss L/N," Tyler says, staring down at you.

Smirking, you say, "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" This sounds very much like a challenge. It'll be surprising if he doesn't fire you right here, right now.

Tyler eyes you up and that's when your heart begins to race in your chest. You're standing very close to him, almost too close. You don't know whether to push him back or let him get out whatever he's feeling.

He gives a laugh and says, "That sounds like a challenge, Y/N. I do like a good challenge." He smirks at you and his tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

The action alone is enough to make your core begin to ache. The ache catches you off guard and you bite your lip. You stare up at Tyler and say, "You would, wouldn't you?"

Before you can react, you're sandwiched between the wall and Tyler's body. You look up at the much taller man.

Tyler says, "I hope no one's told you already how nice you look in that dress."

You've received a compliment or two tonight from some of your close work friends, and that's why you tell Tyler. "A few people have, yes," you say. "Maybe if you weren't hiding out and yelling over the phone then you might've been the first."

It would be a lie if you said that you didn't find Tyler attractive. He's very good looking and you know that's how he gained the nickname Prince Pretty. His personality is a huge turn off though since he's a jerk most of the time.

"I may regret not being the first person to compliment you," Tyler admits.

He's never said anything like that to you before. You've never received a compliment from him before. You're shocked.

You stare up at Tyler and you say, "I've never heard you give a compliment to anyone. Especially not to me. As a matter of fact, you've only talked to me when I've done something wrong so I don't understand what's going on right now, Mr. Breeze."

Tyler looks down at you and he says, "I may be overstepping a boundary when I tell you that I've always found you attractive. The alcohol that I have been drinking has given me some courage to say this to you. I apologize if this comes off as overstepping. If I have acted like a jerk toward you, I also apologize for that."

"You've only acted like a jerk to me since I was hired, and that was seven months ago," you explain. "You really expect me to forgive you just like that, but it won't happen."

He says, "I don't expect it to happen, especially after I do this."

Before you can ask what he means, he leans down and kisses you. You gasp, not expecting him to kiss you. Yet, you kiss him back before you can stop yourself. His hands are on your waist, pushing you harder against the wall before pressing himself against you.

You grasp onto Tyler's jacket, which is a burgundy color with a black collar. He wears burgundy pants and a burgundy tie with a black button-up. You pull him closer to you, well, you pull him as close as you can with your clothes on. You want to be closer to him.

Tyler Breeze may be arrogant and a jerk, but he's an attractive man and it's been a very long time since you've had sex. Maybe having sex with your boss isn't the best idea but it's not your worst idea either.

He pulls away from the kiss since you both need to catch your breath. He's not that bad a kisser, and you wouldn't mind kissing him again.

"I should have asked if that was okay," he says. "I'm sorry."

You lean up and peck his lips before you say, "Stop saying sorry. I don't forgive you for treating me terribly for the past seven months but you can start making it up to me."

Tyler looks down at you and he says, "We better take this to my office then."

You nod and say, "I can agree to that."

He takes your hand and walks off to the elevator. You're on the second floor, and Tyler's office is on the seventh. You'd be far away from everyone and no one would hear you.

Once on the elevator, Tyler's lips are on yours. He undoes his tie but leaves it hanging around his neck. Your hands are in his hair as your lips move roughly against Tyler's.

The elevator ascends to the seventh floor, and the kiss doesn't break until the doors open. You walk down the hallway to Tyler's office. His fingers are intertwined with yours as you hold up your dress with your other hand since he's walking pretty quickly and you're trying to keep up.

Tyler unlocks the door to his office and lets you walk inside. You've never been in here. You've stood at the door but have never been invited in, and for some reason, you think that you'll be invited in more often.

The door locks behind you and you turn to look at Tyler. He pulls off his tie and his suit jacket before walking over to you.

"So what am I allowed to call you?" you ask, curious as Tyler presses you against his desk.

He laughs and says, "Let's start with Tyler tonight. We can work on other nicknames later." Tyler sends you a wink and you can't contain a giggle.

Tyler's fingers hook onto the sleeves on your shoulders and you look down, watching as he pulls the sleeves down.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Tyler presses kisses to your collarbone and neck.

His hands are on your waist for a second before they slide up to your back, and he works on unzipping your dress.

"I hope you have protection," you sigh out as Tyler trails kisses up to your jaw.

Tyler says, "Relax, princess. I have it covered."

He brings your lips to his as he pulls off your dress. The dress pools at your feet, revealing only a pair of lacy red panties underneath.

His hands roam your body as his tongue roams into your mouth.

Never in a million years would you have thought that you'd be standing half naked in front of Tyler Breeze with his tongue in your mouth. Yes you've fantasied about this because he he decently attractive, but you never thought it would happen to you of all people. He's you boss, and this should feel wrong. It doesn't feel wrong at all.

Your fingers work on unbuttoning Tyler's shirt and untucking it from his pants as your tongues battle for dominance. You step out of your dress and kick it somewhere in the dimly lit room. You kick your heels off as you pull Tyler's button up off his body.

Tyler pulls back from the kiss and reaches behind you, knocking things off his desk. You leave kisses to his neck and jaw as he does.

He reaches down and lifts you up by your thighs so you're sitting on his desk. His eyes run up and down your body, his fingers run from your chest, down between your breasts and your stomach.

"You're so beautiful," he mumbles under his breath. His words make your heart skip a beat and you're overcome with a wave of confidence.

You reach down and start to unbuckle his belt, pulling it off of him. Your eyes are on his as you start to unbutton his pants. You look as you push off his pants.

The room is dimly lit, but you can clearly see a huge bulge in Tyler's boxers, and it makes your core ache.

You lick your bottom lip and look back up at Tyler. "Hope you're liking what you see," he says, a smug smirk on his lips.

Your fingers run down his chest and stomach as you say, "I'd like it even more if I could see what's in the boxers." A smirk forms on your lips.

"Eager, hm?" Tyler teases.

You lean up, your lips inches away from Tyler's as you say, "I'm waiting to see what you've got."

Tyler takes that as a challenge and stands you up, turning you around. He leaves kisses on the back of your neck and he says, "I'll show you everything I've got, princess." You can hear the smirk on his face as he literally rips off your panties.

Before you can say anything, Tyler's cupping your core. You gasp and close your eyes.

It's been so long, two years, since you've last had sex of any kind. It's been so long since you've been touched.

Tyler's fingers rub your clit slowly, teasing you. You bite your lip to hold in a moan as you bend yourself over his desk.

Finally, after an eternity of teasing you, Tyler slips a finger inside of you. He moves it slowly, making you gasp and let out a stifled moan. You grip onto the edge of his desk.

His finger speeds up and he eventually adds a second then a third finger. Moans escape your lips even though you try to conceal them.

Tyler pulls his fingers out before you can come. You whine and pout.

"Patience," is all he says. You hear movement behind you and when you look behind you over your shoulder, you see him stepping out of his boxer shorts and his erect member free.

Your eyes widen at the sight of his length and your jaw drops a bit. You've never seen anyone so big. It turns you on.

He kicks your feet apart and runs his tip through your soaked folds. You moan softly and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling.

"If you need me to stop, tell me," Tyler says. "I'll stop."

You sigh, "I don't want you to stop. I never want you to stop."

Tyler smirks before he quickly grabs a condom from his drawer, leaving the box out on his desk. He opens one of the tiny packages before sliding the contents on himself.

He positions himself at your entrance before he pulls one of your legs up so it rests on his desk, giving him more access to your core.

After a second, he slowly begins to thrust into you. He moves shallowly and slowly. You're biting your lip as you try to contain your moans.

His thrusts speed up every few movements, his length going deeper and deeper inside of you. He keeps a medium pace until he's fully inside you. When you've officially taken all of him, he begins to thrust roughly and quickly into you.

Your moans are loud and you're head is thrown back. No matter what you do, you can't quiet down, especially not after Tyler begins to rub your clit as he thrusts into you. Your knuckles are white from grasping onto the edge of the desk.

Tyler's hands are on your waist as he moves hard into you. Grunts and groans come from him as he thrusts.

That's when it hits you. You're being fucked on your boss' desk, by your boss, and it feels so right. It shouldn't but it does.

You get the urge to kiss Tyler. You push up and hold yourself up with your arms. You look behind you and use one of your hands to pull Tyler into a kiss.

The moans don't stop while your tongue is down Tyler's throat. As a matter of fact, they get louder because he begins to hit your g-spot.

"Oh, God," you moan between kisses. "Oh, Tyler. Don't stop. Please."

A smile of satisfaction spreads on Tyler lips.

You feel a knot form in your stomach and your walls begin to clench around Tyler.

He realizes this and says, "You gonna come for me, princess? Hm?"

Nodding, you almost scream, "Yes, I'm gonna come for you. Let me come."

Tyler says, "Come."

Then you do. More than you ever have before. Tyler releases as you do. You're both gasping for air as you come down from your highs.

You thought the night would end right there, but it didn't.

As a matter of fact, you had sex with Tyler all over his office. On top of his desk, against the wall, on the sofa, on his desk chair, and even against the window. You don't leave the building until the sun has begun to rise.

***

A few weeks pass. You haven't told anyone about the night in Tyler's office. You could be fired if anyone found out. You have been having some fun though. You wear some revealing clothing to work occasionally to tease your boss, which occasionally causes the two of you to have secret sex in Tyler's office.

It's been three weeks since the Christmas Eve party, and you've been called into Tyler's office.

He sits at his desk and he looks dead serious.

"What's going on, Mr. Breeze?" you ask. "Have I done something wrong?"

Sometimes he'll call you into his office for sex, or even just a blowjob or make out session. He looks more relaxed when he does. He looks super serious, and you wonder if you're about to be fired.

Tyler says, "We've been working together very often for the past few week, and a position as my personal assistant as opened up. I figured I'd offer you the job since we've been working together for the past few weeks."

Your eyes widen and you say, "You better not be hiring me as your assistant because we've had sex."

He says, "As much as I've enjoyed the sex, that's not the reason why. You've shown me how skillful you can be and how resourceful you are. Anyone would kill to have you as their assistant. This is a promotion, Y/N. It's up to you if you want to take it. I understand if you wouldn't want to, given our current relationship."

You think about it. Working as Tyler's assistant wouldn't be a terrible thing. He pays his assistants well, almost $30 an hour. You'd get to see him everyday, and there would probably be some other perks.

If anyone found out that you and Tyler have been sleeping together, it might look really bad. It might look like you've fucked your way into this position. Hundreds would kill to be Tyler Breeze's assistant, just for the pay alone.

You stare across the desk at Tyler and say, "Yes, I'll take the job."

He smiles and says, "Welcome to the team. Although you've basically been part of the team for a while."

Glancing back at the door and after seeing it's closed, you get up and walk around his desk. You lean against the desk in front of him and he stares up at you. "As long as you didn't hire me just so I'd be closer to you for sex then I'm happy to be here," you say.

Tyler's eyes are on you and he says, "The sex is just one of your many new job perks." He stands up and presses you against his desk. "I'd also like to take you out, on a real date. How's dinner tonight sound? I'll make the reservation."

You smile and nod, saying, "I'd very much like that."

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 5: Old Friends Made Anew

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,344

Overall Word Count: 48,317 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (5/?)

Chapter Preview:

Coming from the unbearable heat of whatever desert-type planet they had come from and walking into the almost tropical level of heat of this new place was downright pleasant. Loki blinked in surprise as they stepped out onto more sand, though it was also combined with the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean that crashed down around his feet. The water was crystal clear up close, but the more it stretched out, the more it took on the vivid turquoise colors of the beaches he had seen in those jet-ski magazines on Mobius’s desk.

“Quite the Time-Loop…” Loki whirls around in place, taking in the sight of people lounging around on bed-like chairs. Most had drinks in hands, others were passed out asleep and only half under the cover of the straw umbrellas overhead, their other half more than likely burning away as they cooked in the day’s heat. “Better than being kicked in a rather sensitive area over and over again, that’s for sure…”

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On his first shift, Loki lets Sylvie sleep for a little bit longer than their agreed shift times. 

He isn’t too sure how, but Sylvie somehow seems to know that he was waking her up a couple of hours into what should have been her shift. It was almost funny watching her try to decide whether to express her gratitude for his thoughtfulness or be annoyed that he had let her sleep in when they had clearly agreed to set shift times. 

The second time he wakes her up for her shift, he tries to do so with the morning kiss that he had promised (with try being the keyword here). It had been quite early in the morning, judging by the faint light that had started to filter in through the ceiling and partly illuminate the cave. Loki summarized that, with that small amount of light, that Sylvie would be able to recognize it was him when she woke up and hold herself back enough not to stab him immediately on sight. 

He was mostly right. It had started well enough – running the back of his hand softly down her face as she began to stir and tucking a few wry strands of hair behind her ear. He waited until she was mostly awake, just seconds away from transitioning into that deep sleep to a groggy awareness, before leaning across her and pressing a feather-light kiss to her lips.

For a few seconds, Loki thought it had been a success. Of course, that thought flew straight out of his head the moment he felt her body go tense under his. It was remarkable how quickly she had snatched her sword up from her side, and he could at least appreciate the feel of the blade pressing against his side instead of in his side. 

“Oh,” Sylvie breathed in surprise as recognition filtered in through drowsy eyes, the sharp pinch of the blade end against his side quickly disappearing as she drops her weapon. “Gods, did I…?”

“Nope, completely stab free,” Loki assures her. 

“I did warn you…”

“And I said I’d still take the risk,” Loki countered with a cocky grin. 

Sylvie wanted to wipe that grin off his face as he hovered over her, and she did so by grabbing hold of collar of his dress shirt and yanking him down. Loki was barely able to catch himself, hands spread out on either side of Sylvie as she surged up to claim his lips with her own. 

She could still feel his smile against her mouth, though this one was less of the typical arrogance he displayed and more of… of contentedness. Dare she say ‘happiness’, even? Whatever it was, she found she didn’t mind it – even if it did make it a little awkward to kiss him. 

It was almost surprising that nothing of note occurs during their watches: no more giant lizards set on peeling away the meat from their bones, no unruly citizens that didn’t appreciate their presence on this planet, no brown and orange-clad TVA workers materializing from thin air and whisking them away. 

Some might call Loki stupid for making an attempt to kiss Sylvie awake for the second time. If he’s being honest with himself, he did feel a little nervous as he leaned down, trying to resist the urge to push her sword out of reach; not that it would do any good since she’s apparently a natural at conjuring and would probably have a dagger materialized and plunged into his chest before he knows it.

But this time, it seemed that Sylvie was expecting it – or, maybe, she really was starting to break out of the habit of attacking anyone that touched her whilst coming out of such a vulnerable state. There is a split second where she goes from ‘sleeping still’ to ‘unnaturally and very much alert’ still – which is the moment his nerves hit their peak – but Loki’s then pleasantly surprised by the way she seems to relax into his hold, pushing up into the kiss rather than forcefully pushing him away as he had expected. 

“Good morning,” Loki rumbles in greeting as they separate, drinking in the sleepy smile she gives him in response. 

“Well, we weren’t killed in the night, so I think I can agree with it being a ‘good morning’,” 

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “Oh? And it being a ‘good morning’ has nothing to do with my method of waking you?”

“Hmm… I suppose it helped a little…”

Sylvie suppressed a grin at the roll of his eyes, pushing up and away from her with an overly-exasperated sounding huff. Loki offered out a hand to her once he was settled, helping to pull her up into a sitting position. 

“How was your sleep?” Loki asks once she’s sat up, holding out a flask of water that he had collected shortly before waking her. 

“Surprisingly well,” Sylvie takes the flask with a thankful smile, the early morning sun already starting to bake the cave. “–Considering I had a bunch of little rocks stabbing me in the back.”

“You should have said something,” Loki says, waiting for the moment she takes a deep pull from the flask before continuing. “I would have been more than happy to act as your personal pillow once again.”

To his disappointment, she does not spit out the water all over himself like he had the night before. She does give a slight pause though, arching up a brow at him as she continues to drink from the canteen. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She returns once she pulls the flask away from her mouth, holding out the flask for him to take back and take a drink himself. 

Loki looks down to the flask in his hands, fingers tapping against the metal as he thinks. “So… we survived the night.”

“Somehow,” Sylvie added.

“Guess that means we can assume this isn’t an apocalypse? And that we’re somehow off the TVA’s radar?”

Sylvie sighed softly, resting the back of her head against the wall behind her. “Assume? Yes, but we can’t know for sure. There’s a chance that… that maybe…”

“That what?” Loki pries, sensing her reluctance to speak what was on her mind. 

“You’ve seen the TVA first hand, perhaps even more than I have. You’ve seen the intricacies of how they work, of how dedicated they are to ensuring the timeline goes the way He Who Remains had decided it needs to go.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Loki agreed slowly, wondering where Sylvie was going with this. 

“What’s the one reason why the TVA wouldn’t be interfering with a branch?” Sylvie asks. “The one reason they don’t get involved?”

“An Apocalypse?” Loki guesses, and Sylvie shakes her head ‘no’ at him. 

“An Apocalypse isn’t a branch. They’re not interfering there because there’s nothing to happen that would affect the timeline.”

“Then… what-,”

“The only time they don’t interfere-,” Sylvie continues. “-Is because there’s nothing to interfere with. Because we’re abiding by the timeline.”

“But… there’s no one controlling the timeline anymore,” Loki points out. 

“How do we know that?” Sylvie stresses. “You want to know the last thing ‘He Who Remains’ said to me? He said ‘See you soon’. He told us he’d be right back in that office, didn’t he? How do we know some other version of him isn’t already up there, waiting for us to go find him again and… start all this shit over again.”

“I… I suppose it’s a possibility,” Loki reluctantly agrees. “But, from what He was describing of the other variants of Him… I imagine it’s Him that’s going to be tracking down us.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means we’re not living by the story that He’s written so… a little, I’d hope?”

That did make Sylvie feel a little better, actually. Not enough to overpower the paranoia that an endless amount of variants of a man that controlled infinite universes could be personally hunting them down, but still – a little better was better than nothing.

“Either way, we’ve got a Hel of a fight ahead of us,” Sylvie points out the obvious. 

“Unless we keep hiding like this…?” Loki jokes – or at least, Sylvie assumes he’s joking. 

Sylvie exhales sharply from her nose, shaking her head side to side. “I’ve been running my whole life. I’m done running, Loki.”

“Okay then,” Loki says, apparently on board with whatever it is that Sylvie wants to do. “So… what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to do the only other thing I know how to do,” Sylvie answers. “We’re going to fight.”

“Oh, no -- I get that,” Loki got out in a rush. “I meant more what’s the plan for today? Are we going to stay on this Hel-Hole and try to find some kind of power source for your TemPad?”

“Only if it comes to it,” Sylvie didn’t quite fancy the idea of trudging through all that sand and potentially facing even more pissed-off wildlife. She rotated her wrist so the surface of the TemPad was facing up towards her, running a finger along it to wake it up. “Never thought I’d be saying this, but… I suppose we should see if there’s enough juice left in this thing to get us back to the TVA…”

“-Wait, hang on a second,” Loki reaches out a hand to stop her from activating anything on the TemPad. Sylvie pauses, looking up to him with her brows raised in surprise. “How will we know which TVA it’ll take us to?” 

“We won’t,” Sylvie answers grimly. “If things go south quickly, then we can just grab another TemPad and get the Hel out of there. At least with one of the TVA’s TemPads, I know how to use them and how to charge them -- and that they can even be charged.”

“And then what? Sylvie, we need the TVA’s help with this, whether we like it or not. They’ll know more about what’s going on out there than we do. We need to know how to use that TemPad properly: how to jump between multiverses; how to select specific timelines to travel to. Otherwise… we’ll end up lost in a web of universes.”

“Then… then I don’t know,” Sylvie admitted defeat. “We can’t just keep jumping between TVA’s, hoping that the next will be ours, or at least better than the one before. But we also can’t just go up to whoever at whatever TVA we end up in and demand they tell us all they know. Magic doesn’t work in the TVA, remember? So, enchanting is off the table. Really, we’ll be lucky we aren’t surrounded and with a collar around our necks the second we step in there…”

“Or… come face to face with another version of Him…” Loki says, grimacing at the thought. 

Then, an idea springs to mind. Loki straightens up as the realization hits him, turning to Sylvie. “Almost sounds like… we could use a guide?”

Sylvie frowns at him. “A guide?”

“Of course!” Loki exclaims. “Someone who’s familiar with the TVA perhaps? Someone who knows their way around the place, knows what files to find, holds some information that could be of use to us?”

“Well, yeah, that’d be great,” Sylvie says, frown still etched onto her face. “But there’s no one in the TVA that would help us.”

“What if they’re not in the TVA?” Loki counters with an excited smile. “At least, not right at this moment.”

Sylvie’s narrowed-eyed look of suspicion grows. “….Such as who…?”

“Well…” Loki trails off, glancing down to the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand, and then back up to her. “You think there’s enough juice in that thing to re-open a time-loop?”

* * *

Sylvie was right: Mobius’s time-loop was nice. 

Coming from the unbearable heat of whatever desert-type planet they had come from and walking into the almost tropical level of heat of this new place was downright pleasant. Loki blinked in surprise as they stepped out onto more sand, though it was also combined with the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean that crashed down around his feet. The water was crystal clear up close, but the more it stretched out, the more it took on the vivid turquoise colors of the beaches he had seen in those jet-ski magazines on Mobius’s desk. 

Which… kind of explained why they were here, he supposed. It was kind of comforting knowing that, despite they weren’t the same Mobius’s, they seemed to share the same type of desires. And, if this was the good memory Sylvie had recreated in a Time-Loop for him, then… perhaps he was more like his Mobius than he thought. Perhaps… they had a good chance of swaying this Mobius over to their side. 

“Quite the Time-Loop…” Loki whirls around in place, taking in the sight of people lounging around on bed-like chairs. Most had drinks in hands, others were passed out asleep and only half under the cover of the straw umbrellas overhead, their other half more than likely burning away as they cooked in the day’s heat. “Better than being kicked in a rather sensitive area over and over again, that’s for sure…”

That was enough for Sylvie’s eyes to freeze in place from where they were scanning across this unknown environment, slowly turning to Loki with a questioning look. “I’m not sure if I even want to ask…”

Loki could only shrug. “It’s not a good day when you lose count of the number of times someone’s kneed you in the crotch…”

Even Sylvie had to wince at that. 

Loki placed his hands on his hips as he peered out to the bay they found themselves in, searching the crowds of people both in the ocean and on the beach itself for a familiar gray hair and mustache combo. Even in what was only a re-construction of an actual time – more of a memory, really – the two of them still gained a few curious looks. This was to be expected, of course, being the only two people dressed like they didn’t belong: one looking like he had just come from the office, and the other looking like she had just returned from battle. 

