#//Hes got his own shit to work through too

[frogchiro]

Krauser sitting and watch you and Leon as you make out and explore each other’s bodies. He’s just curious.

He would make you do it and he's such an asshole about it too :(

He wasn't blind. Of course he wasn't. He saw how both you and Leon looked at each other, how you two interacted and all that shit. Some know-it-all shrink would guess it's some kind of trauma bonding, others would say its raging hormones between two your people, barely in your 20's and thrust into such shit predicament. Jack on the other hand didn't have time or care for speculations or analyzing the two rookies put under his command, all he knew and cared about is that Kennedy and you were close.

It was clear as day to anyone with two working eyes; Kennedy was gentler and more careful with you, for example during your private combat training, trying not to throw you around too roughly or hit too hard. Or how after you were tired out after your training Leon would always nuzzle up to you, nudging you with his forehead.

Or that one time during your first weeks on the base whenever some soldiers tried to harass you, Leon was always there, snarling like a feral mutt in your defense; that memory made Krauser chuckle, but he guesses that a mutt will always try to protect his bitch.

Surprisingly, this wasn't the case when it came to Jack himself. Leon was still protective of you, sure, but not nearly as much, in fact neither him nor you were unresponsive to his...advances. Krauser would be a liar if he said he didn't find you both pretty; nice bodies, good hips, the most fuckable lips and those sweet sweet eyes staring up at him whenever he cornered you or Kennedy with a snarl on his face, the gnarly scars moving slightly when he smirked at the whine or tiny arch he got in response.

Months of build up tension led to this exact moment; Krauser, who herded you and Leon into his office and made you sit on the couch, was now seated in front of it, huge, powerful legs spread wide, the bulge of his cock straining against his military pants as he watched you and the blonde embracing while kneeling in front of each other, your arms wrapped around the other's body and letting out the most delicious whimpers and tiny moans while kissing.

Your gentle, soft hands roamed over Leon's broad shoulders, neck and into his fluffy hair, carding through it and gently scratching his scalp which in turn made the man shudder and break the passionate kiss in order to let out pleasured purr, a string of spit still between you as you pant.

'This is so...embarrassing...' You thought and blushed even harder, not even able to suppress the needy whine when Leon dipped down to your neck to ravage it with hot, open mouthed kisses and making you subconsciously tilt your head to the side to allow him more room which Leon enthusiastically used.

His hands moved from your sides to your front, grabbing at your breasts and kneading them, particularly focusing on your stiff nipples which only made you moan louder and arch even more into his insistent touch; they were still so, so sensitive from last night when Leon suckled them well into the night...

However, your pleasure-pained noises were like music to Krauser's ears as his own hand traveled down his belly to his still clothed cock to give it a firm squeeze, his own husky growl drawing both your and Leon's attention and Jack couldn't help but chuckle at your fucked out, needy expressions when you looked at his obscene display; lounging back in his comfortable armchair, his huge, powerful body laid back lazily with his legs all spread, touching and squeezing his cock through his clothes.

God he couldn't wait until he got his hands on his two pretty, fucked out rookies <3

[nanenna]

The Best Laid Plans

Sleepy King Master Post (for my contributions anyway)

---

“I’m driving,” Jazz announced, snatching the keys from her dad as they all walked to where the GAV was parked on the city hall’s lawn.

“Young lady,” Mom started to scold.

“I only have a limited amount of time to drive with supervision before I’m off to college and driving all by myself.” Jazz gave her parents the biggest puppy dog eyes she could muster.

“And I am more than happy to be that supervision,” Vlad said as he reached for the front passenger seat.

Danny quickly jumped into the back seat, as far away from Vlad as he could get. Jazz adjusted the seat and mirrors while she waited for her parents to get in. Then she looked Danny in the eye through the rear view mirror, “The engine doesn’t start until every last person is buckled in.��

“C’mon, Jazz! Even if your grandma driving somehow got us into a car accident we both know I’d be fine.”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

Danny grumbled as he buckled himself in, Jazz kept her smirk to a minimum as she started the car. While she drove them to Vlad’s home she half listened to her parents explain the situation to him, the other half of her attention being spent watching the cars on the road around her swerve and nearly crash around her. She pulled up to a red light next to another car, the passenger staring up at her dumbfounded. Jazz smiled and waved.

“So you’re telling me Daniel is now the Ghost King,” Vlad asked as they pulled up to his mansion.

“That’s what it looks like,” Dad agreed boisterously. “Right now it seems like a meaningless title, but we’re worried about him getting randomly summoned by those darn occultists!”

“A bunch of fanatics with ludicrous ideas,” Mom said with a sniff. “I’d hate to think what they’d try to do to Danny if it ever happens again.”

There was a pause as they all got out of the GAV, then walked into Vlad’s mansion together.

“That doesn't explain why you're here. Shouldn't you be in school, young lady?”