“Do you remember where he was last time?” Loki asks Sylvie, wading through the shallow water and out onto mostly dry land where she stood. “I’m saying this under the assumption you didn’t just shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you, of course.”

“I couldn’t exactly hang about in here,” Sylvie retorted. “I was working on getting you out of the TVA, remember? 

“So… you did shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you?”

“No,” Sylvie all but groaned. “I told you already, I had to enchant him to keep him calm. It sort of… placated him, I think. Helped remind him that he actually enjoyed the life taken from him. At least, enough so that he would forget about the TVA for a little while and just… re-live his memories. But I don’t know how long that would have lasted. The effects of enchantments don’t last forever…”

That… was better than so many other outcomes, Loki thought. 

“In that case, I can’t imagine he’ll be too thrilled to see us again…” Loki said, now more on the lookout for a very disgruntled, ‘could possibly throw a punch on sight if they’re not careful’ mustached man. “Is there any chance he could have escaped? Maybe there’s some kind of… escape hatch of some sorts that we don’t know about?”

“Uh… I’m gonna guess no,” Sylvie had her eyes fixated on something in the distance, which Loki – who was still busy searching the closer vicinity – did not notice.

“And why’s that-,” Loki begins to ask, but stops talking when Sylvie grabs at his arm for his attention, pointing out to a section of the bay not too far ahead. 

“Because Mobius is right there… and… Loki, I don’t think he’s alone.”

Sylvie was right. As they trekked across the beach and closer to Mobius, ignoring the stares of the cautious but, thankfully, fake beach-goers, they could clearly make out that it wasn’t just Mobius sat upon the jet-ski that they had spotted him ripping around the bay. 

“Now you see, you want to be a little bit less trigger happy with the throttle there.”

A part of Loki didn’t want to approach Mobius anymore. Even Sylvie seemed to hesitate, her long strides turning shorter and sluggish just as his do the closer they get. The jet-ski had been brought to a standstill, bobbing away on the peaceful waves near the shore. Seeing Mobius without his usual suit and tie get-up was jarring enough, so seeing him in only a pair of swim-shorts was quite the sight. Mobius had his body craned around a young boy that sat in front of him on the jet-ski, pointing out various instruments of the vehicle as he – presumably – was giving the child some driving tips. 

“Trust me kiddo, I get the need for speed same as you do,” Mobius said with a gleaming grin, patting the boy on his shoulder. “But I think it’d be best we avoid giving your mom a heart attack if we take off like that again.”

Loki wanted to sink into the sand. He wanted an astronomically large tidal wave to appear out of nowhere and swallow him up. Mobius did have a family. A family. And he had had that taken away from him. Somewhere out there is his Mobius, trying to turn the TVA around, trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't even know. 

The two of them probably looked incredibly suspicious – just stood there in the sand, dressed in clothes that definitely were not beach appropriate, watching a father and son live out one of their fondest memories. Luckily, Mobius hadn’t noticed them just yet, his focus solely on his son who rolled his eyes at his father just as every child who thinks they know better than their parents does.

 “What if I take us out slowly around the corner of the bay, then once we’re out of sight from mom I can really open her up?”

Mobius laughed heartily at his son’s enthusiasm, giving his son’s shoulders a playful shake when he pouted at his father's reaction. 

“Well, for one… I think us being out of her sight would give her even more of a heart attack,” Mobius said. “And secondly… you know better than I do that your mother has eyes in the back of her head. Really, there’s no such thing as ‘out of sight.'"

“That’s the right answer.”

Both Loki and Sylvie looked over to the woman who had seemingly appeared from within the crowded beach, walking over to the edge of the beach and stopping just before the incoming waves would reach her feet. She looked to be around the same age as Mobius, although her black hair had streaks of gray running through it instead of being fully gray as Mobius’s was. Her face looked kind, ingrained with laughter lines that hinted at a well-loved life. 

“How many others do you think are out there?” Sylvie got out through gritted teeth, the heat in her voice taking Loki by surprise. 

“How many of what?”

“Families ripped apart by Him,” Sylvie answered, her face scrunched up in disgust. “People who, just like us, took one wrong step – as decided by Him – and were just… whisked away from their lives, brainwashed, and forced to work for the group that had kidnapped them in the first place. And their families?”

Sylvie laughs a humorless laugh, gesturing with a lazy flick of her hand to Mobius and his family. “Nothing more than memories now. His real family were… well, they were just another meal for Alioth, I suppose.”

“Until you changed that,” Loki said softly, tearing his eyes away from Mobius and down to Sylvie next to him. “Somewhere out there… there’s a variant of Mobius that was never taken from his family. Infinite variants, even.”

“And what of this variants family?” Sylvie asks, gesturing to Mobius with a flick of her chin. “And what of our Mobius? What I did doesn’t change their fate.”

“No, but at least now they have the opportunity to make a difference,” Loki stressed his words, the back of his hand lightly brushing against hers in an attempt at comfort. “They can help us to make sure no other variants of themselves have to go through what they went through.”

“...Dad?” The sound of the young boy's fear-filled voice snapped their attention back. It seemed that Mobius’s son had been the first to spot them, his eyes fixated on the two mysterious strangers who had been watching them. “Dad, who is that?”

The moment Mobius’s eyes landed on them, it was like he changed into a different person completely. Gone was the carefree and laid-back father. Gone was the happy-looking family man spending a day at the beach. His entire demeanor hardened, eyes cold and calculated as he stared at them. He could no longer pretend that this Time-Loop was his life. Now, he was faced with the reminder of why he was here in the first place. 

“Get over to your mom real quick, would you?” Mobius instructed his son, but he kept his gaze solely on them. “I need to talk with… some people from work.”

Mobius’s son looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but knew better. He slid down from the jet-ski in a hurry, wading through the shallow water as fast as his little legs would carry him over to his mother. It was only once the young boy had safely reached his mother’s side – who briskly pulled him out of sight – that Mobius moved from the jet-ski. He slowly slid down from the vehicle, keeping a hand on its seat as he stands silently, waiting for them to come to him.

Loki and Sylvie exchange nervous glances, unsure as to whether this was going to be an actual talk, or more… the kind of talking you do with clashes of steel and the spilling of blood. Then again, it wasn’t exactly like Mobius was able to hide a weapon when he’s clad in only a pair of swim-shorts…

Loki and Sylvie both nod at each other in silent understanding, choosing not to pull out their weapons and potentially freak out the people around them – even if they were nothing more than memories. They both slowly advance towards Mobius, who continues to stare them down, understandably cautious of their approach. 

“Mobius…” Loki says his name conservatively in greeting. 

Mobius’s eyes flick between Loki and Sylvie, landing on the both of them for a few seconds each before settling on Loki. “Loki.”

“You remember my name?”

“Not every day I have someone in a TVA uniform come up to me in a blind panic, tell me they don’t actually work for the TVA, tries to get me to turn against my people, and then disappears around the same time I find myself kidnapped and placed in a Time-Loop.”

Loki and Sylvie look to one another again, a movement that – surprisingly – get’s Mobius to groan in annoyance. 

“And here I was thinking what happened with you two was just two random different events. Should have known you were both involved with one another,” Mobius sighs, glancing back to where his family had disappeared into the sea of people. “So… what now? You here to kill me?”

“No,” Loki answered, voice pitched up in surprise that Mobius would think that. “No, nothing like that, Mobius. We just… we want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About the TVA,” Sylvie said, garnering Mobius’s attention. 

Mobius narrowed his eyes at her, head tilted to the side as he looked her up and down. “And… who are you, exactly? I didn’t quite get your name before you–” Mobius bent his arm, mimicking a choking motion. “–put me in a choke-hold and violated my privacy by digging around in my memories.”

Sylvie at least had enough kindness to look ashamed at her actions. “My name is Sylvie.”

“Sylvie…” Mobius repeated her name, dropping his arm back down. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Loki piped up. “Sylvie is, uh… well, technically she’s me. Another variant of me, anyway. And if what you said about me not being on your files was true, then… Sylvie wouldn’t be, either.”

“Hang on, what?” Sylvie spluttered, wheeling around to face Loki. “We don’t exist in this timeline?”

“I guess not?” Loki said, sounding unsure. “Either that, or we haven’t done anything in this timeline to become variants.”

“Wow…” Mobius interjected, staring out blankly into the distance. “I knew that whatever had happened to make the sacred timeline erupt like that would be bad but… I don’t even want to think about the shambles it must be in right now…”

“Believe me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Sylvie grumbled. 

“Mobius, you…” Loki begins, the corner of his mouth pulling into an uncomfortable grimace. “I don’t get it. You’re a variant-,”

“I’m aware,” Mobius stated dryly. 

“Already told him, Loki,” Sylvie reminded him. 

“But… now you know that your TVA isn’t the only TVA,” Loki pointed out. “Your timeline isn’t even the sacred timeline. Hel, mine and Sylvie’s timeline weren’t the sacred timeline, either. We just sort of… found our way onto it.”

Mobius cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at them. “And… how did that happen?”

“Well… you, actually,” Loki said. “You – the version of you we know – was trying to track Sylvie down. I had been brought in by the TVA for, um… you know what, it’s not important. You stopped me from being reset. You thought that the best person to track down me would be… me.”

Mobius huffed out a breath of laughter at that, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m assuming the other me was right?”

“Well, I did find her,” Loki said, voice full of pride as he jabbed a thumb in Sylvie’s direction. “And… well, it’s…”

“I have an idea,” Sylvie suddenly whispered in realization. “We could try telling you what happened, but I doubt you’ll believe us.”

Mobius shrugged his shoulders in a way that said that would be exactly the case. 

“Alright, fine,” Sylvie said, and before either Mobius or Loki knew what she was doing, she grabbed hold of Loki’s arm before stepping forward and grabbing Mobius’s.

Loki didn’t even know that enchantment could work this way. Instead of searching through Mobius’s memories, she was scrounging through both hers and his and, like a reel of film, she let them play. All three of them watched as the series of events that had led them here flitted by: Loki crash landing in the deserts of Mongolia and swiftly being apprehended by the TVA, and coming face to face with Mobius for the first time as he saves him from being reset –

– Sylvie burning the TVA workers to a crisp in the fields of the past and snatching the reset charges left behind –

– Loki and Mobius discovering Sylvie’s hiding trick within the Apocalypses of the Universe; the first time Loki sets eyes on the other version of himself as she playfully waves at him before stepping through the Time-Door –

– The two of them running through Lamentis, just trying to survive an event that no living being is supposed to survive; the moment that a nexus event Mobius had never seen before spikes on the monitor, as two of the same beings reach out for one another –

– Loki pleading with Mobius with everything he’s got to believe him, that Mobius had been taken from his life just as everyone else in the TVA had –

– The brief moment it seemed they may have a chance before Mobius was pruned before Loki’s very eyes, losing one of the few friends he’s ever had in his entire life –

– Watching in horror as the decapitated head of a Time-Keeper falls to their feet, realizing that the all-knowing Time-Keepers were nothing more than robots being used for show to keep the workers of the TVA in line. Then, that small yet significant moment where Loki dared to take a leap he never thought he would make, only to feel his body disintegrate as Renslayer’s pruning stick is pressed against this heart –

– Sylvie, not long after, shoving that very same pruning stick into her heart, joining him in the Void. The briefest of glimpses she got of the Citadel as she grabbed hold of a part of Alioth, before being reunited with the man she had spent her life running away from. All three of them, accompanied by a few peculiar Loki variants, hatching a plan to bring down the TVA once more – 

– A tender goodbye shared between a rapidly formed yet strong bond between the three; a hand stuck out in an attempt of a goodbye that was deemed not enough by Loki, who couldn’t bear to let the other man leave without a word of thanks, both spoken aloud and with the gesture of arms wrapped around one another –

– Stepping through into that Citadel that sat on the edge of time, the two of them being offered what was once all they ever wanted. Then finally, finally, meeting the man responsible for it all. Listening as he regaled his life story, trying valiantly to defend his actions to two people whose actions he had wronged –

– Loki’s hand on her shoulder, trying desperately to pull her back as she advanced towards He Who Remains with sword in hand. Loki’s heart-filled attempt to get Sylvie to stop before all hell breaks loose, and they find themselves fighting the one person they never truly want to hurt. Then, knowing what she knows, Sylvie chooses to let herself enjoy the briefest of moments where Loki made her feel like she could be okay before shoving him through that Time-Door –

– The emptiness Sylvie felt inside as she plunged her sword into He Who Remains’s chest, feeling no sense of the satisfaction she thought she’d feel as the light left his eyes. That emptiness being replaced by complete and utter regret as she watched the timeline ripping itself apart, already imagining all the other versions of Him forming into existence as she dropped to the ground –

– Loki’s similar feeling of emptiness as he sat within the TVA, the shock steadily giving away to the aching pain in his chest, now knowing what it felt like to be on the other side of a Loki betrayal. That pain only becoming infinitely worse as he finds the friend he was looking for, only to be slapped with the realization that whilst the man in front of him may have bore the same face as the man he knows, he was now nothing more than a stranger to him – 

Mobius gasped as he was wrenched out from the memories, nearly falling over his jet-ski as he stumbled back and away from the two of them. Loki instinctively reached out a hand to help steady him, but stopped himself, unsure as to how this Mobius might react. Mobius’s face was scrunched in pain, holding a hand up to his head as the images of what he had seen remained burned in his memory. 

“I know it’s a lot,” Sylvie said apologetically. “But it’s important. I… we needed you to see.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Mobius mumbled, his eyes rapidly moving side to side as he was lost in his thoughts. “Why… why wouldn’t He tell us? He… he told us our jobs were important, that we were protecting the entirety of time, but… we didn’t know we were protecting it from Him.”

“Do you see now?” Loki asks, taking a risk and stepping closer to Mobius. “Your leader… he isn’t the only one of him out there now, and if we don’t do something, then… there will be nothing left but death and suffering.”

Mobius swallowed harshly, giving a small nod of his head as he struggled to get his thoughts under control. “I… I don’t even know what to do, now… Everything I thought I knew, it’s… it’s…”

“It’s never how you think it is,” Sylvie finishes for him. “But you can help us, Mobius. Help us find a way to make things right.”

“How?” Mobius asked, forcing his head up to look to Sylvie. “I’m just an analyst-,”

“Precisely!” Loki cut him off. “You know more about the inner workings of the TVA and the timelines than we do. If you don’t want to get involved, that’s fine. All we’re asking is for some information from you. Give us a chance to find some people that can help, and fix this whole mess.”

Mobius sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I… I suppose that might be possible… What kind of information are we talking about here?”

“For starters-,” Sylvie brought up her hand, showing Mobius the TemPad wrapped around it. “-Any information you have on this thing would be good.”

“His TemPad…” Mobius uttered in amazement, looking moments away from reaching out for it before thinking better of his actions. 

“His?” Loki asks. “Does your version of ‘He Who Remains’ have one of these, too?”

“That he does…” Mobius confirms, looking almost transfixed by the TemPad. “I’ve never actually been able to see it up close myself – having never met Him face to face – but… I know of it. Not much, I have to warn you. Although… there might be some files on it stored away within the TVA…"

“He keeps files about it?” Sylvie asked.

“It’s His pride and joy,” Mobius answered with a short chuckle. “While we’re left slumming it with the older versions, he’s the only one that gets to use the ‘new and improved’ model.”

“Huh… guess your version of ‘He Who Remains’ is kind of similar to the one we know,” Sylvie noted, running a finger across the TemPad. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Mobius said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s just sort of… there. An imposing leader. A…”

“A threat?” Sylvie guessed. “Something to keep you in line?”

Mobius paused, pondering over her answer for a moment. “Kind of. Someone to respect, but also… someone to fear.”

Mobius twisted his neck around, looking around to the crowd of people that were still around them. He turned back to them, flicking his head for them to follow as he moves away from the jet-ski, making his way onto the shore. Loki and Sylvie obediently follow, keeping on Mobius’s heels as he carves a path through the name-less beach-goers. 

“I don’t think I can do much for you,” Mobius said over his shoulder as they pushed through to a less densely populated area of the beach. “I’m… I’m not much of a fighter; I wasn’t trained for that. I know how to find information that would be of use to me, and apply it effectively. That’s what I’m good at.”

“And that’s all we’re asking of you,” Loki said. “We could really use a guide through the TVA.”

Mobius came to a stop with a heavy sigh, spinning around on the spot to face them. “I hope you realize what you’re asking of me here. The TVA it’s… it’s all I know. They’re my family-,”

“No, they’re your family,” Sylvie insisted, pointing back to the crowd of people they had walked away from. “And I know there’s nothing we can do to bring them back. But the person who did this to you, who took you away from your family? He’s still out there.”

“I know,” Mobius said gently, eyes glazed over as he looked to where Sylvie had been pointing. “I thought that… that the ends justified the means. I knew that I was doing to other people what had been done to me, but… He… He was so assuring, you know? He made us believe there was truly no other way.”

“He’s a very convincing man,” Loki agreed, glancing over to Sylvie with an awkward wince. “But we’re going to find a way to stop him. There has to be a way for the multi-verse to exist in peace. We just need to remove the dictator – every version of Him.

Mobius nodded at that, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay then,” He said, shortly before spinning back around and walking away from them. 

Loki and Sylvie looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise as Mobius continued to just walk away from them. “Wait -- where are you going?” Loki called out, unsure whether they were supposed to follow. 

“Well, I’m not just gonna rock back up to the TVA in swimming trunks, am I?” Mobius called back with a grin, walking backward to face them as he gestured down at himself. “And, uh… whilst you’re technically in uniform, you should probably clean up all the sweat, and dirt, and… and is that blood?”

“It’s been a rough few days…” Loki grumbled. “It’s been a rough damn existence.”

“Isn’t that the truth…” Sylvie added. 

“Oh, and you-,” Mobius said, clicking his fingers as he pointed to Sylvie. “Not saying that I don’t admire the armor set, but uh… you might want to think about wearing something else if we’re going to blend in.”

Loki turned to Sylvie with a knowing grin, enjoying the apprehensive look on her face just a little bit more than he should. “Guess it’s time to see if we can conjure you’re a new outfit.”

Next Chapter - - - >

A story by heroes and Villains

Season 2: Secrets revealed Logan Anker: Old wounds and worries

Master list book 1

The wounds of the past can hurt. Not just you but your surroundings. No wonder we keep those secret to protect them... or is it ourselves we are protecting mort that way?

Waiting until the end of patrol was torture.

Logan didn’t like talking about the past. At all. He had trouble talking about Hannah and Caleb in any capacity to Virgil, or Patton, or Thomas or even Picani. And the Collector… Logan wanted to forget about him. But he couldn’t. If he was honest, that man showed up in his nightmares to this day. And he likely would keep showing up until he was behind bars. Patton and Thomas did their best to comfort him. A gesture he appreciated even though it wasn’t very effective. Finally Prince arrived. The young hero took in the atmosphere in the room and was clearly annoyed. “Listen, I promise I was safe. But I could’ve been in the middle of talking someone out of making a bad decision at the time. You can’t just shout in my ear out of nowhere. That was dangerous and frankly, I expect you to be more levelheaded BS. Anny other night and Logan would have insisted Prince gave him a detailed debrief on what exactly was so important that he couldn’t even let them know he was okay. But today… “That isn’t what this is about Prince. Take a seat,” Thomas instructed. Giving Logan a moment more to collect his thoughts. “Ok…” Prince said as he sat down, Looking around confused. Logan took a last moment to calm himself before he started his story with an apology. “Prince. I must offer you my sincere apologies. I didn’t want to tell you this right away, and maybe I should have.” Had his decision really been about allowing Prince to live his dream before burdening him? Was withholding the truth for Prince’s benefit? Or his own? “You shouldn’t have gone out without knowing the risks… We talked a little about nemeses during your training.” Prince nodded. Clearly still confused. “Yeah, but I doubt I’ve done anything that warrants one yet. Those come later in a career unless…” Prince paused, frowning. “But you were a villain. Any nemeses you had would be heroes… Right?” Prince was a good student indeed. He’d realized that Logan was telling him he was about to inherit his mentor’s past. And he had a good point. A nemeses of Logan would be on the side of the heroes. “Technically, the collector isn’t my nemesis. At least not in the traditional sense,” he agreed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Ever since he stopped using his powers, high stress situations got him small headaches that got worse over time. “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said, thinking back to a time he’d erase from his life all together if he could. “I became a villain because I needed the money and fast. Plain and simple. Any legal means were insufficient, so I made a name for myself and eventually, when I said ‘give me 10.000 dollars or I destroy this building,’ people handed me the money because they knew I very easily could make good on my threats. I always picked an amount they could easily provide without harming the business or individual too much financially. One day I found myself running from the police force. I had misjudged the time it would take them to arrive,” he had gotten arrogant with success. “And I got helped by a stranger in a haphazardly put together disguise. When we lost them and caught our breath, he introduced himself as ‘the collector’. I fairly quickly understood him to be a fanboy of sorts. He was a big fan of my ‘work’, though he misunderstood the intention entirely. Not that I could get him to understand that.” Everything he said that didn’t fit Collector’s narrative was ignored or dismissed. “He thought I was taking the money as proof that I was superior or something like that. I didn’t listen too closely to his speech at the time. I was concerned with getting away. He said he wanted to help me. Gifted were still considered fairly new. Nowadays most people alive have lived most of their lives in a world with gifted.” The first super powered individuals had appeared around the time Logan was born. “But back then, most of the population still saw it as strange and there weren’t any real initiatives to help train the powers. So the gifted that were around often were untrained and had their powers act up without warning. Which could be quite destructive.” Logan recalled the park bench and every instance of loss of control after that, all the way up to a wine glass in a restaurant less than a year ago. He looked at his pupil to make sure he hadn’t lost his attention. The wide, attentive, green eyes and firm nod told him he still had an audience. “Anyway, the collector thought that people should respect and celebrate our existence. He compared the stigmas we faced to those of people of color, or the LGBTQ+ community, then still called the Gay or Queer community. He said it very nicely, it almost sounded reasonable, if you ignored the slight notes of supremacy. And if I had been trying to ‘stick it to the man’ as they say, I might have been tempted. But I just wanted…” to pay form my sisters treatment and my research for a cure. “I was selfish in my actions and therefore not interested in his big revolution, which turned out to be a good thing in some ways.” He didn’t want to even imagine the kind of person he’d be then. He wouldn’t have Patton that was for sure. And Virgil… No. He was glad Virgil was kept away from that madness. And he intended to keep it that way. “I told him I wasn’t interested in leading any resistance, thanked him for the assistance and left. Shortly after this, I encountered Manifestor for the first time. He blessed one of the people in the building with super speed.” Said gifted was now one of the heroes patrolling the city. He was actually one of the heroes who’s territory Prince shared. Thomas hadn’t gotten the hang of permanent and temporary power boosts yet at the time. It was always a game of chance. Thomas chuckled. “I remember. I was so pleased that it worked.” Pleased was one word for it. “You were insufferably delighted, even though I defeated your champion.” While he and StarBucker were amicable nowadays, at the time, Logan had been thoroughly annoyed at the inconvenience. But thinking back to Thomas’ triumphant smile he could not quite help his own amusement. “You did retreat though,” Thomas pointed out. “I stalled you long enough to make you give up that mark and head out. So it was a win for me.” Logan let out a sigh, he couldn’t argue with that, but they were getting of topic. “I saw the Collector a few more times after that, though I managed to avoid conversation. One day, during a stalemate with Manifestor, he asked me about him. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d been approached about his plans. He had actually advanced them. He was now not only collecting gifted, but also individuals worthy of a gift. Be it they joined him out of free will, or got persuaded through different means.” Blackmail, intimidation, manipulation. Those were the collector’s tools. “And he wanted me to ‘grant them that blessing’,” Thomas added uneasy. Logan patted his old friend on the back in support. A conversation with the collector had never been a fun experience for either of them. “Manifestor had enlisted the help of others to free some of his victims,” Logan continued. “The Collector claimed I was championing his cause. I assured Manifestor that I had no intention of assisting in his plans. That is about the time Manifestor started winning me over to redemption.” He thought back to those times with a bittersweet feeling. He’d been so excited by the idea. A nice place for him and Hannah to live. A good job that would let him take care of her and have her be proud of him. Things hadn’t gone quite how he’d wanted, but at the same time, one thing had gone better than he could ever have imagined. “Next time I spotted Collector, I told him in the plainest possible terms that I was not interested…” It should have been a firm ending to this story. Or so he had thought. That was naïve of him, he now knew that. Obsession and fanaticism don’t disappear just because one piece of that craziness did not cooperate. He’d been arrogant once again. Thinking too highly of himself. It took him a moment to continue. “He assured me I would be…” He suppressed a shiver as he recalled the polite, almost pleasant way he’d spoken. Sort of soothing. As if Logan had merely been a child afraid to go in the swimming pool and Collector was indulging him for the moment. “I haven’t seen him since, but that promise… I don’t know what exactly he has been up to in the past 14 years. But one can only imagine how someone like that matures... Or what he has planned for me when he finds me.” Or much more importantly, his loved ones. Thomas, Patton, Virgil, the Bullards who despite the current situation were still family to him, and Prince too if he was completely honest. There was no telling what Logan would do if any of them… Not now. “Prince, the collector will not consider you his enemy. But he is yours. Anyone who meets his criteria of ‘worthy’, is at risk. And he does not take no for an answer.” The words had barely settled in the room or Prince shot up panicked. “Phantom!” he exclaimed. “Phantom might be in danger! What if someone on the chief’s team passes on information to Him? Or what if he has connections to these crime organizations!? I’ve got to go out now and find him…” Prince was clearly about to head out again right away. Admirable, but not very prudent given the circumstances. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Even if you find him, you are not in the right state of mind to deliver this kind of news delicately.” Prince paused, clearly contemplating his words. Seeing, or feeling, an opening, Patton added his two cents. “You’ve done great today sport! You just go home and sleep on what you’ve learned. Tomorrow night there is another patrol and you might run into him then.” And to make the set complete, Thomas finished: “I’m glad you are so eager to meet this young hero Prince. Just know that there is no pressure. They’ve been evading unwanted contact for almost a year now. It is okay if you don’t find them right away. And we’ll give you the support you need.” Prince clearly did not like it but he conceded. “Can I ask a favor though? Can I bring him some of that dye and a modulator? I doubt he’ll have a very sophisticated disguise if he’s on his own. It could be a sign of comradery?” he explained awkwardly. Logan nodded. It made sense, and it wouldn’t take him long. He led Prince through a few doors to his lab. Once he got to his desk he put his family picture down. It was a digital picture frame that played an album of family pictures once the camera registered his face in front of the desk. Even if Prince didn’t look at it on purpose he might catch a glance of Virgil, Patton or him in passing. And Prince was a curious person. His territory included Logan’s new neighborhood, he might see Virgil on one of his runs while he was on patrol. Or see any of them in passing. For Prince’s safety and that of Logan’s family, he wouldn’t take risks. He handed Prince a black hairdye stick. Fitting for a gifted who relied on stealth. He picked up a dark purple modulator, the darkest color he had and plugged it in to program it. Prince clearly had an idea of how Phantom’s voice should sound. “Could you make it so it’s like, deepened by an octave and doubled? With an echo effect?” Logan nodded. It fit the moniker Phantom was given, that was for certain. “Thank you. This should help a lot,” Prince grinned as he took the modulator. “I shall be heading home now,” he bid before leaving the lab, followed by Logan who watched him get in the elevator to leave the facility. Logan let out a relieved sigh. “Come on. Let’s go home and see Virgil,” Patton said gently, knowing what Logan needed right now. Logan smiled gratefully and as they headed up, he handed Patton the keys. He didn’t feel clear of mind enough to handle driving tonight. He let Virgil know they were on their way so he would know to expect them. Otherwise he might think they were burglars.

When they got home they found Virgil on the couch with his headphones on. He looked up and smiled as he spotted them. “Welcome back. I gotta ask though. Who’s your fourth guy?” he asked playfully. Logan blinked confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” Virgil joked. Patton giggled at Logan’s side, taking the lead. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” he said. Virgil cocked his head and studied Patton for a moment, then he shrugged. “Okay, Keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched and got up. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he said casually as he headed to the door. Logan cringed a little at that. Lately his son, on occasion, used his surname. He was assured by Picani that this was in no way a reflection of Virgil’s affection for Logan as a father. He had no less than 3 fathers now. Him, Patton and an unknown biological father. To differentiate between the three he likely used surnames in his head. Which may slip out verbally on occasion. Even knowing that, it stung a little. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you,” Logan replied, trying not to show his inner discourse. Virgil paused in the door and looked back with a smile. “Love you to dad.” And just like that the tightening in his chest loosened. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added. “Love ya Pat,” Virgil snickered before disappearing to his room. Logan kept staring at the door for a moment. Patton hugged him from the side. “What do you say I make us a nightcap before bed?” he suggested. Logan nodded. “That would be pleasant,” he told him.

The next morning, Logan woke up to hearing Virgil move about and singing to himself downstairs. That boy never sleeps in. He let out a yawn and stretched, feeling Patton curl into his chest. “Do you regret moving in with us yet?” he teased. “Never,” Patton muttered sleepily. “I smell bacon,” he hummed. “First awake makes breakfast in the weekend. It’s a tradition we have. He was ten the first time I found him trying to fix me breakfast in bed,” Logan recalled fondly. “He made a mess, but it was really sweet. He was following all my rules. He didn’t touch the knives or the stove without me there, which of course limited his options. I helped him make breakfast the that day. After that I made sure to lay some things ready for him on Friday and Saturday nights in case he tried again. Which he did.” “That is adorable,” Patton squealed with a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “Let’s see what our son has in store for us today,” Logan suggested as he got up. He waked to the closet to select some clothes for the day. He felt Patton’s eyes on his back and turned around. “Everything alright Patton?” Patton bit his lip. “It’s just… Our son. I really like the sound of that,” he explained. Logan nodded. “I do too.” Patton bit his lip. “I was thinking of maybe looking into… what it would take for me to adopt him? Make it official?” he suggested. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. Patton had mentioned adopting Virgil in a burst of emotion before. But it seemed like he meant it. He knew that it would mean the world to both him and Virgil to have Patton be an official part of their family. “That would be excellent Patton,” he told him sincerely. Patton’s face lit up at that. “Would you help me figure it out? I want to know what steps I have to take.” Logan walked back to the bed and sat himself next to Patton, taking hold of both his hands. “It would be my greatest pleasure,” he told him gently. Patton’s shoulders relaxed, his gaze still thoughtful, and then he let out a giggle. “May I inquire where your mind has taken you now?” Logan wondered fondly. “It’s just. Look at me being practical. You have rubbed off on me,” he scolded playfully. “Well if it helps, you have changed me too. For the better that is,” Logan assured him with a kiss to his forehead. “Now get downstairs before our breakfast gets cold.”

Breakfast was pleasant. Virgil rolled his eyes and teased them with how ‘cute’ they were being this morning. Logan responded by giving Patton an extra kiss to his cheek. And then Thomas picked Virgil up for their trip to the zoo. Logan and Patton distracted themselves by preparing classes for the next week, answering email and spending some quality time together. Logan had told Thomas that he could tell Virgil about his teenage years. If the topic of parents and siblings came up, he could mention what he knew. Logan knew that he was risking moving up his time table. But part of him hoped he’d be forced to tell Virgil everything tonight. He should have told him long ago. But he kept finding excuses to postpone. He had still not decided whether he’d talk about BrainStorm or not. “I’m home!” Virgil called all of a sudden. Logan glanced up from his book. Time had flown by. Patton was almost done with diner after which they had to leave for Prince’s next patrol. Logan was torn on that subject too. On one hand he knew the young hero wouldn’t need constant supervision for much longer. But on the other, he’d worry about Prince the whole evening if he didn’t personally keep an eye on him. “Dad!” Virgil grinned brightly as he gave him a hug. Effectively ending his inner turmoil. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” he wondered. Virgil let go and stepped back. Logan absentmindedly took note of the fact that the height difference between them was almost gone. Would he outgrow him? Caleb had been a little taller than him. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he grinned excitedly. Logan was a little flattered that this little bit of information seemed to mean so much to his son. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” he confessed. Virgil’s eyes sparked at that. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he chuckled. Logan frowned at that. “Hey, that’s a complement. I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all,” he chuckled happily. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was flushing bright red. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it,” he said stiffly. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” Patton pouted. Logan made a mental note of that. Just because he didn’t write anymore didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy reading it from time to time. There was something soothing in the format and he knew of a few poems Patton may enjoy. As far as Virgil was concerned though, poetry was firmly in his past. “That’s too bad. I thought I could maybe make a project around your old work for art class,” Virgil said disappointedly. Oh, that was not fair. “I’ll see if I still have one of my old notebooks,” he allowed. “Just ask my consent before you pick one.” And before he knew it he was once again hugged tightly by his son. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” Virgil’s excitement was worth any embarrassment that his pubescent ramblings may cause. During dinner Virgil told them about the trip to the zoo and the many sketches he’d made. He also informed them that his session with Picani had gone well. After dinner Virgil bid both of them goodnight in case he’d be asleep when they got back from the university. Patton was smiling the whole way there. “What is on your mind?” Logan wondered. “Did you ever write something for a crush?” Patton asked giddily. He had sort of expected this. “I… Didn’t really have a romantic interest in high school. Thomas was the only person my age I got close to. I was… Well you know what I was going through back then. Between my mother and school… All I had on romance was rather resentful or, once Hannah introduced Caleb to me, from the eye of an observer. Perhaps I can find one of the latter. It might be nice for Virgil to use something inspired by his parents as a base for whatever project he is working on,” he mused. “That sounds like a lovely idea,” Patton agreed.

Half an hour later, Logan was pacing the floor. Prince should’ve called in ten minutes ago. He might just be late, but… Then a beep announced that Prince’s communicator went active. Logan rushed to the comstation. “DreamPrince you are late. What is yours status?” Had he ran into trouble? Was he hiding? Or had he simply forgotten about his com until now? “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package,” he informed them swiftly. “Radio silence until further notice.” And just like that, the line went silent once again. “He has him…” Logan muttered. Almost in disbelieve. “Oh thank goodness,” Thomas breathed in relief. They’d all be worried about the child out on their own. But it seemed like they were quite a few steps ahead of Collector. An advantage they sorely needed.

Hero au

@cirishere​ @hestianerd1​ @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​

if i should wake before i die

ao3 link in source!

Summary: Febuwhump day 6: Insomnia

There have been a lot more insomniacs on the Starblaster this plane.

Lup couldn't sleep. It was a relatively recent problem for her. As a child, she'd learned to take every opportunity to sleep or meditate eagerly. It was rare for her and Taako to find a place that was safe enough for that, and refusing to do either always ended poorly for anybody's health.

Even when she'd been having nightmares, it rarely motivated her to give up for too long, usually just switching between mediation and sleep for a little while, depending on which experience involved the most troubling thoughts.

But tonight she tossed and turned unable to get rest of any kind.

They'd had to do this. They hadn't had any other choice- well that wasn't exactly true. They could have tried Lucretia's plan, but that wouldn't have worked much better, and it would have made it really dangerous and maybe impossible to escape to the next plane, so it was, at best, an absolute last resort situation.

That didn't make her feel any better about this plan.

Normally, she'd have qualified something like this as last resort too.

She remembered the robot world, when she had argued so strongly that they couldn't sacrifice other worlds just to stop the Hunger. She'd believed it so vehemently then. She still felt that conviction now. But how was this any better?

Sure, they weren't killing everybody. And they weren't doing anything directly, even. But that didn't change the fact that the devastation was their fault. This plane couldn't handle it forever. And so many people were suffering and dying because of their plan to stop the Hunger.

Yeah, sure, the Hunger was worse. And they had to stop it. But Lup couldn't help but wonder when she'd let her morals slip to this. They hadn't always been this. Somehow, she'd let herself become the kind of person that would do something like this.

And a part of her screamed with self-loathing. Screamed that this was never an acceptable plan. That the only reason they'd all even agreed to it in the first place was because they were so tired of running and suffering.

And they had a right to be tired. But it felt like all they'd done here was push their suffering onto other people instead.

She- she just couldn't do this anymore.

By the time that she was ready, it was the early morning- if this hour could even be called that instead of just late, late, late night. She wanted to leave before anyone could stop her or question her. This wasn't the plan, but Lup couldn't handle it anymore.

Knowing that something she made was destroying whole cities and armies and causing such devastation was more than she could bear. And talking to the others about it didn't help. They all just tried to distract her, or comfort her with statistics, or remind her of why they needed to do this. That wasn't what she needed. She didn't need to forget her problems, or remember the facts of the situation. She was a woman of both thought and action, and she'd spent enough time thinking. She needed to do something.

The hallways were dark, but that wasn't a problem with her darkvision. If anything, it was an advantage, given that not all of her family members had it. What was a problem was that she was tired, emotionally and physically, and her body kept telling her that it was time to rest, even though it wouldn't let her get any.

There was no real danger, anyway. No one would be suspicious of her wandering the ship. She was planning to leave a note, but she hadn't gotten to it yet, so there was no reason for anyone to suspect anything.

She shook her head, forcing the paranoia to leave her mind. She was perfectly safe. It just felt so strange to be hiding something from her family. It was throwing her off.

Her mind was too busy and tired for her to notice the signs that someone was about to turn a corner in front of her, and she walked right into Lucretia before she could stop herself. The two women nearly went down in a pile of limbs, but just barely caught themselves.

"Lup?" Lucretia asked, sounding uncertain. Lup wasn't sure if that uncertainty came from curiosity about what she was doing up at this time, or if it was just because human eyes sucked at seeing in the dark, and Lucretia was just genuinely unsure who exactly she'd bumped into. She decided to answer as if it were the latter, since she didn't want to answer the former anyway.

"Yeah, it's me, Creesh. Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't be. It's as much my fault as it is yours," Lucretia responded, waving one hand as if to dismiss the apology.

"What are you doing up, babe? You should get some sleep," Lup said, her concern for Lucretia and her desire to get Lucretia to leave so she could go about her business unseen out-weighing the fear that the question would prompt Lucretia to ask the same.

"I couldn't," Lucretia said, softly.

"You have to sleep, Lucy," Lup said, voice softening. "I know it's hard sometimes- but it's so bad for you when you don't."

Lup had learned the side of effects of going without sleep or meditation decades before she even joined this mission, and yet they still haunted her. And for humans, who couldn't get away with using meditation to make up for it, it was even worse. Lup couldn't help but be worried for her human crewmates when they weren't getting enough of it.

"Can I make you something?" Lup offered, turning toward the kitchen. "Grilled cheese?"

It was Lucretia's favorite comfort food, she knew, and she rarely turned it down, so Lup was rather surprised when Lucretia shook her head vehemently at the offer.

"No!" She said, louder than she usually would at night, for fear of waking people up.

Lup leaned back a little, surprised at the outburst.

"Okay! I'm not gonna force feed you," she responded, turning it into a joke, even though the thought had definitely occurred to her before, on bad cycles when Lucretia would get so depressed that she stopped eating and started to get too thin for anybody's comfort. It had always been especially upsetting to her and Taako though, even if they didn't admit it. Even before they'd started to admit that their crew was family.

"Sorry," Lucretia said, voice gone quiet again. "I know you were just trying to help. But it's frustrating. Everyone wants to help but nobody is doing anything. It's just all distractions and rationalizations and shitty goofs around here recently."

Lup slumped in on herself a little at that. She understood what Lucretia meant all too well.

"Gods, I know. It's unbearable," she admitted.

Lucretia's expression changed then, went soft, and she reached out and touched Lup's arm softly.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Lup meant to assure her that she was. That she could handle this. The crew knew how badly she was doing with this plan, of course, but saying anything risked her own plan. But the quiet of the night and her own tiredness had her shaking her head 'no' instead.

Lucretia hesitated, clearly unsure of what she could do, before she wrapped Lup up in a tight hug. Lup squeezed back, trying to keep herself from crying, because once she started she wasn't going to stop, and she might spill the details on her plans and end up ruining them.

Lucretia was murmuring comfort to her, but Lup heard her let out a sob of her own, and that was what finally broke her.

They just held onto each other for a long time, crying but less miserable for the sake of being in each other's company.

Lup pulled back eventually, but not all the way. She took Lucretia's hand in her to have something to hold on.

"Come on," Lup said, tugging Lucretia toward the kitchen. "It's not gonna fix anything, but food's not gonna hurt."

Lucretia didn't let go as Lup pulled her along, and she didn't protest anymore.

It wasn't easy to cook with only one hand free, but Lup has always been very good at cooking under less than ideal circumstances. And Lucretia kept handing her stuff when she needed it, often without even needing instruction from Lup. And grilled cheese was basic enough that they made it work.

They sat down at the table, and they kept not letting go, nibbling on their sandwiches in comfortable silence.

"It's not just that I'm mad you wouldn't let me do my plan, you know," Lucretia said, quietly. "I'm not that arrogant. I'm just so afraid of what this plan is doing to us. I always have been."

"Yeah. I think we all know that. We just don't want to talk about it, because we haven't been able to find a single plan that won't hurt people. Yours isn't perfect either, you know?" Lup said, automatically tensing up a little at the topic, given the number of arguments it had already caused.

"I know," Lucretia whispered. Her voice got even softer as she said the next part. "But it wouldn't hurt you. Not like this. It wouldn't put our family in danger like this one does. That's such a selfish way to look at it, I know, but if we're going to have to hurt people either way- I wanted to make sure that we never hurt each other."

Lup was left speechless by the words. Lucretia had never told them that in those words before, and she felt a wave of affection and sadness for her friend.

"Oh babe. Baaaabe. Fuck, I had no idea," she said, and squeezed Lucretia's hand in hers.

"Somebody figured out a way to use the Bulwark Staff as a weapon," Lucretia blurted, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "They- they trap people inside of the shield and bomb them or poison them or bottleneck attack them. I never thought-"

"Lucy," Lup said, choked up on her own emotions. She understood that pain. So well. "Why didn't you tell anybody? We understand- obviously. We want to help you."

"How was I supposed to say that? Even with- this- my device has a smaller death count than any of yours," Lucretia said, and Lup flinched involuntarily. "I didn't want to be- you know, like the person with a sore leg who tells somebody with chronic pain that they know what you're going through when they don't have a clue."

"That's not what telling us that stuff would be," Lup said, voice firm and unwavering. "That would just be- venting to your family. That's what we're here for. Doesn't matter that it's not the same."

Lucretia had started crying too hard to eat her sandwich anymore, so Lup went over to her and squeezed onto the chair she was sitting on, wrapping her arms around her again. And pushing the sandwich away because tear soggy grilled cheese was not on the menu in her kitchen.

Lucretia turned her head to cry into Lup's chest, her body automatically adjusting to Lup's presence on the chair to avoid overbalancing. They were family, after all, comfortable in each other's space even now, when they'd spent weeks circling each other like skittish cats afraid of startling each other.

Lup figured her plans could be put off a little longer. Right now, her family needed her. The world could wait.

Although the door closes with but a silent click, and it is her own hand that turns the lock, the sound cuts through her loudly enough to startle - and to worry, no matter how improbable the possibility, that someone might have heard. Doors in this house hardly ever stay shut, and - to the great amusement of those who don’t understand what it is like to live under constant scrutiny, who only see a large mansion with many, many rooms -  privacy is a cherished luxury. It is all thanks to the obsessive need for control and a sprinkle of paranoia her parents nurture so carefully, perhaps more carefully than they had ever nurtured her. It is not out of love that her mother and father keep such a close watch, or out of need to protect their only daughter. It is simply because Maxine Sullivan doesn’t like to play by the rules and they’re terrified that she’ll be the one to burn their status to the ground. 

Because she’s careless. Because they had wasted time and money to try and break her in like a wild horse, only for her to buck and break the reins and run off wherever she wanted to. At the age of nineteen, people share talk as to why she isn’t wed yet, a pretty thing like her, and it always falls back to the failure of her parents. Most suitors don’t like that she isn’t docile, that she can’t hold that sharp and sometimes arrogant tongue, while others tend to see it as a challenge. Taming this wild horse would surely feed their own fragile ego. After all, they believe it is a man’s duty to teach a woman her place.

But it is of no matter. She had learned to dodge these watchful ears and eyes a long time ago, learned to win the servants to her side so that they will not speak of her nightly escapes. Having allies is a good thing - even if it shocked her to find out that all it took was a bit of genuine kindness, gratitude and an extra coin of silver each to win their loyalty. 

Without these nightly escapes, she would be lost. It is the only time she can leave behind her prison and taste a life she might lead if the world was a little kinder to women. It is how she came to meet him  - and the very reason why she stands with her back against her bedroom door, one hand still on the handle, with a thundering heart so violent it might as well stop. Only eventually does Max let go, pry herself from the door and prowl through her room until her reflection catches her eye momentarily - and she stops the restless commotion.

Admittedly, when Max goes out, she hardly pays attention to the garments she chooses, or what her hair looks like, or if she is wearing a smile at all. It is the only time she gets to make that decision. No one else. But the woman staring back at her now, she reminds Max of someone else. Someone she has seen today - someone she maybe shouldn’t have seen, but couldn’t pry her eyes away from either way. 