“Apparently it's school policy to send siblings home in these kinds of situations.” And Jazz was so thankful for that!

“And Danielle?”

“She doesn’t go to our school, now does she?”

Vlad nodded along before turning his attention fully on Mom. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”

“Of course,” Mom replied without another thought. “Since we’re pretty sure the title is attached to the crown, we’re going to destroy it and hope it destroys the Ghost King title.”

Vlad stopped in his tracks, “You’ll what?”

Dad patted Vlad on the shoulder consolingly, “I know, I’m sure Danny would be a good king too, but he’s adamant he doesn’t want to. And the risk of a bunch of wacko cultists kidnapping him is just too big.”

“It’s not like you want me to be king anyway,” Danny added with a smirk.

“Well… Little Badger, you’re so young!” Vlad blurted out.

“And it’s weird, you’ve had the crown for over a year now, but I’ve never seen you use it.”

Vlad sighed deeply, “I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t do anything.”

Danny just nodded, “So if it doesn’t work anyway isn’t it better if no one can?”

Vlad side eyed Danny before shrugging, “You do have a point. I shall go retrieve the crown, one moment.” He turned and left the sitting room he’d led them to.

The Fentons all sat down on various pieces of furniture. Their parents shared a couch, sitting as close together as possible, while Jazz and Danny each sat in a chair of their own. Danny sighed and slouched in his seat.

“Danny, have you let Sam and Tucker know what's going on yet?” Jazz asked. It seemed the easiest way to distract him while they waited.

“Yeah, kinda. I told them I was home safe and would explain everything after school.”

Jazz nodded, that seemed the safest.

“They promised to bring me my homework,” Danny added with a groan. “It's so unfair! I got kidnapped, shouldn't I get- oh shit!” Danny practically threw himself out of his chair.

“Language,” Mom chided.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” Danny whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at seemingly empty space. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

Danny waited, presumably a ghost they couldn't see was responding. Jazz had learned from the Youngblood incident, she quietly pulled out a collapsed boo-staff from her purse.

“You don't know who I am?”

…

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

…

“How about you tell me your name first?” After another pause he burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?”

“Huh?” Danny looked to Jazz, then back to the open space. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

Jazz and their parents shook their heads.

Vlad came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

Everyone paused for the response.

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” Danny added, he turned back to the empty space, “Are you even a ghost?”

A window burst, shattering into many flying shards under Batman’s combat boots. Jazz instinctively covered her face and shrieked. By the time she looked up the blond man in a trenchcoat from earlier was climbing through the shattered window while muttering to himself.

“Was that really necessary?!” Vlad yelled angrily.

The blond man pointed at Danny and said something, dazzling light flew from his finger to hit Danny, leaving him standing there braced for impact but looking fine.

Mom squawked, “What'd you do?!”

“Danno! Are you okay?” Dad rushed over to check Danny over.

“I think I'm okay?” Danny said shakily as he straightened up from his protective curl to look himself over.

There was a familiar burning crown floating over his head.

“Huh,” the blond man said, “that was supposed to reveal your true form.”

“Congrats, this is my true form,” Danny said with an eye roll.

“Danny, above your head,” Jazz said carefully. Unfortunately that got everyone's attention, far more than Wonder Woman slipping into the room.

Danny looked up, “What? Where?”

“No Danny, it's the crown,” Mom supplied, coming over to stand next to him while glaring at the heroes and their pet wizard. (That was unkind, Jazz shouldn't think such things.)

Dany reached up and felt around until he found the crown, then pulled it down to look at. “Okay, crown retrieved.”

“We may have a problem,” Vlad said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” Danny looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in Vlad's. “Why are there two?” Danny turned to the pet wizard, “What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything, that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” Mom said while glaring at the pet wizard.

Jazz extended the boo-staff and came to stand slightly in front of Danny, these guys may have powers but Jazz had helped fight bigger, badder beings.

Vlad started to step backwards, back towards the hallway.

“Oh no you don’t!” Danny let go of his crown as he ran over to grab the crown Vlad was still holding, it quickly turned into a tug of war.

“Vladdie? What are you doing?” Dad asked in confusion.

“You don’t need two crowns, and since this one was already in my possession…”

“Absolutely not, you fruitloop!”

“Danny!” Mom and Dad both chided.

The Justice Leaguers had all gathered together and were just watching, seeming unsure what to do after all their silly dramatics.

Vlad glowered down at Danny’s hands on the crown, then his eyes widened. He switched to trying to grab Danny’s hand.

Danny looked down, his own eyes widened as he curled his hand into a fist. “Is that the Ring of Rage?! What the hell, that should still be on Pariah’s finger!” Danny looked at the pet wizard in horror, “What. Did. You. Do?!”

“Danny, Vlad, stop it both of you!” Mom moved over to the two and tried to separate them, Dad joined her and was doing his best to cajole them both into backing down. For her part Jazz kept her eyes on the intruders while the rest of her family and Vlad squabbled.