Max can feel her breath hitch a little when the memories bury her like an avalanche, although it fills her with pure heat. Her own eyes are wide and curious, and a little daring - but that woman’s eyes were shut while her head had rolled back against her lover’s shoulder. She wonders if her reflection is what she looked like as she had watched them, just a moment before Guzma caught her in the act, before-

Her hands fist the fabric of her skirts, because she doesn’t know what to do with them right now. Because there’s the nightly escapades - and then there is this. Threading into a territory that most consider forbidden outside the laws of marriage. Why ever someone would call it sinful is beyond her, not when those lovers from earlier had looked so beautiful and so serene with each other. Max rakes her eyes up and down her own reflection and suddenly decides that she cannot bear the feeling of material on her skin. That she wants - she wants to see herself. 

With steady fingers, button by button the emerald silk peels off and reveals comfortable undergarments instead of the usual constricting cage. These join the pool of fabric by her feet too. Max turns this side and then the other, taking in herself in a way she had not dared to before. She knows her mother hates her freckles. It is for this sole reason Max loves her speckled skin all the more, and in the candlelight, they almost look like dust of pure copper. Unbinding her hair until the fiery locks fall loosely over her shoulders, she notices that her breasts are certainly not as full as she had seen on the woman from earlier. Yet, somehow, they suit her - small and plump and maybe just the right shape to fill one’s hand. Max walks a little closer to the mirror. One hand traces from collarbone to the soft curve below, mimicking the way this woman’s lover had touched her. Although her mind is already painting a new scene, until it is no longer the woman she’s watching. The hands touching her are larger, rough and calloused from reckless nights spent inside the ring, their skin contrasting as if he were the sun and she is the moon. 

Her eyes flutter shut and her breathing turns a little harsher. If he were here behind her, her head would roll back against his shoulder. His hands - just like her own are doing now - would tease her, roll her nipples until he has Max squirming. Then they’d trace lower, over the soft panes of her stomach. Maybe he’d stop and wonder why her ribs feel so sharp, but he wouldn’t say a word because it is Max’s choice to make. His fingers would circle her bellybutton while his lips press kiss after heated kiss into the junction between shoulder and neck, maybe scrape his teeth against her ear just to see her writhe again.

When she returns to her reflection and she only sees herself in the mirror, she buckles under the sudden weight of longing. Of wanting. It is the one feeling she had kept at bay so hard tonight, ever since she had seen Guzma in the arms of a young man while sharing kisses with another woman. She was only stopped from storming out of his mansion by the captivating sight of two strangers entangled in their passion, their beauty so captivating that Max had gladly forgotten the sting of jealousy in her heart. That they didn’t mind her audience filled her both with excitement and heated shame for wanting to see.... more. Frozen in her spot, Max’s wide eyes had followed the way the man’s hand dipped between the blonde woman’s legs, teasing and testing, suddenly ignorant to any watchful eyes, as if they were the only people in the world. If she had thought her heart was racing then, if she thought she felt hot and troubled then, it was no match to the moment Guzma stepped up behind her - silent at first, but Max knew he was there. Putting up a good act of ignoring him, it wasn’t long until the king of mirth and revel began to hate her silence. 

If only he knew how he shattered her, how she wished to give in then. To break free from rules and from constrictions and not care if anyone saw them - but they couldn’t. Max wasn’t ready for the risk it imposed just yet. And what would she do, anyway? She knows nothing of this world - his - world. In the end, she may only disappoint him with her inexperience. 

Now, Max leaves behind the mirror and, naked as she was, allowed the bed to swallow her whole. Her skin felt too hot to be comfortable, haunted by the words he had whispered to her that very same night. She couldn’t crawl under the sheets lest she burn to death, so she lay sprawled on her huge bed instead, a copper halo of hair fanned out to all sides. With knees bent only a little, curious fingers resumed their exploration from earlier, hoping to ease some of the heat by allowing herself to follow his sinful command.

                      ‘Tonight, I want you to touch yourself.’

Oh, and what a command it had been. At first she couldn’t believe her ears, until Guzma ensnared her body by trapping her chin in place, fixing her eyes on the lovers ahead. The writhing woman, now panting softly when his hand picked up pace, bucked into it and left Max beyond flustered. ‘You never touch yourself, do you? You’ve never seen anything like this.’ Guzma’s remarks stung a little, reminded Max all too painfully of her own innocence. Of what she might have missed out on. Of what women were to miss out on if they followed the rules of this wretched society.

So she had jutted her chin forward, shielding a very wounded pride as much as she could. 

                       ‘And what if I do? What do you hope to accomplish from this, my lord?’ 

Despite his touch and the way he held her chin, Guzma did not intend to go any further. He didn’t need to - his voice was effective enough. 

                  ‘When you touch yourself,’ he murmured, his voice so very close to her ear that she could feel every syllable grazing it. ‘Look closely. I want you to put your hand between your legs just like he does with her.’ It was obscene at first, though now, Max can’t help but spread her legs wider. Exhilarated by the knowledge of doing a forbidden thing, she draws in a sharp hiss when her fingers first find the hot and slick flesh between her thighs. Thinking once again that she is the ravished woman in the parlor, and it is Guzma’s skillful hand who all but spreads her to the hungry eyes of a girl who is so ready to break free.

Teeth dig into the flesh of her lip, muffling a moan when she runs two fingers between the soft folds, arching into her own touch. She finds a particularly pleasurable spot she fixates on, her mind suddenly running wild with the idea of Guzma’s mouth on her, or how incredible it would feel if it were his tongue instead of his fingers - although she hates and curses every part of him right now, for making her want so much. 

             ‘When you come back to me, I want you to tell me everything you thought of.’ He can go to hell. She will do no such thing, nor give him the satisfaction of knowing he was with her all through the night. Applying pressure to this sensitive spot has her gasping sharply, suddenly careless about the noises that might be heard down the dark hallway. With her other hand, she circles her nipples again, and her hips find their own rhythm, too - rutting into the palm of her hand now, struggling against the desire to explore further, to find out what it feels like to be filled. The woman had loved it when her lover entered her with two fingers, rode herself on him until she begged for another, a plea he was all too happy to obligue. They had dragged it out for as long as Max could bear it, until she thought she might burn up on the spot. Max was nearly dizzy with need when the woman cried out and he held her against his chest, kissing her face, kissing her neck, stroking her trembling body - if it weren’t for the giddy smile on her lips, she would’ve believed her in pain. 

Now she knows that she must have been consumed by a fire, the very same fire that begins to fill her body and endlessly builds up. Her skin gleams, her muscles are tense and trembling while her hand moves harder, faster, desperate to find relief from it all. She thinks of the sounds this woman made, thinks of Guzma’s breath against her neck, thinks of the times she had seen his body move while he fought, wonders if his muscles would move the same way while he claimed her. Yet it is this one shattering thought that ultimately pushes her over the edge when she comes and cries into the crook of her arm, shaking with the force of a fever, curling up and clenching her fists into the pillow beneath: he was watching her the entire time... while she tried so hard to ignore his presence in her back, while the two people before them looked so beautiful, Guzma’s eyes were on her. 

She can hardly stop gasping. 

‘I want you to tell me how you felt when you broke free from these strings that still hold you. Because, my darling Maxine,’ he had said, reaching for her gloved hand, loosing finger by finger until he slipped it off and kissed the top of her bare hand. She’ll never forget the lilac of his eyes when he looked at her, leaving a mark not only on her skin but her soul - her very being, as this night easily proved. 

               ‘Because if you can’t even allow yourself the right to your own body, how can you say that you truly live a free life?

Eventually, the tremors ease. Although her body feels pliant and soft, and she doesn’t trust her legs to keep her standing. Sprawled on the sheets like a flat pudding, she still finds herself unable to care if anyone heard her - it makes her smile to care so little. In fact, a part of her almost hopes that someone heard and that it brings them terror. The terror to know that their daughter can’t be tamed, nor that she’ll keep herself from finding the pleasure that she finally had her first taste of. If she’ll end up touching herself for every night to come, they can’t stop her - it is her body, and she is the only person on earth who has a right to it. And, if she were to give it to anybody, it’d be her choice.

Though for all the... liberating wisdom he had shared with her tonight, it remains to be seen if she’ll ever grant Guzma this privilegue. He is an ass.

 It would be a most deserving punishment to leave him wanting for the truth, just as he had left her wanting for his touch. 

This is How I Made $40k In Passive Income By Age 26

I’m talking here about real passive income, not the kind where you spend years writing a book. There’s one caveat though and you need money to make money.

I started investing part of my income every month at age 23. Three years later, I had made $40k in profit tax-free and could put down a deposit on my first house. All with less than an hour of effort per year. $13k per hour of work doesn’t sound bad, does it?

It’s not sexy but I relied on getting a professional job and investing my excess income. Many in my position don’t do this and sacrifice future financial freedom. You can take the profits to start up your own business with less reliance on outside help. Self-funding the initial stages gives you more credibility when asking others for more money.

My Economics bachelors and central bank experience made me confident to invest responsibly. Yet the steps I took weren’t complex and here I break down what I did.

NOTE: Lucky factors went my way with exchange rates, freak performance, and government bonus schemes amongst others. Do not read this and think similar performance can be produced reliably in the future. This is a high-level overview and I do not go into blow-by-blow detail.

Surrendered my arrogance

One of the biggest mistakes I see is people thinking they are exceptional. Investment funds have whole teams of hyperqualified people and complex algorithms. Yet 85.1% of active funds have failed to beat the S&P 500 in the last 10 years. How can you honestly believe you can win?

I bought index and active funds from the major economies rather than individual stocks. This takes the decision making out of my hands. As I’m from the UK, I invested through an ISA (the equivalent of a superpowered Roth IRA) to earn tax-free.

I spread myself out geographically with stocks in the USA, UK, mainland Europe, and Asia. My risk was dramatically reduced as I owned shares in thousands of companies. By using index funds, my fees were far lower than buying individual stocks. When I wanted exposure and index funds were unavailable, I found funds by managers with long histories.

Invested first and spent afterward

Every month, the same amount left my account automatically. I never considered this as spending money so it never factored into my buying decisions. I could start the account with significant savings from 1.5 years of working that were sitting in a low-interest current account.

There are all kinds of apps to encourage people to invest their savings. One of the tricks I dislike is rounding up purchases to send to the pot. You buy a cookie for 20 cents and 80 cents goes straight into your fund. This takes control away from you and leaves your input reliant on chance events. The return is already based on chance so why make it even more uncertain!

Some portray compounding as a type of sorcery. Yet 7% return per year for ten years on ten dollars is $9.67 profit. On a thousand dollars it is $967. Don’t make the excuse of something is better than nothing when you can put away more. It takes time to build a portfolio to the point where it can make a difference in your life. I had a massive advantage by living with my parents.

If you truly want passive income, you need to examine your spending habits too and decide if anything is a luxury you are happy to be without.

Never invested if I couldn’t afford to lose 50%

I could invest more than I did but I always kept some in reserve. If anything happened to me, I could cope with losing half the value of my investments. The amount you’re willing to risk can change over time and change your plans in line with this.

The worst crashes in the S&P history have taken the value to around half but they have always bounced back. We still didn’t fall below this even when news of the pandemic hit or when the financial crisis of 2008 struck. You can be confident a developed country’s stock market won’t completely self-destruct. Only a massive event could do this and then you’d have bigger problems!

Individual stocks can go to zero but it is harder for a fund to do so. You must feel comfortable with the unlikely worst-case scenario for peace of mind. There’s always a chance of great losses and you can’t blame anyone else if you lose more than you can handle. It is possible to lose everything!

Examined my opportunity costs

Let’s not pretend it isn’t a privilege to invest. Not only must you cover your expenses but also your debts. I was fortunate to have student loan debt with an interest of less than 2%. As long as I believed I could beat this rate, it made sense to invest extra money rather than paying off debts early.

Yet I know others are not as lucky. The average stock market return in the long-run has been 7% for the S&P. If the interest on your debt is higher than this, pay it off first! You have to decide your willingness to take the risk if your interest is less than this. I cannot tell you how much. I took a risk by investing in emerging economies and those paid off.

For entrepreneurs, when starting a business you should believe you can beat this rate in the long run. At the time, I didn’t have a business idea I thought would be a better path. You should be confident in forecasting significantly more than this to make the extra effort worth it.

Allowed the money to do its thing

There’s a secret of investing many people seem to forget. Looking at the numbers doesn’t magically make them increase. Interfering too much will backfire.

I thought about taking my money out several times when it looked like the peak. I thought about adding more whenever it looked like the bottom. Every time I was wrong. I would have lost wealth if I had acted. Trying to perfectly time the market will leave you anxious and constantly checking the news. Not to mention the lost income by needing to pay fees for every trade.

What you need to take with you

Investing in the way I did gave me much greater financial freedom. I did it while working a 9–5 and fresh out of university. The hardest part is working to get the money to invest but once you have this, it’s about making the strategy as easy as possible. These are the steps I took and can help you too.

1. Surrendered my arrogance — I bought funds, not individual stocks.

2. Invested first then spent afterward — I could only spend what I hadn’t invested.

3. Never invested if I couldn’t afford to lose 50% — I didn’t put my security at risk.

4. Examined my opportunity costs — I was sure it was the best use of my money.

5. Allowed the money to do its thing — I didn’t obsessively check on it.

Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day! Remember this is my story and you must examine the risks for yourself. I have intentionally not given the exact funds because they may not perform the same in the future.

Any actions taken are completely at your own risk, this should not be considered financial or legal advice. I am not a financial advisor. Please consult a financial professional before making major financial decisions.

Death Note (completed list)

all L/Light, unless specified otherwise.

Top 5:

Best Wishes From a Goddess of Death by The_Maiden_of_Autumn; M (fluff, AU, angst)  Misa Amane is not stupid- oblivious and airheaded sometimes, but definitely not lacking in intelligence. She can see the way Light and L are together, the regretful, sorrowful looks L gives her whenever she speaks to Light. She knows where this is heading; she just doesn't want it to be this way. But she's made her bed, and wishes them happiness, she truly does. Slight LightxL

Cake Crumbs And Bed Sheets by Jenwryn; M (AU, fluff, romance)  An inexplicable and very fluffy AU, written for Australia Day. In which L eats lamingtons and vanilla slice - and has help to fall asleep.

Kanji by sashocirrione; T (fluff, AU, hurt/comfort)  Light is bringing L home to meet his sister and mother, as L is now his boyfriend. But Light can't shake off the feeling that he was somehow tricked into the situation. Fluffy and probably somewhat OOC, not my usual style. Written for Persefone88, one of the winners of my 100th review contest, (started back when I was still running that contest).

(Now And Then There’s) A Fool Such As I by Light It Up; T (AU, fluff)  Knowing he couldn’t miss his first class, L took a deep breath and strode into the hallways, ignoring anyone who tried talking to him. By the time he was sitting at Biology and had his pencil twirling between his fingers, hearing the teacher explaining things he already knew and the girls to his right talking about stupidities he didn’t want to know, L just wanted to vent about how he was feeling. However, he would never do that with someone he actually knew.

you’re a wasp nest by raisuki; M (fluff, AU) But Light was already wandering off, his cane clicking rhythmically as he navigated the halls. He gave L a half-hearted wave before merging back into the flow of people. L was fairly sure he has just been tricked into buying Light Yagami dinner, and he was also pretty sure Light Yagami is the most audacious person he had ever met.

and now, for all the rest!

K/K+

Ambiguity Among Two by Fledgling  [L x Light. Hugging. Handcuffed. Ficlet.] L shuddered at the memory, and briefly, he dug his fingertips into Light's back, willing bruises inside that whispered of sleepless, difficult nights.

Bedtime by Servant Gabrielle (humor, romance) Drabble. LightxL. Sometimes, being handcuffed together caused a few problems.

Candy by Eriko Myoujin (romance) L wants to know if Raito enjoys candy. Supposed to take place during the time Raito has forfeited his memories of the Death Note. A silly little thing written for an LJ community. [LxRaito]

Candy is Dandy by firedraygon (humor) During a latenight investigation, L is craving some chocolate. LxRaito

Duplicity’s a Matter of Fact by lefcadio Light x L. A thunderstorm, an unexpected conversation, and cake.

I’m Glad I Found You by bri-notthecheese (+Misa/Matsuda; romance, friendship) No one would have expected a relationship to blossom between Investigator Touta Matsuda and Model Misa Amane. However, if a friendship developed between them while she was under suspicion and then she eventually decided to let Light go, Matsuda would be the perfect prince waiting for her when she decided that he was who she truly wanted and needed. Matsuisa ftw.

Observations by Asidian L does some unconventional observations. Too bad he can't convince himself it's for the good of the investigation. Light x L.

Out of Focus by Chiba.Kun (romance) [LightxL] Written from Light's POV. Oneshot. Not much to it. When the two are handcuffed together, innocent desires surface. I apologize for the crappy summary.

Sleepy Chains by WellspringIsSuperLame (romance) In which a tired Raito becomes rather suspicious of Ryuuzaki. Random little one-shot, LxRaito fun.

Starlight by subdivided (drama, romance) AU manga ending, LLight, one shot. The Kira case is declared solved before Light can regain his memory. He and L leave the party early, for a garden under the stars.

Sweeter Than Sugar by Manwyn (romance) LxRaito. L offer Raito one of his treats... AN: Sorry i'm not very good with summarys.

What I Lay Down by mleeph (romance, drama) Love comes in percentages, but sacrifice is a matter of absolutes. Thus, L comes to a realization at 1:19 in the morning. [Raito x L ]

G

3:19 Am by Tierfal (romance, drama) This is really not the time of day at which Light prefers to discuss their respective revelations. 

Bad Habits by domo (humor) Light hates it when Ryuuzaki bites his nails, Ryuu just wants to know if Light is gay or not.

Bananas by Tierfal (humor, romance) Best. Idea. EVER.

Cake by Desmenn

Confused "No thanks. I'm fine like this- confused."

Counting the Coffee Drip by NOT_TOWA_WAKASA (fluff) Light is a blind man who loves to count. L finds him curious, and wades through the holiday season to visit him wherever he may appear.

Dance With Me by dotti55 Light wants talks L into trying a new experience.

Easily Entertained by Tierfal (humor, romance) It's an important distinction.

First & Final by overdose I watched the most emotional Death Note scene in Death Note history. (I've only made it to L's death) So, I decided to do something with it. Kinds sucky and rushed.

The First Noel by OctaviaPeverell (romance) Because L loves Christmas desserts and Light can't get enough of handcuffs!

Four Minutes of Solitude by Tierfal (humor, romance) L tries to take a break, the operative word being "tries."

Heaven-Sent Hypocrisy by Tierfal (romance, fluff) Somebody up there was looking out for him.

mellifera by alharper He sleeps beside you, spare hand curled around the chain, six feet of arrogant beauty and ruthless intelligence softened and hidden.

Oh So Smart by Zanganito (+Misa/Light; fluff, angst, humor, hurt/comfort) Misa decides to have movie night! During the film, Light makes a few unwelcome realizations and is moved to tears. L takes advantage of the opportunity to mock him relentlessly. Set just after the conclusion of the Yotsuba arc.

On A Boat by Tierfal (humor, angst, romance, hurt/comfort, AU) Light is considering throwing himself over the side and trying to drown.

Perilous by Tierfal (humor, romance) It's just another evening… until it's not.

Perverted by Tierfal (humor, romance) It's all about the contingency plans.

Provocation by Jenwryn (humor) "I would not provoke Watari-san if I were you, Light-kun."

Resolved Tension by norestforthewckd (fluff) Light Yagami does not like Ryuzaki. Light Yagami is a very big liar with a bit of a soft spot for a certain man.

Sub Finem by RatatoskMode "...I still can’t believe that this is the end. No, it’s more like I don’t want to believe it. The only person I deemed worthy of taking my life was L himself, but to go this way is pathetic." Light Yagami is dying, and he's visited by a familiar ghost of his past.

The Taste by Tierfal (romance, AU) It makes perfect sense.

Will You Be My Valentine? by TabbyCat33098 (AU, fluff) L has been getting mysterious presents all day long, presents of a...how do you say? Romantic persuasion. What is going on? Who's sending these?

Word Play by CuteCat213 (AU, fluff) Remarkable: worthy of attention; striking. L bit his thumb and watched Light. His boyfriend certainly was striking. And he was sure Light wouldn't mind; there had to be at least six other things more creepy than watching his boyfriend sleep and tying to think of words to describe it.

T

Antioxidant Properties by remarks Rivals getting hot and bothered (mismatched socks and a kiwifruit).

Are you Lonesome Tonight? by Light It Up Their time apart had scarred the both of them. There were days someone would mention that High School relationships didn’t last long, or that when two people started dating at a too young age, they always ended up drifting apart. Those days were when L was the most vulnerable, and Light made sure to spend the night with him, whether at the Yagami house or at L and Watari’s.

The Boy’s Too Refined by sabriel75 (AU) The notorious detective, Sherlock Holmes, takes too keen of interest in Light and L's affairs. He suffers a concussed head for it. Light loses his innocence. Both were bound to happen sometime though as far as John Watson and L were concerned.

Caveat Emptor by Tierfal (humor, drama) In which there are shopping trips, sarcasm, backhanded compliments, dark rooms, big guns, bubble baths, trauma of every sort, and detailed fantasies involving cake - lots of those. Let the buyer beware indeed. L/Light.

Cherade by lefcadio Light x L. When you're handcuffed to someone, insomnia takes its toll in one way or another.

A Different Decision by phoenixjustice Maybe a world free of criminals and ran by Kira would truly be a better place.

Fevered by Ivydoll (Mello/Near; romance, drama) MelloNear. When Near's illness jars the boys' comfort zones, they lose some of their control and experience a slight tilt towards one another.

Fidgeting by Tierfal (romance, fluff, AU) "Don't squirm."

From the (Very Private) Notebook Of... by Shayheyred (humor, crack) Probability that L is a dork: 100%

The Ghost Inside You by slightowl In which Light must learn to cope with an undead roommate. (An LxLight ghost story.)

Giving And Taking by Jenwryn (AU, romance) AU. The Kira case is closed, and L had promised himself he'd make a move on his partner-in-crime-solving but... there's too much to risk losing.

grow old or something by youremyqueen The afterlife is a bit like normal life, in that it's completely dull.

Lay Your Hands On Me by Light It Up (AU, fluff) Of course, though, it was only seldom that Light remembered that. He couldn’t care less about when he’d leave this small, crappy apartment, not when every now and then he could catch scenes and sounds so enticing from the man he’d been in love with for about a year and a half.

Love Tonight by Light It Up (AU, fluff) Light looks at him with tears in his eyes, blinking a few times to force them back. Almost shyly, he nods, so L reaches up to brush away a stray tear from his cheek. “It’s your birthday, you idiot,” Light explains then, hugging his knees as close to him as he can.

Never Forgotten by metal goat (angst) Raito can never seem to forget L, no matter how hard he tries... LRaito, some RaitoMisa. Spoilers for Ch.58. Shounenai. Oneshot

The Plan by strange_isle (drama, AU) Light's scheme was both devious and elegant. Too bad it's gone awry. Now in the aftermath, L demands answers, but Light's not exactly in the most amenable of moods.

A Pocketful of Posey by Edmondia Dantes Redux (drama) Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Light/L.

Sour Candy by Edmondia_Dantes On the taste of apples and sugar.

Special Quality by Tasogare Nagisa (crack) We are all defined by that one special quality; if only we knew what that quality was...

Sweet Things by Light it Up (AU, fluff) Their relationship had started just before the Kira case was closed. Light confessed to the detective that he was the assassin, and when he thought L was going to handcuff him and send him to prison, where he would wait for the jury to decide when his death sentence would take place, L had instead kissed him. Although he could never be completely sure of it, Light guessed that the fact that he was crying when he confessed was the factor that made L’s mind up.

Sweetest Decay by Fantastical Queen Ebony Black (Mello/Near; angst) Letting you get the better of me. MelloNear [Spoilers for chapters in the 90's]

Taste by Hikaru R Kudou (humor) Shounen ai, Raito and L. A conversation between the two over breakfast. Raito: "I happen to like them that way. Is my taste bothering you?"

Unreliable as the Mind by Ramasi Losing and regaining his memories doesn't make Light's already complicated feelings for his opponent any simpler; and L might have even less scruples about killing someone he loves.

What you’ve always known by Devilinthebox (hurt/comfort, angst) Light comforts L about his body image. L tries to put distance but needs the comfort. He lets some defenses down (Request)

White Sepulcher by World’sOnlyConsultingTimeLady (angst, romance) L's rationality falls on an ordinary, dull night. L/Light one shot

Winter Wonderland by Light it Up (fluff, AU) What Light didn’t mention, was that he was extremely sensitive to the cold. He had never gone out during the Christmas holidays because when he was very little, he had come down with pneumonia after staying out on a windy day, so his parents never allowed him out again.

World is Mine by Light it Up (fluff, AU) Given that information, it’s quite obvious that Light lost, and the idea L had was certainly the most embarrassing thing Light has ever heard in his life. His cheeks are read in the mirror, and he turns a few times to look at himself from every angle, his heart pounding against his chest. This is so not a good idea, and he’s sure L just wants to see him like that to laugh at him, but God, Light has to admit that he likes what he’s seeing.

M

Almost Oblivion by Serria L knows that Light doesn't close his eyes at night for fear of waking up as Kira. L, on the contrary, won't rest until that transition is complete.

An Apple a Day by hyperRme (romance, crime) ...but if the doctor is cute forget the fruit. L turns this into his motto when he is forced to see doctor Raito because of his sugar only diet. As he pursues the doctor, L learns that the murderer he is trying to catch is pursuing Raito’s life.

At Night by Vehuel (PWP) Things that happen at night should stay between the two of them. Secret, and covered in darkness.

Chance of Circumstances by wordbombs (romance, humor) Sometimes all happiness takes is a change of circumstances. L/Light, fluffly lemon meringue AU one-shot. Answers- What if Light was a Wammy?

Choose by reaperlight (AU, fluff, angst, humor) Light isn't too fond of Valentine's Day. As it turns out neither is L...

Control by mmmdraco From the 3 Sentence Ficathon: Death Note, L/Light, control

Daylight The Light Does Bring by Jenwryn (romance, fluff, AU) The detective rolls onto his side, displacing Light's trailing thumb, and stares up at the younger man.

Guilty until proven Innocent by Callicanios (mystery, romance) Kira has emerged, the great detective L sets out to stop him. Only thing, Light is not Kira. Due to the explicitly of the chapters beyond chapter 14 the rating will be changed to M. LxLight

Softly Now by Jenwryn (romance, AU) The apartment is laced with the smell of fresh paint, and L has flecks of blue upon his cheeks.

Somnambulism by reaperlight (crack, humor) Light does not appreciate L’s sense of humor.

Submission by lichenglie “I think you forget, Light Yagami, that I am just as childish as Kira is,” he says, “and I hate to lose.”

Water, water, water by Devilinthebox In the bath, they forget they’re a detective and a suspect; they remove these identities along with their clothes, layer by layer until there are only the handcuffs left. And them; facing the other in the eerie calmness of their bathroom. At least, it’s how Light sees it.

E

Anger Before Bliss by mannysue (angst) L was depressed. Depressed that his deduction was wrong. Light is very much not pleased by this change in L's demeanor. He decides to take action.

Bang! by youremyqueen Written for the second death note kink meme, prompt was: in bed with a fully loaded gun.

by night we go naked, by day we go blind by youremyqueen Written for the second death note kink meme, prompt was: sensory deprivation.

Can’t I Even Dream? by Light It Up (fluff, smut) They didn’t kiss; it was more like breathing each other’s air, being as close as physics allowed them to. Sometimes Light wished they could just freeze the world and stay in a moment forever, just enjoying their own company and that instant when their bodies were in perfect synchrony, hips meeting at every precise thrust.

Clean by FayJay Set during the period when Light had given up the Death Note, and didn't know he was Kira.

Dirty by FayJay Set during the period when Light had given up the Death Note, and did not know he was Kira. (Sequel to 'Clean', but can be read as a standalone.)

Interested in Learning More by Shadow_Of_Quill Light isn't asexual. He just has... unusual interests. And Ryuuzaki is very observant.

Intermission by Shiraume What happened right after the infamous fight in Vol 5.

Just Before Sunset by Evilchuckles (romance) Perhaps they don't want to remember. Perhaps it's enough to be happy.

Linked by Shayheyred The chain is not what connects them

Low of Solipsism by Light It Up (AU, fluff) Even after six months of them dating, Light still wondered what it was about L that drove him so wild. Before him he used to be a quiet lover, rarely making any sounds more than a moan here and there. That being said, it’s easy to understand that Light was surprised when they first started touching each other and he instantly became vocal.

Playing the Part by Vector L was alone in his intent stare at the monitors.

Roundabout Truth by Ramasi Light is furious when he's kept in chains after he regains his memories; he has no choice but to try and figure out L further.

See Me by Shadow_of_Quill (AU) Light sometimes thinks he'd give anything to have someone see him for who he really is.

Something to Think About by dotti55 Having moved to The Wammy's House together, L and Light share their first Valentine's Day together, and make some discoveries about their relationship and their future together.

That Night by sashocirrione L and Light have a hotel-room encounter that is not at all accidental. Complete but open-ended.

Time Out by epkitty (fluff) They were handcuffed together for how long???

Beriphitar’s Pillage 1

A cigarette leaks smoke from the corner of my frown as I work, hacking the neglected path clear again with my machete. My garden bed should be back here. I grow all kinds of things.

There's magenta irilis which gives my "snacks" and snacks their unique, fresh, lovely flavor. It also adds a nice touch of color, I think. Then there's the weight pullers: tall, weedy drogul plants, harsh smelling buds of grengis, and the innocent looking but deceptively potent white composite flowers, yequin.

Don't wanna remember all that? Don't worry; all you need to know is that they're drugs and drug enhancers, and people want what I harvest out here. It's a mixed bag, this business. It gets me into all sorts of mess with people, but I wouldn't do it, you know, unless it payed the bills.

And it does that, really well in fact. I huff I sigh into the humid air, grateful that at least it's relatively cool, and I'm finally through. I look over the state of my garden, and observe, unsurprised, that the rest of the evening must be spent weeding.

The middle class in my town is probably what's called riffraff elsewhere, and whether we're farmers, craftsmen, or prostitutes, we spend much of our time bent over.

I stretch occasionally when my back aches. I wonder if it's normal for a guy my age to have back and shoulder pain at rest, though. I grit my teeth and shrug it off when it happens, because it's not like it's a surprise, for how long I've been working the land.

Despite all the violence, dishonesty and threats I have to contend with in my line of work, I love this time after I've finished doing something. I feel small yet accomplished as I look up at the starry night sky, unpolluted and uncontested by city lights. On the ground, darkness, dirt, leaves and chirping surround me. I'm alone in the most perfect sense, but then I have to go back home into the residential district of town.

I trudge out of the woods, tired and hungry by now, and looking forward to getting home. I hop on my scooter. I'd call it something like "Trusty Rusty", but even though it's old, I take care of my things, so it's not rusty at all. I buzz down town, taking the back roads so I don't really run into anyone. My house is modest, but comfortable. Some dust can't be helped out here, but I've put my foot down against mildew, stains, and muck.

I strip out of my rough, dirt-crusted pants and torn shirt, enjoy a hot shower, and put on some fresh clothes. As I'm enjoying my warm meal, a knock sounds on my door.

I open up in my boxers and shabby grey t-shirt, with my usual lazy-eyed, irreverent expression.

"What do you want?", I ask the guy standing there.

We're friends, I guess, but only because I lack a better word. Reyfon scratches his messy brown hair and laughs lightly.

"I came to talk to you about that thing."

His thick glasses and somewhat shy demeanor would kind of suggest and innocent young man, but many of his actions paint a corrupted picture.

Truth is, I totally forgot about whatever event we have planned, but I just say, "Okay", like I was planning on him showing up at my doorstep in the middle of my beans and rice.

He steps in on his nervously light feet. I watch as he does a brief, sweeping glance over my home. I never say anything, but man, do I hate it when people evaluate and scrutinize me or my stuff like that. Reyfon smiles. "Looks like you're still your usual neat self."

"It hasn't been that long", I reply.

"Yeah, I guess so", he says. "Maybe a couple of weeks?"

"I bet you've had your hands even fuller than mine", I say.

"Yeah. It feels pretty hectic adjusting to the influx of tourists, no matter how many summers I spend at the brewery."

Reyfon comes from a family of artisans- brewers. While I haven't particularly missed him, I have missed the free beer. I look down and sure enough, I see one of the reasons why I always graciously pardon his intrusions into my home. "Oh", he says, lifting up the paper bag once he notices my eyes have locked on it. "Here."

I immediately take it, put it on the table, and unpack the assortment of pricey drinks, darks, lights, ales, ambers, et cetera. Needless to say, I'm very pleased. "Thanks", I say, then pause. "I suppose you want me to thank you some other way as well."

Reyfon smirks and nods. I'll have to help him again. "You know my father's health has been declining", he begins.

"Yeah."

"More and more of the responsibilities for the business have come down to me, my older brother, and kid sister." Then he scoffs, "Well, mostly me and Veralia. Yet, according to the tradition of favoring the eldest, the one to inherit the brewery will be Theorion. You know my brother, arrogant and lazy, and worse, incompetent and irresponsible. It wouldn't 100% be up to him even if he were the owner, but with enough poor decisions and investments, he could end up making a mess of generations of our family's hard work. So please, help rid us of this pest."

I grow tense, and hold up my hand. "Hold on. This sounds pretty serious. Knocking off some poor scrubs from the west side of hick town is simple, something nobody cares too much about. But now you're asking me to help kill the heir of a wealthy business. Everyone knows you guys around here, and whatever happens to him, it will thoroughly investigated."

"I know it's too much to ask as a friend, so on my word, you will be compensated generously", Reyfon says.

So far, I'm not too keen on this, but that word, "generously" hangs in the air tantalizingly.

"Do you even have a plan yet?", I ask.

"I was hoping you could take care of everything on that front. Of course, though, I'll provide whatever inside info you might need."

"I'm taking a huge risk here, hitting such a prominent target, but how much would you be willing to give me for this?"

"How does 10,000 buckaroos sound?"

"Nice try. This could break my life, so I need enough money to make it if this goes well. 20,000 buckaroos."

Reyfon cringes a little, but says, "Okay. I'll pay you after it's done."

I frown. "You think you're the one of us who trusts the other less? Who's at the other's mercy? You'll pay me before, or there's no way I'm doing shit."

"Hey, it doesn't have to be like that", he says. "How about a compromise? I pay 10,000 upfront, and the other half after it's done."

"15,000 up front."

"Fine. So you'll do it, then?"

I pause for a moment. "Yeah."

"Great", Reyfon says with a small smile, sighing in relief, as if assassinating his brother were an innocent request like any other. "I should be going then. Enjoy the brews. This could earn you a lifetime supply, Beriphitar."

With that, he left, leaving me standing, trying to keep myself from slowly being overwhelmed by what the fuck I'd just agreed to do. Nothing was set it writing. I could still back out, but I feel that that would be unacceptable for me. But then I get another idea. If I'm going to do something like this, if I'm going to take this kind of risk, might as well go all out. It seems like Reyfon can pay me, easily, whenever this gets done. That makes me suspect that the Greyhorns have a lot of cash sitting around.

The next day, Reyfon meets me at my house again. He answers all my questions not only without hesitation, but with enthusiasm. As far as he is concerned, we're in the process of turning his scheme into reality. At the end, I know the schedules of the inhabitants of the house, their maids, and Reyfon even gives me a detailed map of the layout of the house when I ask where his brother's bedroom is.

For better or worse, Reyfon decides that he should be out during the assassination. Actually, it's for the better.

The next night, I lie on my stomach in the dark, rich carpet soft against my chin. Reyfon graciously left the back door unlocked after he left this evening. I came in, went up two flights of stairs to Theorion's room, or chambers if you will, because it's like a whole pad in here- a big personal bathroom, dining and sitting area, and bedroom. I've been camped under his bed for like two hours, waiting for him to come back, hopefully alone.

I snap into tenseness when I hear whoozy female giggling and a good mooded, but douchey male voice approaching. Figures a fuckboy would be bringing a girl back with him. No matter. I prepared for the possibility of having to dispatch multiple targets quickly and silently, but maybe I should've hidden in the closet. Getting out is going to be awkward.

The door opens. "I wanna see that awesome shower you were telling me about!" The girl says. Theorion replies, "Yeah, well how about I give you a tour?" Their flirty tone and words are obviously telling of plans for a shower fuck, a way to bang that's highly overrated in the movies, but pretty good for me now.

Once they've rather stupidly sexy walked into the bathroom while swaying and groping, I start slipping out from under the bed. The bathroom is further down the wall, to my left. They left the door open, but cannot see me as I siddle along the wall towards it. Before they get in, or even have a chance to scream, I've swung out into the doorway, and fired a shot from my silenced pistol.

The pop goes off, and a bullet zips through the air, hitting its marks with beautiful precision. You see, I caught the love birds in a smooch, the guy's back to me. The bullet punches through the back of his head, and then tears through the front of hers. The blood and matter of two brains splatter, making a rather jarring contrast against the clean white and beige rugs, marble floor, and counter. I doubt very much that those were the kind of fluids they were planning on exchanging tonight.

I look up from their toppled bodies, and damn, that shower is pretty awesome. It's massive for one, and.. ah fuck it; this is not what I'm here for. I walk over to them. They'd make a pretty cute couple, just, not exactly like this. I shuffle through the guy's pockets and pull out his wallet. Very nice. The girl doesn't have anything worthwhile in her skirt pockets, but she's got something in the skirt.

According to Reyfon's info, I should have plenty of time. His sister's out having drinks with friends. His dad is emaciating in the hospital, and his mom is dead. So, I decide to help myself to what Theorion was about to have anyway. I brush the girl's wavy brown hair out of her face. It's sticky with the blood that's pouring out of the hole in her head and dripping down her face. Her hazel eyes are closed, her face didn't have time to contort into horror or surprise, so it's stranglely peaceful despite her undue and random end. She was pretty, well is, for all intents and purposes at the moment.

Ugh, it's like stripping a hundred pound sack of meat. Actually, it's exactly that. The human body is really a pain to move when it's dead weight. Getting my own clothes off only takes like 10 seconds. I stand buck naked in the bathroom with two dead bodies. I was mocking it earlier, but I drag the girl into the walk in shower anyway. I turn it on and warm water sprays from a marble seal's mouth. I flop the chick over the marble shower seat, kneel, and start pumping her from behind. It's only been minutes since she died, so her vag is still very warm.

Once I finish enjoying myself, I turn the shower off, dry myself with a towel, and get dressed again. I check my watch. It's only been 15 minutes since I killed Reyfon's older brother and his squeeze. My head is wonky. I can't remember whether I was supposed to leave the bodies or dispose of them.

I rush back over to the bed, and pull out the three bags that I brought with me. I pillage the house, rummaging through drawers, closets, and cabinets favoring speed only slightly more than precision. My last stop ends up being Reyfon's chambers. My 3rd bag is still empty.

After swiping a couple of snazzy watches and 200 buckaroos from around his room, I check under his bed. Sure enough, there are a couple of chests. They're locked, but I prepared for this. After being pried open with my crowbar, the chests reveal their treasure.

In one of them are various trinkets, an old scarf, a few journals, letters, papers- it seems to be a bunch of sentimentals mixed with important documents. The other contains cash, likely a lot of the money Reyfon was planning on paying to me. Upon looking through the bills appreciatively, something beneath the neatly bundled stacks catches my eye- five gold bars curtained beneath. Oh, I love this boy.

I pack the remaining bag, and just for the heck of it, I throw one of Reyfon's personal journals in. I never considered myself the gossipy sort, but who doesn't find it at least a little entertaining to stumble across the juicy secrets of someone they know? I sling my booty over my shoulders, make sure my mask is in place, and head on out of the house. Trusty Rusty is parked a block away.

I mount the scooter and buzz away into the temperate night. First thing I'll do later is buy a new bike, and a car too. This thing has been reliable, and I know how to fix it up, but I could have to make some serious distance, and I can already feel it slowing beneath me under the weight of my goods.

Reyfon plans to head back into his house, find the horrific scene and call the police. He plans to give an account, enjoy the sympathies, gifts and attention he will get as the victim of such a horrific tragedy, and prosper from here on out as the head of the brewery.

I park my bike at the dirt strip around the back of my little house called the backyard. I dip inside to drop off the bags, clean up, and change clothes. Taking my crowbar with me. Reyfon is hanging around a bar in town. I'm supposed to make an appearance there, so he knows that it has been done, but we're not to interact.

When I enter, he notices me immediately. He's probably been watching the door, scanning every patron that comes in. He turns back to his beer as soon as he sees who it is. Reyfon's eyes are clear; he's likely just been nursing that one drink this whole time. If he was gonna come to the bar as an alibi, then he should've at least made an effort to appear more casual about it, and maybe have brought a friend, and had a good time.

Thankfully, this bar also serves food. So while Reyfon is paying, I order a cheese sandwich and have them put it in paper lunch bag for me. I can leave shortly after he does, without looking too weird for not staying and drinking. I tail behind him as he walks down the street. I can tell he's nervous by the way his glasses constantly seem to need readjusting, and the paranoid glances back that I have to keep dodging.

He veers off eventually, into the shortcut through a patch woods that leads to the backyard of his family's mansion. It's here that I pounce. I remove the crowbar from my toolbelt rush forward. I hear him gasp at the sudden sound of feet rushing towards him. The crowbar hits just as his head finishes swiveling around, and his eyes see his attacker. After the big, dull thud he crumples to the ground, twitching a bit, but barely conscious.

As I bash his skull in, a few thoughts will pass through his brain before it mashes, asking why I've betrayed him. The answer? We are living in a material world, and I am a material boy. Hey, you wanna hear another quote? "People work together when it suits 'em. They're loyal when it suits 'em, love each other when it suits 'em, and they kill each other when it suits 'em." I get it, he didn't. And that's why he couldn't hold onto his life.

Reyfon's blood splatters onto my tattered beige work pants. After I finish and catch my breath, I observe. The face of the only person I ever really hung out with has been crushed into a bloody pulp of flesh that looks like fresh ground beef and bone chips. Frgaments of glass and pieces of the black frame from the young man's familiar glasses are mushed into the mess.

Something must be wrong with me to have such a compulsion, but my dick was out, hard, and being rubbed by my hand before I processed what was happening. My hand.. it's slippery with his blood, and it feels so good like this. I pleasure myself, looking down blankly at the battered corpse, lying on its stomach. I probably wouldn't even be able to tell that it was him if I found him like this.

My white, hot cum bursts forth onto the ground between his legs. I sigh and put my penis away, slightly dizzy from all the exertion of today. Brown leather peeks out from the back pocket of his blue jeans. Like an idiot, he kept his wallet there. I slip it out, take his cash, then throw the wallet onto his body.

I walk back home, mostly through the woods so as to be seen as little as possible. I pack one small bag with a few clothes and hygienics. Four bags carried by one guy on a scooter is pushing it, but I want to leave town right now. Then I realize while packing how suspicious all of this looks. Three members of a rich family in a small town are gruesomely murdered, and the house is robbed.

And me, I suddenly skip town, abandoning my drug business, my house, and my land. Where did I get the money to up and leave all of the sudden, and why would I do that on the night of the murders? I should stay, hide the stolen stuff, and wait out the investigation for a couple weeks to a month. Before leaving, I should tell a few people,

"This town is just getting worse by the year. We've had scuffles in the trailerpark and occasional killings among druggies, but for something like this to happen to the Greyhorns... Even I worry. And Reyfon and I, you know, we went back a few years."

Yeah, something like that should be good. It doesn't come across as too on the nose, and it foreshadows my leaving. Others will leave too after this, I'm sure, because the kind of violence that occurred tonight isn't often heard of here. It'll shake folks, myself included, heh.

So if some gumshoe finds their way around to asking about me, like, "That dealer Beriphitar was a friend of the youngest son's wasn't he? He left soon after, didn't he?" the downtown scrubs will answer, "Looks like even he got worried. He was racking up a little that might'a been worth stealin' himself ya know. Not so tough, just a boy trying to carve out a living in a town that turned out to be rougher than he was ready for."

With that, I put my clothes back. I put the bags of stolen money and valuables into plastic trash bags, then take then out to my garden- on foot mind you, because the noise of the scooter at this hour would an overly obvious deviation from my usual routine.

There would be nothing strange about overturned soil in a garden, especially not with fresh crops on top. When I'm done, the bags are safely hidden under about a foot of dirt. Just so you know, the lawmen won't want to tear this place up anyway because of the drugs. What I'm doing is perfectly legal here.

By the time I get back home, it's the middle of the night. That girl seems even hotter now that I'm remembering her in my tiny shower. My tired brain spins a fantasy of her, Reyfon, and Theorion. Reyfon is sandwiched in the middle, Theorion plowing his dirty asshole from behind while he penetrates the girl's dripping pussy. The three move harder and faster, until the illusion comes to its climax, and my jizz sprays the shower wall.

"Sandwiched" though, that word reminds me that I have a perfect good cheese sandwich just left on the counter. I eat it on the way to bed, and then sleep sweetly. With the day that I had, I'm not sure if I'd be able to tell dream from memory.

I wake up to birds chirping, a sour mouth, and the pleasant brightness that comes from having one's home so close to nature. Then I smile little, when I think of the chaos that must be unfolding uptown. Lawmen like buzzards circling my crime scene, Veralia, distraught, shocked, and hungover, and Reyfon's father- I wonder if the news has made it to his hospital bed? At this point, they might as well spare the old man and let him die in peace if possible.

I climb out of bed, have one of the craft beers that Reyfon gave me for breakfast, and then brush my teeth. Over the next two weeks, I follow my plans. I attend the Greyhorn funerals, tell a few people that I'm thinking about leaving town, and sell my land and house.

The lawmen took me aside once to ask me questions. "Did you see anyone strange around town?" et cetera. My answer was simply, "No Sir."

On the day that I was packing my bags again to get on Trusty Rusty and leave town, a beautiful gift delivered herself right to my door. It was Veralia, Reyfon's suffering brunette sister who'd been becoming increasingly irresistable to me the more I saw of her.

Her entire immediate family was either dead, murdered, or dying. It had become unthinkable for her to even stay in her own house; the emptiness and the memories of what had happened, of what she'd seen there, were too much. I heard she currently lived with an aunt in the next town over, so imagine my surprise to see her at my hovel.

Her eyes were sunken, though puffy from what could have been her hundreth bout of tears, and filled with pain. She looked lost, like so many others who'd come to me, and I so then I knew why she was here. She had to find something good in her overwhelming plight.

"I know", she began quietly and not meeting my eyes, "That my brother used to buy leaves and stuff from you." She dug into her pockets and pulled out some crumpled bills. Veralia stretched the money out to me. "Yes", I said softly and with an air of consideration. "I was closing down shop, but please, come in and you can select what you want from what I still have."

There's hardly any stock remaining, since I lowered prices and had been doing a lot of peddling to get it off my hands,but I'm glad I left some. Turns out, Veralia doesn't know a cow from a cat when it comes to drugs, so when I show her my stuff she just says, "I don't know. Just give me something to... stop it." Her face twitches like she's going to collapse into tears, but she holds back.

Her ignorance doesn't matter anyway, because I was partially lying about the effects and the types of drugs anyway. I dope her up as she asks. The drugs take her mind to another world, while I take her body. She moans and pushes me away weakly, but she barely knows what's going on, and she sure won't remember any of this. I strip off her clothes and pound her. I finger her, stick my dick in her slit and her mouth, and rub it against her thighs, pussy and then her asshole before fucking that too. I roughly grope her breasts, then use her vag to finish, shoving my dick in harder and harder, faster and faster, until she wimpers a little even in her drugged state.

Once I get off, she just lays on my living room carpet by the coffee table, almost completely out of it. I think I'll relax for a while before redressing her, but upon having another look at her perky pair of tits and tight pussy soaked with my semen, I decide I'll have a second helping.

I turn her over and splay her legs before me again, completely exposing her genitals to my salacious gaze. I rub her privates, and roughly violate her asshole with two and then three of my fingers. I push my penis inside her body again. She moans sleepily and her hands reach up to swat around above her as I continue raping her- sometimes anally, sometimes vaginally. Her vision is blurry, I know, so she can hardly see me. Veralia's confused, and I feel her thighs pressing up against my hands as she makes makes feeble attempts to close her legs. I come all over her genitalia and asshole.

I wipe her up and put her clothes back on. I finish packing as I was before she came, hop on my scooter, and leave town. Buzzing down the roads to the north, cool wind blowing at my hair and jacket, cargo over my shoulders- I must say I've never felt this free in my life. I've done just as I've pleased, and now I have thousands of buckaroos in cash, gold, and valuables, and a new life of ahead. Life has finally gone my way.

I'm living my own dream as my own man.

MAMA CAT AND THE CRAZY IDEA

In Which Mama Cat Decides to Commit A Revolutionary Act of Theatre for All to See.

“I've been reading Common Sense by Thomas Paine. So men say that I'm intense or I'm insane. You want a revolution? I want a revelation So listen to my declaration: "We hold these truths to be self-evident That all men are created equal" And when I meet Thomas Jefferson, I'm ‘a compel him to include women in the sequel! (Work!)” -- Hamilton, The Schuyler Sisters

You’ve got to understand, darlings, I just got passed over for the one huge leading-lady role I have been longing for -- nay, READY FOR -- lo these many years, and I am in A Mood. 

You should also know that I like to watch the movie, “1776,” every year on this date – most years, anyway – and it rather gets to me. Partly, because it’s just really good, and it seems to become more timely each year. Partly, because I have always wanted to do the show, but I’m neither a Martha Jefferson nor an Abigail Adams. 

I’m John Adams.

These are troubled times, my loves, you don’t need me to tell you that. And I for one am feeling the patriotic urge, the call to action, more and more each day; personally and professionally. I am an unlikely candidate to run for office or reinforce barricades, come to that. But there is one thing I can do that might have an impact in some tiny corner: I can sing the shit out of that John Adams music, like it was written for me; and I can act it, too. (So is that one thing? Or two?)

Like many girls and women for many years, I have been wanting to do the show and asking why? Why not? There is precedent: https://www.mtishows.com/news/all-female-cast-of-1776-revisited.

I began to speculate on the Social, just to get it out of my system. Perhaps not surprisingly, I have since had friends, acquaintances, and women members of the theatre community nationwide, who I do not even know IRL, coming out of the metaphorical woodwork in support – many of them volunteering to play certain roles! I have touched a nerve, seemingly. I have at least two Jeffersons now, and at least one of them has asked to be considered for another Founder as well; as if to anticipate that there are going to be an awful lot of women who are into this. And they’re pros, cats & kittens. I have professional colleagues, both the onstage variety and the offstage variety, coming forward to offer their services. For a production that does not yet exist, at a venue we do not have, on a budget that is not extant.

So today I declare this:

When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for artists to conceive and mount their own stuff just to get it on the stage already;

And when in the course of the run-up to the 2020 elections we find some really strong women rising up to declare themselves, and to prove themselves electable;

And when in the course of still trying to prove, after 243 years, that all Persons are created Equal and Free and some of them are inexplicably endowed with theatre chops; I will stand up in my own little corner and begin to write my business plan.

In the past several years I have met, worked with, and seen work done by, women directors, actors, dancers, stage managers, lighting designers, sound designers, stage technicians of all varieties, music directors, pit musicians, casting directors, agents, and independent producers. Many of them, truly and amazingly good. All of them, my colleagues at some level or to some extent, even at the vaguest and most tenuous association. And while I have huge love for all my cis-men in the business, I beg their understanding that this is absolutely NOT a fuck-you to them. It is a Thingy we wish to do. We welcome your ticket money, and your support for our seemingly foolhardy mission. To the men in drag who have done Auntie Mame, the Golden Girls, or whatever expresses your art and craft best, we likewise have huge love for you, and this is absolutely NOT a fuck-you to you, either.

This is not a fuck-you to anyone. It is a blatant act of theatre. With joy and groove and professionalism.

Perhaps it’s a response to, a Yes-And for, that moment when we saw Ali Stroker make history as the first actor in a wheelchair to win a Tony Award. Maybe I’m feeling personally reactionary in the wake of a disappointment that gut-punched me a few days ago. Or maybe I’ve actually completely taken leave of my senses since that awesome break I told you I had in May (yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that, it’s a great story). Or maybe MamaCat is just really vain and she can’t tell because she has the temerity to use the third person in reference to herself in her blog. Whatevah. 

But I make the case that we can, and perhaps should, have ourselves a production of #AllFemale1776In2020, with every person on the stage, in the pit, in the booth, on headset; every man Jack of us, women. Trans sisters welcome.

Oh, there will be negativity. There will be disbelief and anger. Probably haters too. And as I have inadvertently gathered almost an entire cast already, I see that the flaming arrogance of the thing is that I will no doubt be talking Creative Control or directing it myself or some equally unlikely scenario. And wouldn’t that be just like John Adams? If you’re a woman who has directed this before and would be willing to entertain my Ladies’ Volunteer Army of Talent, reach out. 

But remember how I was telling you about my friend Shannon? And how I sleep on her & her husband’s couch when in the City? We started tossing this idea around a while back. How I’d love to take a crack at Adams & she’d be the perfect Ben Franklin… and there IS precedent. The thing CAN be done.

So, we may be talking some little black box somewhere with one piano and a staged reading. Or maybe some kindly theatrical company with whom myself or Ms. Haddock have worked will offer a legit slot in a season. I don’t think you’d have to be a woman to be the Artistic Director who takes a chance on us. Or perhaps I risk defeat entirely. But today, on Independence Day, I say this thing: I want to play John Adams, and I have almost everyone you need, including Ben Franklin, the Courier, and others (a potential Lee or Rutledge who will knock yer eyes out whichever role she does), and we need to do this thing. #AllFemale1776In2020.

What if you were to inadvertently STEAL this idea? And there were TWO OR MORE productions of an #AllFemale1776In2020 springing to life? What if you just up and STEAL THIS IDEA, O my sisters??😉👍🎭✌💙

Happy Independence Day, darlings.

FMA Brotherhood: Episodes 17-18

FMA Brotherhood Episode 17: "Cold Flame"

Ross, accused of Hughes' assassination, is placed under military police custody and interrogated by Douglas. After reading a newspaper article about Ross's detention, Barry the Chopper leaves the safe house and launches a solo raid on the jail. Barry releases Ross from jail as well as Ling who promises to help them both. Barry tells Ross that she needs to leave Central immediately or risk being killed. Edward and Alphonse run into the trio, and Barry holds the brothers off to allow Ross time to escape. Ross then runs into Mustang, who seemingly kills her in with a massive fireball. Edward accosts Mustang after seeing a charred body, but Mustang coldly reminds Edward of his place as a soldier of the state military. Later, Armstrong shows up and declares that Edward should return to Resembool to have his automail arm fixed, dragging the confused Edward away.

We open with Ross' interrogation. She apparently uses the same caliber as the bullet that killed Hughes, and conveniently, she fired one shortly before, while rescuing the Elrics at the Fifth Laboratory. That's sort of a clever detail, but it's so specific I feel it loops back around to contrived. There's no way the villains could have planned this all out.

DOUGLAS: I'd like to say it was a good shot, but it was at point-blank range. Close enough that even a woman could have done it.

Truly, this show is God's gift to feminism. (This is especially absurd when Riza is supposedly renowned for her sniping abilities.)

Douglas says there were witnesses seeing her leave the site of Hughes' murder, so Envy was smart enough to turn back, unless they made this up completely. Ross' alibi is apparently that she was at her parents' house that day, which of course leaves her with no acceptable corroborating witnesses.

Armstrong is still bandaged from his wound battling Dolcetto. That's a nice detail.

Brosh says he corroborated Ross' story, but he was ignored. Seems like a dumb move on Bradley's part. Say he was colluding with her and kill him too! Weren't they both working under Hughes? It should be easy to cook up a motive for both of them.

Winry notes that Al's armor has scratches. Al shrugs it off, but I'd be pretty concerned about that. Armor doesn't heal, and Ed's stated that using alchemy to repair him is risky.

Ed is sulking. For once we actually get a scene with comparable length of pauses as OG, and unsurprisingly it's effective.

Winry says she's scared they'll die and wishes they'd give up on trying to get their bodies back. Because this is Brotherhood and not OG, this goes nowhere and is instead followed by some silly ship-teasing from Al.

...And then we get more time with our lulzy serial killer. Falman not only turns his back on him but leans down to get the newspaper while, I again feel the need to point out, Barry is totally unrestrained, and Barry just sits there because he's such a nice serial killer.

Ed sees Ross has been found as the culprit and immediately rushes to Mustang's office. Al wants to tell Winry, and Ed decides they can tell her later, because girls don't get to be in the loop.

We cut to Ling in jail. He's apparently 15, so they're totally down with imprisoning children. I'm surprised he doesn't say he's a prince.

Barry shows up to jailbreak Ross and suddenly guns don't work on him because what is consistency. Also THEY GAVE HIM WEAPONS because they're very trusting of serial killers, apparently. But it's okay, they told Barry not to kill anyone so he doesn't, because serial killers are such nice and honorable people.

Cartoon when the guards run from Barry.

Barry frees Ling when he hears he's from Xing. I don't know why, I guess it's explained later.

Cartoon when Ross objects to having to escape with a lecherous serial killer. So funny!

And urgh Barry crushes on her when she displays "spunk". Urrrggghhhhh

Ross' party runs into the Elrics, but Barry tells her to run into another alley where she encounters… Mustang! He charbroils her. Ed is horrified and has a falling-out with him.

The doctor identifies the body as Ross from dental records… then says what a shame it is such beauty was ruined, because he's a creep. Why, show.

We cut to the homunculi and discover the plan was apparently for him to… not kill her? What was the plan, then? They don't even seem to be in agreement, because Envy thinks this was a good outcome.

Then Armstrong shows up and drags Ed to Resembool under Mustang's orders. My first thought is Envy, but no, that would be too competent. Afterwards, Mustang ominously muses that everyone is out of the way.

Envy returns with intel. Why is he suddenly good at infiltration? Why does he need to infiltrate at all when, again, they run the government and can interrogate anyone they want?

But wow! What a shocking plot twist! Maybe I was wrong about Brotherhood after all! Major characters are getting killed! Mustang is a flawed, morally gray character! What are going to be the consequences of this? It's so exciting! All Brotherhood has to do now is not screw this up!

FMA Brotherhood Episode 18: "The Arrogant Palm of a Small Human"

Edward and Armstrong arrive in Resembool where they meet Heymans Breda, who takes them to the Xerxes ruins. Once there, they discover that Ross is still alive, and that Mustang faked her death in order to draw out those responsible for Hughes' murder. After the brief reunion, Ross decides to hide out in Xing with Fu, but promises to return if she is ever needed. After Ross' departure, Edward explores the ruins, finding a damaged transmutation circle. He also encounters a group of Ishbalan refugees, who reveal that it was Scar who killed Winry's parents while they gave medical aid to the Ishbalan during the civil war. Meanwhile, Barry's human body, which is now nothing more than a crazed animal, attacks Falman and Barry back in Central. However, with the assistance of Jean Havoc and the sniper Hawkeye, they manage to subdue Barry's body. Suddenly, Hawkeye is attacked by Gluttony.

So of course it screws it up.

Back at Central Winry and Al whine about how they're being kept from the plot. Ling shows up to explain everything and there is comedy as they freak out at someone who just tried to kill them sneaking into their home. Hilarious.

Everyone wears cloaks in the desert, which is a nice detail.

We learn the story of the Eastern/Western Sage. It's an interesting concept, but the phrasing is very weird. I get the impression the idea is supposed to be that they're the same guy whose teachings spread in both directions, but the way it's phrased – that this one guy specifically traveled in a direction – makes it sound like he went to one country and then doubled back to the other one.

In the Mystery Reveal Flashback, Mustang panics and hangs up when Barry calls his office, and continues it from the outside phone booth. Again, I have to wonder just what level their tapping technology is at. Even if they're only tapping Mustang's own phone, what we see of the call is extremely suspicious, and Barry is easily identifiable by his voice.

Barry corroborates Ross' innocence, because serial killers are such nice people?

Then Mustang makes a fake body and NO. NO. THIS IS STUPID. THE PREMISE OF THE STORY IS THAT HUMAN TRANSMUTATION IS IMPOSSIBLE. Okay, so it's fine as long as you're not trying to create life? Except in every resurrection attempt we see, the bodies themselves are put together wrong! If it's so easy to make a fake body, then why can't the Elrics heal themselves with normal alchemy? Why can't Ed just make a fake body and bind Al's soul to that? Why is human transmutation such a big deal in the first place? This entire twist is the author screaming SCREW YOU FOR THINKING MY MAGIC SYSTEM MAKES SENSE. There is no way the viewer could have predicted this. It is stupid and contrived on so many levels.

Breda explicitly brings up the dental records. Mustang says he's handled it but does not say how because that's how you write a mystery right?

We then redo the confrontation scene and see that Mustang did in fact make a perfectly intact body to start with, then charbroiled it in an explosion that could be seen from across the block but which somehow left both of them unharmed because convection doesn't exist.

ALSO

MUSTANG IS IN DIFFERENT POSITIONS IN EACH EPISODE

THIS WAS NOT FORESHADOWED, THIS IS CHEATING

Ling apparently told Fu to escort Ross to Xing. Why…? He has no reason to get involved in any of this.

Ed actually says Mustang was right for not telling him, because Ed wouldn't have believed him. No, Ed, Mustang was being a dick.

We cut back to Ling and learn he only helped to learn the secret of soul-binding. Barry told him he doesn't know so he should ask Al. Didn't we just have a plotline about this?

Back to Ed, who waffles about how mysterious and dangerous the plot is becoming but he's going to be DETERMINED and protect people. This was not necessary.

Ross gets put on a bus and offers to come back if she's needed. This will not happen until the finale.

Fu says Xing is "tolerant of others". Uh, sure. It also has an abundance of food and everything is great. You know, this sure does trivialize this plot about the evils of government when there's a perfect utopia just next door.

We discover that Mustang's phone calls to his sweetheart are actually coded messages to his team. They are not terribly subtle. Like, they're cocking guns while in earshot. If anyone's tapping those calls, they should know he's up to something.

Then there's some convoluted plot about Barry's original body coming after him because this plot definitely needed more actors in it.

Havoc does not land a single shot on a dude in the same room as him despite going through an entire clip.

Barry's body is somehow strong enough to rip the armor's arm off. He continues to dodge bullets until Riza snipes him. I guess the show has decided there is going to be exactly one character who can use guns properly.

Why did they leave Ed alone if they knew Ishbalans were here?

But it's okay because the Ishbalans recognize he's One of The Good Ones, because otherwise dynamics of privilege and oppression might negatively affect our heroes and we can't have that. No, all you need to do is talk loudly about it while never depicting how it actually looks in real life and you can just rake in the Woke Points.

Seriously, it's so textbook. They ~realize not all Amestrians are bad~ because this kid knew one good Amestrian. Never mind that Winry's parents were obvious exceptions and they have very good reason to fear Amestrians when their whole culture worships the military. Everything revolves around the hero.

We learn Winry's parents were killed by Scar. We will later learn that this was an accident that had nothing to do with the actual political situation, because in Brotherhood people are not allowed to make real mistakes.

Barry wants to kill his own body because…?

We see that Barry's body is rotting. So how is it tearing armor apart and dodging bullets?

We end with Gluttony attacking Riza.

Conclusion

This is the first nail in the coffin. Here we begin the pattern of storytelling that will characterize Brotherhood's entire plot: SHOCKING TWIST lol j/k everything's fine. I despise this. It shows brazen contempt for the audience, treating them like goldfish who won't keep watching if you can't give them a constant adrenaline high, while lacking the courage to commit to anything truly daring. It doesn't even work after the first few times! Once you establish you don't have the guts to actually kill anyone, we no longer care. Even if you eventually do decide this time it's for real, our emotional reaction will be completely shot and we'll never be certain if you're going to undo it at a moment's notice. It's nothing but a cheap, pathetic trick, the standby of mediocre authors having to crank out a chapter a month while desperately staving off cancellation.

And okay, maybe that would still be enjoyable to me, maybe, if I actually liked the characters involved. But no. Ed gets shoved into a bland, expository B-plot and Al doesn't even get that. Instead we have to watch MUSTANG THE MOST SPECIALEST be very special and important. I signed up for this show because I liked the protagonists. Why are you making me watch a show that's no longer about them? That's really it, isn't it – this is going back on everything the series hooked the audience with originally (in the manga, at least). Ed is a chump, alchemy is magic, the villains are incompetent. I don't see how you could still be invested at this point if you were at all interested in the opening.

Token good point: I do like the Xerxes bits, because I'm a weirdo who cares about silly things like plot and characters. They're good exposition that effectively build the mystery, and some good character moments too. I hate what the answers turn out to be, but as a setup it's perfectly fine.

Like with episode 15, I'd be well within my rights to nope out at this point. But how could I do that, knowing the show has even more rope to hang itself with? Let's see where this travesty ends!

Catholicism vs Protestantism, a personal re-evaluation

I write this with the full knowledge that I am likely to piss off both sides.  Catholics will say “Umm, we don’t need your approval, and to think we care about your opinion is arrogance.”  People from both sides will also object to the idea that there might be genuine believers in the other camp.  I don’t care. I’ve had more discussions with Catholics since coming to Tumblr than I have since college and I feel as if my views are changing, and I’m writing this mostly for myself, with the secondary benefit that perhaps it might make other people think.  Writing things out helps me organize my thoughts.  I genuinely do believe understanding is best come about through dialogue and discussion.  Weak arguments lose out when confronted by stronger ones, and new insights are gained. “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”  Even if this process does produce sparks.

               I must lead out by making it clear that I am not, in any way, in favor of ecumenicalism or universalism.  The truth is the truth, and anything contrary to it is, by definition, false.  Still, I think we need to look at the points at where we differ and determine how important those differences are.

               Full disclosure: I grew up protestant, with a Baptist theology, and I’ve held to that throughout my life.  I knew plenty of catholics growing up, due to a nearby church and my area having the greatest population of Chaldeans in the country.  (Catholic arabs)  At risk of sounding racist, from my childhood perspective, they were almost all—so far as I ever knew—incredibly crass, clannish and materialistic, and this greatly colored my views on Catholicism growing up.  My incomprehension of all the “bizarre” rituals I saw taking place in the catholic churches didn’t help either.  And I did observe some masses during this time.  Moving forward, this view only grew more fixed, the more I learned about theology and catholic beliefs and practices.  Their view on the transubstantiation of the host, the “necromancy” of seeking power through dead people, their elevation of a man to God’s infallible mouthpiece when anyone who knows history should know better, their belief in salvation through works, infant baptism, worship of Mary, their elevation of tradition to the level of scripture in the same fashion of the Pharisees…  Eventually my position became, “there might be genuine believers within Catholicism, but it will be in spite of it, not because of it.”

               That was my position for decades, and I had little reason to change it with few, if any, interactions with catholics that might alter my view.  To be honest, I still believe those things.  I believe they are doctrinally and logically incorrect.  But my view of the practitioners have changed. Discussions with such people on tumblr as @tradfems made me reexamine my position (which makes TF’s blocking of me all the more sad, since I genuinely liked and respected her), and I remembered something one of my pastors taught me.

               There are three expanding circles by which the Christian should categorize their beliefs.  First is the “core.”  These are those beliefs and positions without which you cannot be a Christian at all. If you deny the deity, sacrifice, sufficiency of Christ, then you’re not a Christian.  If you deny the authority of Scripture, you cannot be a Christian. The sinfulness of mankind and the need for forgiveness…etc.  These are relatively few things.  Perhaps the Apostle’s Creed sums it up best:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth;

And in Jesus Christ his only Son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; the third day he rose from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

Greater nuances were added to exclude later heresies as these basic truths were twisted and definitions manipulated, but bottom line is, if you deny any of these, you aren’t a Christian.

               The next, bigger circle are “convictions.”  These are beliefs and practices that you firmly hold to be biblically and doctrinally correct, but which believing in, doesn’t make you any less saved.  These are often the items that cause divisions between denominations in the protestant tradition.  Infant baptism/covenant theology of the Reformed position, speaking in tongues, etc of the Charismatics...  We might disagree strongly with such beliefs and practices, while still acknowledging that those who hold them are Christians.  For instance, I strongly believe that the belief in speaking in tongues and the demonstrations of the Holy Spirit as seen in the Pentecostal denominations are incorrect, both doctrinally and logically.  Yet my daughter is named after my best friend from high school who was part of one of the godliest families I ever knew, and they held to this tradition.  I disagreed with them, debated with them, but never doubted their salvation.

               The final, most peripheral circle, mentioned here for the sake of completeness is “preferences.”  These are things such as worship style, preaching style, etc.  All those things we like and make us comfortable, but which have no bearing on doctrine.

               So the question in regards to the differences between Catholic and Protestant traditions is, where do these differences lie?  I struggle to find any disagreement landing in the “core” category.  At least officially.  Obviously there will be individuals that vary in their understandings of those positions, etc, but officially, the core of what defines a believer remains the same in both. All our differences fall into the “convictions” category, where we are wildly opposed.  At this juncture, I doubt if my theological position on any of these differences will change.  I truly believe the Catholic positions are wrong.  But I can no longer hold what I now feel was an elitist view of them without being hypocritical.  Are all Catholics saved?  Of course not!  But anyone who’s been in Protestant churches for any length of time has to admit the same is true in our house.  Many will face the great white throne of judgment from both traditions, claiming to have known Christ, only to be told he never knew them.

               For those from both our houses who make it to Heaven at last, I think we will all be surprised to learn we each clung to some heresy or another in the “convictions” category.  We will face Christ and hear him say, “you really believed that?”  Then, with an exasperated roll of his eyes, and perhaps a swat to the back of head for our foolishness he will welcome us home.

               So in sum, I might still not believe in Catholic doctrine, but I feel a new sense of hope and fellowship with them.  The more I’ve learned of church in general over the years, the more I realize we all have problems in our own homes.  To deny this harms us all, and allows falsehood and hypocrisy to run free.  But in a like manner, to ignore the possibility of true brothers and sisters existing in another tradition, be it Charismatic or Catholic, is just as divisive and damaging, and denies the power and scope of the Holy Spirit, which is bigger than our prejudices and minds can comprehend.  So, from one Protestant woman to my brothers and sisters in Christ within the Catholic Church, I say, while I may disagree with your views, I apologize for my denial of your existence, and I look forward to sharing the wedding banquet in Heaven with you, when all disagreements will be wiped away, and all our conceits and presumptions are burned away in the light of God’s great plan.

Bombdiggity Brunets 3

Steve's caring nature gets him ambushed and of course Jonathan is the one to find and try to help the poor boy... Lowkey Stonathan. Enjoy!

A/N: I’m not sure if anyone on tumblr reads this but, if you do, sorry for the slight delay, I didn’t want to post a tiny chapter while i was busy! There are subtle panic attacks and general tension in this chapter, please don’t read if you’re not comfortable! <3

Steve wakes with a scream.

It's not a vocal scream that alerts anyone else he's currently terrified out of his mind, no, because that would disturb them and he doesn't want to be a bother, but it's a silent, internal scream that causes his thoughts to spiral into pessimism, and he's rolling out of bed before he can really think about what's happening, quietly landing on his hands and ankles to avoid making a sound.

And he's out of the room within a few seconds, downstairs within one minute, and leaving the house in another.

With no time in his plan for shoes or a jacket, he simply takes as deep a breath as he can and places one foot on the road, wincing as the cigarette burn flares up again, and starts to run.

He keeps slamming his eyes shut intermittently, wanting to rid himself of any pain or weakness by the time he gets back to his house. He tries to pretend that everything is fine and this is just another basketball escapade and he isn't now scared out of his mind most of the time. He doesn't entirely convince himself to be free of panic but he forces himself to pretend, knowing his parents won't allow for a ruined reputation.

Strangely, the front door is open.

"Father?" Steve calls as he walks in, draping he coat he'd hung up at some point around his shoulders to make himself look presentable.

"Kitchen!" his mother calls, so he wipes his feet out of habit and walks to their kitchen.

"You look terrible, where have you been?" his mother asks, her eyes wide.

"Probably playing basketball again," his father scoffs.

Steve nods, attempting to suppress the flashes of those men. His mother smiles and shakes her head at him, obviously assuming it was just another rough practice after which he'd gone to a mate's house and lost track of the time; it's not like they could know the only real friends he has wouldn't touch a basketball to save their life.

"Go get cleaned up, I have a meeting we need to attend."

Steve stops for a second. "You want me to come?"

His father sends him a strained smile. "As my only son, you are likely to inherit my role in the company as long as the board deems you fit to do so."

His mother beams. "So go freshen up and then you boys can have some pie before leaving!"

Steve barely even comprehends that he's been promised pie because he's too busy wondering how he's supposed to pretend he's not constantly losing his mind in front of so many people - people that have the power to shape his future in any way they please.

Nevertheless, he takes a painful shower, washing the dried blood off his skin, regretting trying to claw his skin off when he sees the faint scratches, and trying his best not to agitate the bruises or burns. Sighing, he realised he'll have to keep a jacket on at all times until the marks of his nails fade.

As for his face... Well, people are quick to assume he's gotten into a fight anyway; that shouldn't be a problem.

It's a challenge and a half to make himself look as cocky as the world expects himself to be but he does it, his jeans, shirt, and jacket complementing one another and his hair styled into magazine-worthy perfection.

His fingers itch to grab the nail bat hidden under his bed but he resists the temptation and, instead, slips on the small necklace Dustin had given him - one half of the silhouette of a man with a quiff. It's hidden under his shirt so nobody can see the chain but it comforts him to know it's there, a comfort he greatly needs if he's to play the part of the Steve Harrington that died as soon as he walked into that alley.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbles when his mother offers him the pie. To avoid making her suspicious, he adds, "we had heaps to eat after the practice, I'm still full."

He's lying, of course he is. He just can't bear the idea of eating after the taste of intoxicants and arrogance in his mouth because there's no way he'd stomach it and there's no way he's risking throwing up in front of his parents.

Luckily, his father is too busy eating and his mother doesn't question him, only smiles and says, "Oh, okay. I'll leave it in the fridge then."

There's no more to be said by anyone - and he almost misses the constant buzz of life at the Byers' house - until they get in the car and his father suddenly announces he doesn't feel so good.

Naturally, Steve and his mother both panic.

His mother panics because she loves his father and she's worried for his health, probably also wondering if it was her pie that caused it, but Steve panics because he doesn't want to face his father's colleagues alone and he wishes he'd eaten that pie now.

As soon as his mother shepherds his father back inside, he feels the guilt creeping at his heart. He's so stupid, he tells himself, not thinking of his father's health first, and follows his parents inside, hoping neither of them picks up on his internal struggle to stay calm.

His father sits on the couch, looking greener than their dying bamboo plant, and shakes his head. "Son, you're going to have to go for me."

"What?"

His father nods seriously. "It doesn't look good if neither of us goes."

His mother sighs. "Be careful driving."

And that's that. Because apparently, neither of them can sense the utter terror running in his blood as he swallows and nods before taking the car keys and trying not to grimace. So he swallows his anxiety and shakes his head, climbing into the car as if it's an active volcano and starting the engine as if he's waking up a Demogorgon. His hands are clammy as he grips the wheel but he has no choice, knowing his parents will be watching from the window in case he backs down.

And so he breathes.

And breathes.

And breathes.

He just breathes because there's nothing else to do when he's trying so hard not to simply jump out of the car and run as far as his legs will go before collapsing.

After a small eternity of breathing, he twists the key and puts his foot down, starting to drive. It takes him double the usual time to successfully pull out and join the traffic and he can feel the tension rushing through his blood as fluidly as the car tyres on the road.

Somehow, nothing goes wrong until he gets to the office where his father usually holds his meetings, but then everything goes wrong.

He sees the stiff men in business suits that are probably more expensive than anything he owns - at least, in terms of money - and he sees the way they're carrying themselves like predators. That's not, however, what throws him off. The only that manages to hinder his confidence is one small detail he notices about one of the men: there's an awfully familiar ring on his finger.

And Steve abruptly feels his stomach twist and his heart skip a beat because he cannot accept the possibility of having to spend hours with a man whose ring had pierced his skin in an attempt to subdue him, he just cannot. Even breathing is a chore as his hands grip the steering wheel with all their strength and he attempts to calm his panic down but it doesn't work and suddenly his mind is whirling and his brain is spinning and the world outside seems to be blurring and there's nowhere for him to go inside the metal of the car so he needs to get out but he can't find the door handle and his fingers are uselessly fumbling around so he's stuck and vulnerable and they're going to get him again, they're going to get him again, they're going to get him again, they're going to g-

"-eve, kid, come on, please!"

He groans, blinking his eyes open and realising he'd passed out some point.

"Oh, thank- Steve, can you hear me?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm going deaf just because I keep blacking out?" He wonders out loud, his contemplation doubling as an affirmation.

He hears a strained laugh, then blinks again, surprised to see Chief Hopper standing above him. Well, kneeling above him... Kneeling beside him, technically, since he's lying on the grass.

"The meeting-"

"Isn't as important as you," Hopper interrupts, and Steve is once again filled with confusion.

"I'm s-"

"Don't even think about apologising to me, kid."

"Yes, sir," Steve mumbles on autopilot.

Hopper's eyes widen and he opens his mouth only to change his mind and change his head, then change his mind again and cough. "You don't, uh, you can call me 'Hopper' I guess?"

Steve, confused beyond measure, mumbles another slurred 'yessir' before waking up to a mouthful of hairspray. Or rather, hairsprayed curls.

He figures he must have blacked out again at some point but he can't remember and he has bigger things to worry about so he attempts to fool his mind into thinking he doesn't really care about gaps in his mental timeline.

He coughs and Dustin jumps up before grinning in excitement. "I knew my magic touch could wake you up!"

Steve smiles as best as he can, thanking whatever lucky stars - or government mistakes - had brought Dustin into his life and ruffles the younger boy's hair, knowing it'll annoy him. "Thanks, Dusty."

"Steve?" He hears someone ask and turns to see Hopper at the door.

He's only just opened his mouth to... to try and say something, anything... when Hopper shakes his head. "Why did you go barefoot?"

Steve baulks at the question, having expected many things, this not being one of them. Thankfully, he's saved from answering when Dustin stands in front of him with his hands on his hips. "Can we get him some water first?"

An entire glass of water that may as well have been a vase because it takes him half an eternity to drink under the intense gaze of a worried Dustin later, he's 'allowed' to answer questions.

"I didn't have shoes," Steve mumbles.

"I know what barefoot means, kid." Hopper sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "But why didn't you take any shoes?"

"I..." Steve shrugs, fighting away the image of his discarded shoe lying in a puddle because the last thing he wants to do is worry the Dustin who's staring at him with wide eyes. "I didn't want to go with only one shoe, that'd be stupid."

Just like he'd thought, Dustin laughs. He immediately coughs to try and hide it but the amusement is there nonetheless.

"Dustin, come on, everyone is looking for you, there's some creature with three heads attacking your team," Jonathan tells the younger of the 'hair brothers', hoping that's enough to convince him.

"See you, Steve-o!" Dustin smiles and wraps the teen in a quick embrace before darting off to save his team from a plastic monster.

"Steve?" Hopper asks, and his question is a given, considering Steve's newly bandaged feet.

"I had to get back."

Jonathan and Hopper both notice how he pointedly avoids meeting their gazes so Jonathan perches on the couch beside him and Hopper kneels in front of them with a smile.

"What was the rush? The meeting?"

Steve nods, swallowing. "Father... H- he said to always... Said to always be back before the str-streetlights turn o- off."

He doesn't notice his shivering until Jonathan wraps a blanket around his shaking shoulders.

Hopper shuts his eyes for a moment. "Why wasn't your d- father with you?"

But Steve is too far deep in his memories of racing with streetlights and climbing through windows to pay any attention. As usual, his subconscious is a mess and he finds himself seeing the man's casual expression through the window of his father's car once again, the ring glinting in his eyes and the smell of metal and blood and petrichor swirling like ghosts in his brain.

"Breathe Steve, breathe!" he hears someone yell as if through layers of oil and he shakes his head because that's so stupid, why wouldn't he be breathing and what kind of idiot forgets to breathe when everyone does it every day?

And then someone is pushing his head forwards and he opens his mouths and figures that he might, in fact, be the one who forgotten to breathe. He gasps, taking in as much air as possible and slamming his eyes shut as he exhales, trying to expel the tension in his muscles and the panic in his head.

But he can't dismiss the thought that he must be so weak, so awfully weak, to have fallen prey to such a petty detail - a ring - and missed a potentially life-changing meeting, not to mention he can't stop wondering why he'd forgotten to breathe because it's not like someone had taken away his ability to think but, really, it is a bit like that.

So it dawns on him with a jolt that he hasn't been thinking - not really - because he has but he's been thinking all the wrong things and not thinking about everything that requires his attention and that's not too different from not thinking at all. He groans, letting his head fall into his hands and screwing his eyes so hard he can see patterns that don't exist outside but he can't avoid the crushing realisation that he doesn't have control of his thoughts anymore, that he's grappling to be in charge of something much bigger than he can handle, that, no matter what he does, he simply isn't strong enough to overcome the relentless replays of the alleyway.

"You're going to get better."

Even with the accusatory voice in his head telling him he may as well give up, Steve can find a small solace in those softly whispered five words.

"Promise?" he can't help the quiet question escaping his lips and he half expects a scornful laugh or silence.

"I swear by everything I love," Jonathan promises and Steve smiles because he can now identify who's talking, which means he's more alert than before and that means progress of some sort.

"I promise you, kid, we're not letting you go through this alone."

This time, it's Hopper. He doesn't add a conditional and he doesn't make it seem like a chore and Steve's heart smiles at the thought of someone caring so much about him.

"Tha..." his throat betrays him by being too dry, too choked, too tight to let him answer properly.

Neither Jonathan nor Hopper care.

"I think you need some fresh clothes," Jonathan tells him, "and I have some stuff that's too big for me so it'll probably fit you."

Steve nods with a small smile on his face and tries to stand, his left ankle immediately screaming at him and sending pulses of pain up his entire leg.

He gasps and has to force himself not to panic as Hopper and Jonathan surge forwards to catch him, stopping him from getting far too intimate with the floor once again.

"It's okay, we've got you," Jonathan assures him kindly.

And he's not lying.

Jonathan is no more than a metre away at any given time for the next however long it takes Steve to shower and change clothes - he might not be panicking anymore but he still can't focus enough to catalogue the passing of time.

Steve would love to say he can remember Jonathan being there with him but he can't, he just knows the other boy was there. He doesn't even remember what the soap looked like or what colour the towel was because it's like he's peering through a foggy glass into his own life and he can't make anything out even though he's doing it all and he's never been so alienated from his own self.

"What do you want to eat?" Jonathan asks eventually.

Steve frowns. "I'm not..."

"Steve, you haven't eaten for more than twenty four hours." Jonathan interrupts. "Eating something isn't really an option."

He can't decide between smiling at the thought of Jonathan paying enough attention to care and scowling at the thought of having to actually try and eat something because that just seems impossible.

"I have an idea."

"First time for everything," Steve mutters without thinking, immediately blinking in shock and turning to the other brunet with an apologetic look only to find Jonathan grinning widely, almost proudly.

"You any good at baking?"

"Who?"

"Didn't take you for a cannibal, Harrington." Jonathan winks.

Steve gapes; he's never seen Jonathan wink before.

"Too far?" Jonathan asks sheepishly, rubbing his neck, and Steve is shaking his head before he can second guess himself because, unless he's majorly wrong, Jonathan had just done something totally out of the norm just to make him feel a little better and that's something he appreciates more than he can articulate.

"N- No..." Steve manages after a miniature eternity.

Jonathan smiles. "I think we have some baking ingredients left over from Will's school project."

"Okay?"

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. "Catch up, airhead." he gently nudges Steve's arm, clarifying: "We're going to try our hands at baking."

"Why?" the one word is all Steve can get out, too confused to even worry. Which, when he thinks about it a second later, was probably Jonathan's aim, or, at least, something similar to his aim.

The eldest Byers brother smiles softly, sadly, slowly. "Mom says it's a good way to take your mind off things."

Steve clenches his fists. "Don't you... Don't you have study- uh, isn't there a test?"

"You're crazy if you think I care more about grades than I care about you."

Nothing, not even the wholly uncharacteristic winking, could have prepared him for something as genuine as that answer.

The other teenager seems to figure out his muddled thoughts before Steve himself can because Jonathan says, "And, no, I haven't told anyone."

Nodding, Steve tries to understand what motives Jonathan could possibly have for helping him to such an extent but he comes up blank, blank other than the conclusion that he does in fact also care for the other boy in one way or another. Said care is probably the main reason why he agrees to be all but pulled back down the stairs and through the house, towards the kitchen.

By the time they've made it to the kitchen, Steve's decided he's clearly not dreaming but he might as well be since this whole thing seems surreal and much better than the nightmare of his thoughts.

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks!

Cost of Freedom (31/52)

Summary: In which the heist begins.

[CoF Full chapter list]

They block off the streets.

Kaito hadn’t thought exactly that they’d block off an entire street, not when KID heists had been so popular, but he supposes that because there’s technically a murder case with his name against suspect, and they want to ensure he doesn’t take any hostages.

Not that Kaito would ever be desperate enough to turn to hostage-taking. It’s messy, and frankly, he doesn’t want to rely on random strangers to help him find Pandora. Or… anyone really, which is why KID is a one-man show.

Shinichi, he’s left back with Hattori and Kazuha. The three of them looking over the more important murder scenes, while Kaito tries to divert the attention of those who are trying to set them up.

The blockade is a mixture of police vans and wooden signs. The signs are manned by two security guards. Two, because the police haven’t forgotten his track record of knocking people unconscious and stealing their identities.

Not even months in prison can make people forget that.

The blockades are a nuisance, but they’re still easy. He’s not too arrogant to forgo them completely, but KID is a phantom and if Kaito needs to get into a museum, then he’s perfectly capable of doing so.

The sky is black, an absence of stars in the night. The light of the waxing moon is shuttered behind clouds, releasing only the smallest hint of light, the city covered in dull shadows. It’s the street lamps, really, that will be a problem when trying to remain unseen.

Okay, Kaito thinks, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. It’s a deep brown, filters into the shadows better than pure black clothing ever could. Let’s do this.

Which way to go, though? The sound of police choppers above the museum, scouting out the rooftops for him, means that going above will be a bad idea. Too much lighting, and he can’t be arrogant while getting indoors.

They must be expecting him to come from the skies, flying in because of how utterly hopeless it is to come in from the streets. Except… they seem to have forgotten one important key fact.

Magician’s perform magic, and tonight, Kaito will disappear and reappear inside the museum. A good comeback for KID, although he’s not… entirely pleased with the mechanics of how his trick is going to work.

He’s brought a mask, which should help, but he still shudders as he pries open the manhole in the alleyway that’s 100m from the police blockades. The sewers wait below, an overpowering stench meeting his nose before he even reaches it.

Kaito winces, double checks that the backpack he’s bringing is properly sealed, before climbing down to the sewers below. If his information is correct, then there’s a walkway that will lead him the 700m to the manhole just outside the museum’s back entrance.

He tightens the mask he’s brought with him, pulls the straps tighter until it feels like he’s being pinched. Then, he loosens the strap slightly, so that it’s comfortable, but still effective in its use.

“Okay,” Kaito says, once he drops down onto the walkway. He clicks on a small torch, the light dull enough to see where he’s going without creating a bright beam of light, “time to get this show on the road.”

Ran paces.

Aoko watches with uncertainty racing in her mind, wondering whether she should comfort Ran by saying it’s okay, or stand back and let the girl stay in one piece. Comfort is something she needs, but right now, Aoko needs Ran to stay in one piece.

They are, after all, the backup plan that will ensure Kaito and Kudo will stay alive if guns are aimed on them. And as much as Aoko knows Kaito wants to be free, she will gladly throw him back in a prison cell.

But only if it comes to it. If there’s a way to get around it… then she’s going to ensure Kaito doesn’t get murder added to his sentence. Either way, that requires Ran to be strong and comfort takes away that need.

Aoko hopes Ran won’t hate her for that. Instead, she stands from her seat and offers the only comfort she can.

“Ran-chan,” Aoko says, and it’s quiet, just loud enough to pull the other girl’s attention from her own thoughts, “will you help Aoko tighten this?”

Ran turns, glances down as Aoko points at the vest they’ve been ordered to wear during the heist. The other girl flinches, but moves forwards, hands trembling as she tightens the edges, so that the vest is snug. It’s more of a reminder of what’s to come next, than a comfort, Aoko supposes.

“You’re so calm,” Ran says after a second, once she steps away. “I wish I could be, but I’m just so worried.”

Aoko glances in through the doors to the room where the diamond is being held. She bites into her cheek, wonders how Kaito expects to get past the guards without getting caught in the crossfire, before realising that this is Kaito, he has always been good at evading capture.

Except for the time he was caught, her mind supplies, rather unhelpfully, forcing a shudder to slither down her spine.

“It’s okay,” Aoko says, “Aoko’s been to heists before, she’s used to them now.”

Ran’s lips tighten, as she wraps her hands around her stomach, hugging herself with an anxiety that makes even Aoko feel nervous. From the way she turns her head, a sudden sharp movement, it’s clear to see that this isn’t quite what she means.

“I suppose,” Ran says finally, biting into her lip, “it’s just… they’re not usually this dangerous, are they?”

Aoko isn’t sure. There have been several heists where KID was left slightly injured, now that she thinks more on it. Especially his last, where shackles had dug into wrists, bruises had littered his skin where he’d fallen.

Still, as far as Aoko knows, there hadn’t been any guns.

“Not normally,” she agrees, “but they’re only a last resort.”

Ran pales, “don’t the police usually have to use every resort to try and catch KID?”

Aoko hums, turns her back on Ran so that the other girl can’t see the worried expression that she’s trying to hide. It’s Kaito’s decision, yes, but it’s also a stupid one – mainly because Ran’s right. The KID taskforce have had to use every trick up their sleeves to catch Kaito, and if they’ve got the clearance to add guns, then… then, they will.

She wonders whether her father will shoot.

Aoko wonders whether she’ll hate him if he does.

“They’ve had a hard time catching just Kaito,” Aoko says after a second, “with a detective on his side, they’ll have more time to plan.”

Not just one detective either – two. Both Kudo and Hattori. Aoko’s not sure whether Kaito will bring the detective’s in on much of his plan, but he would listen to their ideas, coming up with counters to whatever ideas they’d come up with to stop him.

“And anyway,” Aoko says, “KID’s pretty solitary, I doubt he’d let Kudo-kun show up and put his escape plan at risk.”

“Hey,” Kudo says, dragging Heiji’s attention from the file he’s looking at. He’s brought as many files as possible from the previous cases, whatever he can manage to convince Megure to take photocopies of, and is now sat catching up on the murders he’s looked into before, “look at this.”

The Tokyoite has been sat scanning over the crime scene for half an hour now, looking between the official crime scenes, the pictures Heiji’s taken himself, and the photographs that have been sent to him.

Heiji glances over, realises he can’t see well enough, and begrudgingly pulls himself out of his chair, stepping around the table to look at the pictures over Kudo’s shoulder. He asks, “what is it?”

Kudo points his fingers towards the photographs. The two crime scene photos are absent of Numabuchi’s corpse, while the sent message has the body still pinned up.

“Doesn’t the blood around where his shoulders would have been look a little wetter in the newer pictures?” He asks.

Weird. The Nakamori girl had pointed out the same thing.

“Yeah,” Heiji says, “what abou’ it?”

“Well,” Kudo says, and he leans closer, looking more in depth at the picture that’s been sent to him, “it had to be placed there after they strung Numabuchi up, right? To cover something up – that’s what I was thinking to begin with.”

Heiji nods, “well yeah, th’ killer must a wanted t’ hide somethin’ right?”

“Maybe,” Kudo says, “or, they wanted to cover up the fact that they’ve taken something away.”

For a moment, Heiji is silent, and then his gaze flickers towards the final photograph, looking at the area behind Numabuchi’s shoulders. There… he needs to squint to see it, but soon he can see what Kudo was talking about.

“There’s somethin’ there,” he says, pointing his finger towards a flash of silver peeking just from above the corpse’s collarbone.

“Exactly,” Kudo says. He nods his head with a sharp, sudden movement. “It looks almost like a sticker. So I started looking into the other pictures on my phone, and there’s always at least a small hint of silver peeking from behind the bodies.”

The air is stagnant, tense with what exactly this means.

“They’ve been playing with you since the beginning,” Heiji says, almost regretful. Fire ignites in him as he realises, whatever organisation Kudo’s been fighting against has only been toying with him this entire time – God, who exactly are they up against?

“They’re playing with us,” Kudo says after a moment, turning to him with bright eyes, “but the thing about games is that they can easily be skewed in your favour, if you know the rules.”

Heiji runs a hand through his hair, sits in the seat beside Kudo at the table. He says, “we don’t know the rules.”

“So we create them,” Kudo says. He lifts the pictures they’ve printed from the phone messages, lays them out on the table, leaning forward to grab one of the abandoned notepads they’ve been writing notes down in.

“First, starting with this,” Kudo says, drawing a rectangle onto the page, “we figure out what that sticker looks like.”

Heiji nods, “okay.”

The moment Kaito pushes the manhole open, he feels a familiar jolt of excitement. It’s the same feeling that spreads through his veins every time something dangerous happens, the same rush of euphoria he’d felt when he’d broken into the police station with Shinichi by his side.

Climbing back out into the night, the air crisp against his clothing, he removes his gas mask just long enough to take in a breath of fresh air. Then, he puts it back on, places his hood up and makes his way towards one of the entrances.

He uses the vents often, so he decides that it’s going to be on the lists of the task force. And Kaito can hardly climb the walls without being seen, so he decides it’s probably better if he goes in through one back entrances.

Or… well, a window would work too, but he doesn’t want to risk breaking one or leaving an open route that will lead the task force toward the manhole he’s climbed out of. Now, he closes it, leaves it behind as an exit if his other plans fail.

They shouldn’t fail, but he really isn’t sure. Some detectives have a way of surprising him when he least expects it, and they’re… well… he doesn’t want arrogance to walk him right back into a prison cell.

He moves forward, the wind guiding him forward, whispering the location of guards in his ear. Every few seconds it nips, sending a rush of cold against his skin, reminding him to stay focused.

It is times like this that Kaito wishes he could wrap himself up in the wind, live beneath moonlight forever. He wonders if his father had felt the same, wonders whether he enjoys this because he’s KID, or because he’s Kaito.

He isn’t sure – now isn’t the time to think about it anyway.

“This way,” he mutters to himself, cutting through the hedges and dropping down to his feet at the faint sound of footsteps. The hedges scratch against his hands, the feeling reminding him to push his gloves onto his hands.

It’s not like he really needs to hide his fingerprints, but at this point it’s practically tradition. One of the many things he’d done before heists to make sure everything had gone well. Maybe it’s superstitious, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

The footsteps get nearer, and Kaito shuffles forward on his arms to get a faint view of the pathway between the hedges and the museum. There’s a ventilation shaft across from him – and yes, maybe he doesn’t want to rely on them, but if he’s remembering the building plans correctly, this one leads down to the basement.

Into a furnace.

A furnace that’s been out of commission for almost fifty years, since the museum has been refurnished, changing over to a central heating system. Kaito rakes his thoughts, asks himself if there’d been any particular reason he’d not entered the museum that way, during his last attempted heist.

Oh!

The door had been stiff. When he’d faked maintenance work for his previous heist, it hadn’t been favourable, mainly because he’d wanted to hide his entrance, and the layer of dust in the sliding door had made it difficult to be inconspicuous.

After breaking out of prison, and breaking in to a police station, Kaito isn’t so worried about a bit of disrupted dust. Instead, he starts thinking about how quickly he can undo the vent and how he’s going to navigate the fall without any concrete knowledge of what he’ll be falling onto.

It a risk, yes, but it’s also one of his best shots.

The footsteps fade away, and in that moment, Kaito scurries forward, towards the vents. It takes time, but after a few minutes, he’s undone the vent, and is climbing through. He doesn’t want to fall, not unless it’s a controlled descent.

“Okay,” Kaito says, the sound echoing down the vent, causing him to wince. “Time to do this.”

He places the main vent back on, keeps it loose so that he can push it off from the inside when he gets ready to leave, before readying himself for a fall.

Kaito checks his watch, realises that he’s still got fifteen minutes until his heist begins, and crawls deeper into the vent. Darkness awaits him, but this time, he doesn’t let gravity drag him down. He climbs down, his back arched against one end of the vent, his feet on the other, almost as if he is walking down the metal.

By the time he’s out of the vent, Kaito only has ten minutes left.

Ten minutes to get to the other end of the museum.

He’s played worse odds than that before.

Kazuha is the one who finally pieces the logo together.

Heiji isn’t surprised, she’s always been good at remembering brands and logos, spends enough time on social media and her phone to have seen and practically remembered it all. Sometimes, her random phone browsing comes in handy.

“You have?” Kudo says, glancing up. His eyebrows are furrowed, worried at the concept of narrowing down on the sticker so quickly. Suspicious, as if it shouldn’t be this easy. Heiji thinks that the other detective just hasn’t accepted that his organisation wants him to figure out the logo on this sticker.

Something meant for only Kudo’s eyes… Heiji’s curious himself, about what it could be.

“I think so,” Kazuha says, and her voice wavers, uncertain. “From th’ bits we’ve been able to draw ou’ from th’ picture messages, there’s only so many tha’ it could be. And most o’ ‘em don’t seem suspicious, except for this one.”

She places her phone in between the two boys, stealing their attention without even batting an eye. Heiji tears his eyes to the logo and barely manages not to flinch. Kudo however, reels back as if he’s been burned.

“I don’t know for certain yet–”

“It’s them,” Kudo says, steel in his voice. He leans forward, lips pressed in a tight line, finger nails reaching up to his throat, scratching against skin. Heiji contemplates stopping him, but the other boy doesn’t look like he’s digging too deeply into skin, and Heiji doesn’t want to take away one of the coping strategies Kudo has developed. “Of course, it’s them, they’re trying to be funny.”

Heiji glances down at the logo again.

A sign broadcasting a chain of liqueur stores across Japan. With the knowledge of what Kudo already knows about the members of the organisation… their codenames being that of various alcohols, it just seems like taunt, a reminder of how much he doesn’t know.

“Those bastards,” Heiji hisses, poison spitting from his voice. “They’re just messing around with you–”

“Maybe it seems that way,” Kudo says, an eerie calm settling into his bones, “but this is worth more than they think. Kazuha, can you search the chain online?”

Kazuha nods.

Heiji has to resist the temptation to pull out his own phone, clicking onto news related to the current KID heist, just to check in on how Kuroba’s fairing. However, as far as he knows, the media have been denied any access to the scene, leaving the news reports lacking, due to the absence of reliable sources.

“Okay,” Kazuha says after a moment, pausing only to ensure both boys are looking at her. “there’s a lot o’ information about th’ business an’ its history. There’s th’ main site, but tha’ doesn’t seem like it’ll help much… hey, no wait.”

Heiji waits.

Kudo continues to scratch at his neck.

“There’s a news article dated from this mornin’.” Kazuha says – there’s a pause as she clicks on the link, opening it up. “Wait… this can’t be a coincidence, listen t’ this, ‘company offers group of security guards in response to announced Kaitou KID heist.’”

Kudo freezes. Beside him, Heiji shudders, holding his hand out for Kazuha to pass him her phone, so he can read the rest of the article. She passes it over without a word, leaving Heiji to scroll up and read for himself.

The recent police announcement that Kaitou KID (Revealed last year to be school student Kuroba Kaito) is on the run, having announced another heist, has brought anxiety to the streets of Tokyo.

In light of this anxiety, and the knowledge of recent cuts to policing, chain store Yamaya Dogenzaka, has offered a small group of volunteers from the branch’s main team of security officers.

There’s more, but Heiji pushes the phone away before he can read any more. The timing of these seems wrong, like there’s some ulterior motive in giving resources to the police. It all seems… wrong. Like a corruption that runs deeper than they’d originally thought.

“Shit…” Kudo mutters once he’s read through it himself, “it’s a ploy. They want access to the heist.”

Heiji runs a hand through his hair, tugs at the ends as he stands up. He moans, “Oh God.”

“…What?” Kazuha says, pocketing her phone. She’s paled, although it’s more from the atmosphere and from clarity. “What am I missin’?”

Heiji glances at her, feels his intestines wrap around his stomach, twisting, churning his stomach acid. A feeling of sickness wraps around him, tearing him apart.

Kudo is the one who answers. There’s a calm to him that Heiji’s not seen in a while, back before he’d allowed himself to show vulnerability, during their many meetings within the prison. A defence, to keep himself from breaking apart.

“The police have signed off on the use of weapons,” the boy whispers, “and the organisation is going to take advantage of that. They’re going to kill…”

Heiji pushes away from the table, bites into the side of his mouth with enough force that he tastes blood. He swallows, tongue tasting only the copper tang of blood, before saying, “I need to warn him.”

“You can’t,” Kudo says, and it’s aggravating, watching him remain cool when there’s such a risk, such weight weighing down on them – they’re already responsible for one death, due to their misguided actions, but they can at least offer help to Kuroba…

“We’ve got to!” Kazuha says, jumping to his aid. They’re a good team, Heiji thinks, have always been good at backing one another up. “If he’s at risk of dying we need to make sure he doesn’t–”

“You two can’t go,” Kudo says. There a harsh edge to his voice, a sternness that shows that this won’t be debated. “I’ll go.”

“They’ll kill you too!”

“Maybe,” Kudo says, pushing away from the table himself, “but suppose you do go and warn him. Firstly, you’d be announcing that you’re working with KID and helped us, which will ruin your life and effect the careers of both of your father’s. Secondly, you’d be announcing to the organisation that you know.”

Heiji freezes. He’s always been the irrational sort, but faced with the logic almost makes him sit back down. There’s too much risk, yes, but the loss of another life… adding an additional risk by putting Kudo’s own life on the line…

“Kudo… they’ll sooner shoot you than him.” Heiji says, a tremor to his voice. Usually, he’s calmer but this… this isn’t right, it shouldn’t… they shouldn’t have to worry about things like this.

“I know,” Kudo says, grabbing his jacket from one of the abandoned chairs and slipping both arms into it. After he’s buttoned it, he throws on a cap, covering his face as he pulls it down. “But someone’s got to warn him.”

“Shinichi-kun,” Kazuha says, “don’t–”

“It’s okay,” Kudo says, “I’m going to solve this case, even if it kills me.”

There are lists – so many lists that Saguru feels himself drowning in a sea of names, searching for a common link between Kudo’s case files and people who’d immediately been informed about the prison break.

The list is exhaustive. Police officers who’d worked the case alongside Saguru and Kudo last year, the police commissioners who’d overlooked it. It’s not even central to just the Tokyo branches, seeing as the prison had been forced to inform other cities and ensure everyone was on the lookout.

Compared to finding any suspicious names, Ran’s task of finding Kudo and Kuroba themselves seems easy. At least she’s got an announced location, something to work with. All Saguru has is a list of names.

Wait…

He turns on his laptop, waits for it to load.

How efficient are his hacking skills again…? Saguru doesn’t use them for cases, because it’s a blatant insult to professionalism, and solving things in the correct manner, but he does know the mechanics. He’s always been interested in codes, in numbers, in binary and the way different variations of ones and zeroes melt together to create something more.

And yet… Can he really figure out this case with the same professionalism and law-abiding as he usually does?

Saguru doesn’t think so.

Not if he’s suspecting the people who appear on both lists. If they can’t trust the people there, if Kudo is being framed, then he can’t let anyone know he’s investigating them. He can’t ask for the third list he wants.

Instead, he’ll need to get it himself.

It’ll take time – hacking always does, and he briefly considers requesting Baaya to bring a cup of coffee upstairs. He decides not to, she’ll ask questions, and Saguru doesn’t want to implicate her.

“Is this what Kudo was feeling…?” Saguru mutters to himself, “the last time we spoke…?”

He isn’t sure. Maybe one day he’ll ask him, for now, he just needs to find the third list. Needs to find the people who’d been briefed about the trip to retrieve the hidden bodies Numabuchi had promised the locations of.

Saguru takes a deep breath, winces.

And proceeds to hack into confidential police files.

Kaito is halfway down the hall, sticking to the shadows, when something catches his eye. Aoko.

She’d said she’d see him at the heist, and yet she’s nowhere near the jewel room, has wandered off on her own. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, something that seems almost foreign on her face, not that Kaito can judge her for it.

She turns, looks up and down the corridor, before continuing.

Kaito glances at his watch – there’s still seven minutes until the heist begins – and steps forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into the shadows with him. She lets out a small squeak, eyes wide as she looks up at him.

“Kaito,” Aoko says, and there’s a seriousness in her voice, a worry that Kaito doesn’t like hearing from her mouth, “I’ve been looking for you.”

The lack of any illeism is haunting as well, Kaito has to resist a shudder.

“It’s a good thing I found you first,” Kaito says, glancing at her, “because else you wouldn’t have found me at all.”

Aoko frowns. Then, she reaches down to her jacket, tugs at the zip until she’s shrugging it off. Kaito’s response is a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, Aoko, we really don’t have the time.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Aoko says, “they’ve got guns in there, okay? And I doubt you’ve got a vest that’ll make sure you don’t die. So… Take mine.”

Kaito pauses. He’d gathered there’d be guns, it’s customary with police officers, they’re issued them, but to hear that they’ve got orders to… to shoot. The thought fills him with dread – he needs that vest.

But… Aoko needs it too.

It must shine through the mask he’s wearing, that he doesn’t want to steal away the safety net she’s been given, that he doesn’t want to be the one to put her in harm’s way, because Aoko puts a hand on his and squeezes.

“They’ll be shooting at you,” Aoko says, dropping her hand to fiddle with the clips by her side, “not at me. So take it.”

Kaito doesn’t move.

“Aoko wants you to,” she says finally, when he meets her eyes, offering him the brightest smile she can. It’s faked, of course it is, Kaito can read her better than he can read himself, but there’s a determination there too.

“...You’re sure?” Aoko nods, “…okay then.”

She lifts it from her body, passes it over to Kaito, who changes within seconds. He has to tug a few straps loose, tightening other before he clips it back up. Then, he throws his shirt back on over it, and the jacket he’d been wearing. Too many layers should leave him overheating, and yet, all Kaito can feel is the cold.

“It’s still not too late to back out of this,” Aoko says. The terrible thing is that she means it. She’s willing to ensure he isn’t killed if he wants to carry his plan out, but she’s also dreading his decision.

Kaito feels guilty for worrying her. He almost wishes it were months ago, back when she’d cheered on the police catching KID, before she knew it was him. Now, she’s urging him not to show up.

“I’m going to get the gemstone,” Kaito says, and he places both hands on her shoulders, presses his lips against her forehead, “and then I’m going to figure this whole mess out. Wait for me?”

Aoko looks at him. She shakes her head.

“You think I’m going to wait?” Aoko says, brushing his hands from her shoulders and turning to put her jacket back on. “No, I’m going to be in there with you.”

“Aoko–”

“I’m involved now,” Aoko says, “I have been since the day I found out you were KID…” Another fake smile. “Don’t worry though, Aoko’s going to make sure Kaito doesn’t get himself caught again.”

Kaito bites his lip, nods. Then, he turns, looking towards the corridor where the Cullinan diamond awaits him. Aoko walks past him without another glance.

“Thanks,” Kaito whispers.

The only sign that she hears him, is the faintest twitch of her fingers.

Aoko has to force herself to keep looking forwards.

She can feel Kaito’s presence behind her, for all of thirty seconds, where he deviates, making his way towards his own entrance. It’s almost scary how vulnerable she feels once he’s gone, a feeling of loss overpowering her as she keeps pacing towards the exhibit room where the gemstone is on display.

No… it’s not a feeling of loss… it’s terror.

Aoko isn’t doesn’t like the absence because it means she can’t keep Kaito out of trouble. Yes, he might have gotten this far by himself, but she remembers new scars getting added to an ever-growing list, remembers uncertainty weighing down on her shoulders when she’d been unable to help him.

Now, she has to return to a room filled with suspicious police officers, with her father, and attempt to keep Kaito alive while ensuring they don’t catch on. Is it even possible?

Well, even if it’s not, how hard will it be to create her own miracle?

Kaito’s done it time and time before – if he can do it, Aoko can too.

“Where’s Ran-chan?” Aoko asks, after she lets her father pinch her cheeks, double-checking that her identity is her own. “I can’t see her anywhere.”

Her father glances around the room, hardly seems to hear her question. Aoko asks again, breathes out a sigh as she realises this is their usual routine.

“Oh, the Mouri girl?” He answers after a pause, “she went out to find you, after you left a little while ago. Isn’t she back yet… Where did you go anyway?”

Aoko lets nervousness creep into her voice, just a tiny amount. She said, “I went to the bathroom?”

“Next time,” her father continues, “take someone with you. You can’t go anywhere by yourself at KID heists.”

“Kaito’s hardly going to take Aoko’s identity while she’s using the bathroom,” Aoko says, crossing her arms. “He’s not that perverted.”

Her father sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore… Aoko… Things aren’t looking good for him right now.”

Aoko knows.

She glances down at her watch, waits for the second hand to reach 12.

“Yeah,” she says, “Aoko thinks that a lot of things aren’t going the way he’d hoped they would.”

Seconds tick, until finally she lets her hand drop. The clock reaches 11pm.

“Look at that,” Aoko mutters, “it’s showtime.”

At this rate, they’re both going to miss the heist.

Ran doesn’t know what way she’s searching, or if she’s already looked down this corridor, but she keeps going anyway. She needs to find Aoko, so that she can have the other girl help her track down KID.

A quick glance at her phone shows that the heist has already begun.

What should she do – Ran needs Aoko’s help… but she needs to talk to KID and Shinichi more. Aoko knows what way she needs to go to get back, surely, it’s fine to wait nearby the gem.

Yes, she should. That’s the best plan of action she can take right now. After all, she’s got people relying on her, and Ran can’t let them down. She needs to prove Shinichi’s innocence, somehow, and she needs to find a way to help Saguru solve the strain of murders.

She’s not much of a detective, but she can do this.

Ran pivots, hurries back up the corridor she’s just walked down, turns around the corner with such speed that she doesn’t exactly look where she’s going. And she bumps straight into one of the police officers.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not quite looking as she continues.

Then, she pauses – because that wasn’t a police officer. She knows that small breathless tone, has heard it every time she’s accidentally bumped into it growing up.

Ran turns and stares.

Shinichi stares back.

“No,” Ran says, although she’s delighted to see him. Paranoia and panic crash into her, both tsunami’s that she can’t protect herself against. It feels almost as if she can’t breathe – a panic attack, possibly, except… Ran hasn’t had one of those in years. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Ran,” Shinichi says. And despite the fact that he’s not supposed to be here, despite the fact that being in a place like this is practically going to end in his own recapture, Ran races forwards and wraps her arms around him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ran mutters into his shoulder, before pulling back, “you could die.”

“I know,” Shinichi says, and his hands grip around her wrists, a movement Ran mimics almost unconsciously. “But Kaito – uh… KID – doesn’t know that, and I need to warn him.”

“The police want you more than they want him,” Ran whispers, and she stares up at him, a tremor to her lips as she attempts not to cry. She’s always been emotional, it shouldn’t be a surprise that every feeling running through her is overpowering, each feeling tearing into her with such ferocity that she doesn’t know how to feel.

“It’s not the police shooting that I’m worried about,” Shinichi says, and then, pauses, offering her one of his awkward smiles. He doesn’t comment on it any further, and Ran knows that unless she prompts him, he’ll leave it as it is.

“The people who framed you,” Ran says, “is it them?”

His lack of an answer is enough.

“I’ll find a way to tell him then,” Ran says, “just. Please, leave before you get into trouble… or… or stay here, and I’ll come back. We can figure this all out together, okay? You don’t need to put yourself in danger to help save someone else.”

Shinichi winces.

“I’m already in danger,” he says, “I can’t put you in danger too, Ran. I…”

She understands. It doesn’t mean she’s got to approve of his decision.

“Okay,” Ran says, “but… come back okay. Because – because I owe you an apology okay? And I want to give it to you properly.”

Shinichi gives her a look, a mixture of confusion and sadness. He probably thinks that he’s the one who needs to apologise. What an idiot.

“Because I lied to you,” Ran says, and she grabs onto his hands, pulls him closer so she’s peering up at him, “I lied. Because I’ll never be able to give up on you. Do you understand?”

Shinichi shudders, glances in the direction of the doorway.

Then, he turns back to Ran, his lips set, eyes narrowed with a plan forming in his mind. He hesitates, waits until Ran offers him a nod and asks,

“Will you help me?”