“Alright, that’s enough,” the pet wizard said grumpily before raising his voice. “Shut up!”

[stllmnstr]

breathing room

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung is having a hard time breathing. 

Partly because he’s pretty sure he just got the wind knocked out of him. A little bit because of the year-old rib injury he had neither the time nor patience to let heal completely. 

And mostly because there’s a blade being held to his throat. 

Yours, to be exact. 

It’s a nice one, all things considered. Despite its lethality, it’s small, delicate almost. From this angle, he can just make out the detailing on the hilt. A series of vines wrap around each other intricately, forming kaleidoscopic patterns that extend all the way from the blade to where your fingers are wrapped around the hilt, knuckles white from the way your hand is straining. 

Jesus, he thinks. If it takes that much concentrated effort for you to not let the knife press any harder against his skin, draw any blood, then maybe he should start taking the threats you throw his way like extra change a little more seriously. 

Lazily, he lets his eyes trace a line from your fingers to your face. Skipping over the rather boring details of the plain black training shirt you wear, he directs his attention to the way your brow furrows in concentration instead. 

Under usual circumstances, a knife to the throat would encourage all of his senses to narrow in on the sensation of metal against his pulse point. Would spur his brain to work a bit faster through all the biological fight or flight mechanisms in a last ditch attempt at survival. 

But these are not usual circumstances. In fact, ever since the two of you were split into separate training cohorts a handful of months ago, this has become a rarity. And the only thing Heeseung wants to do is enjoy it a little more. 

Without his self-preservation instincts kicking in, his brain has plenty of room for other things. The forgiving surface of a training mat beneath him, slightly soft where he lets his body relax into it. The unusually warm air of the training room, courtesy of a busted air conditioner that no one has gotten around to fixing just yet. 

The way your hair falls around your face as you lean over him, chest still heaving from your recent bout of exertion. Your eyes are pure fire, embers and ashes and every stage in between as you sit atop his ribcage, knees on either side of his torso where you pin him to the mat. 

But even as the lead trainer adds another tally underneath your name for another sparring match won, your gaze doesn’t soften. Doesn’t brighten in the afterglow of victory. After all, victory only tastes sweet when it’s earned. Judging by the way your lips twist above him, Heeseung thinks the victory he just handed you on a silver platter must be horribly bitter. 

Slowly, he raises his hands in mock surrender. There’s a half smile that looks a little too much like a smirk tugging at his lips when he says, “I concede.”

“No fucking shit.” You flick a strand of hair out of your face. Your knife presses a little tighter against his throat. “Did you even try?”

Heeseung maintains eye contact. “I think I’m doing us a both a favor by not answering that one.”

Narrowing your eyes, annoyance makes itself the most prominent of your visible emotions. “Interesting choice of words from someone with a knife to his throat.”

Heeseung all but rolls his eyes. “What are you gonna do? Kill me in front of everyone?” The way he wraps sarcasm up in every syllable is almost as infuriating as the way he just let you win without putting up any semblance of a fight. “You’ve got a mean streak, princess, but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

The pressure on your blade increases, and Heeseung fights a wince as he feels it break the barrier between his skin and blood. It’s a miniscule cut, surface level at most, but he hears the threat all the same. “It’s like you want to die,” you marvel. 

Heeseung’s eyes betray nothing, other than the fact that they can’t quite seem to stray from your own. Does he? No matter how deep inside himself he searches, the answer is always a resounding no. Despite the effort he put into this particular spar, or rather lack thereof, his survival instincts are still kicking. His pursuit of life is still alive and well. 

So no, he doesn’t want to die. Quite the opposite in fact. But if he were to explain in plain terms that he never feels quite as alive as he does in the moments when you’ve got a knife on his throat and hatred in your eyes, he has the distinct feeling you might well and truly make good on your frequent promise to send him to an early grave. 

And it’s not like he means to do it, not really. Heeseung might be a glutton for punishment these days, but there was a time when he tried to get your attention in all the regular ways. As he quickly found out, sweet words did nothing but make you roll your eyes and his skills on a sparring mat were only as impressive as they could be used to hone your own. 

He was a tool, in your eyes. A means to an end as you did your best to work your way up the ranks. 

You never looked at him, the person behind all the hand-to-hand combat training and advanced levels of weapon artistry. At least not until he started annoying the ever-living shit out of you. 

Back then, it had been easy. As new recruits, you were in the same training cohort, which meant you had the same daily schedules. As long as Heeseung had the chance to beat you to the last piece of toast in the dining hall at breakfast or tie the laces of your training boots together the night before an early morning, he was guaranteed at least one of your signature glares and a few choice words that would make his grandmother blush. 

Granted, he knows that one-sided hatred is not a very stable foundation to build anything solid on, but he thinks of it in the same way he thinks of sparring. 

He doesn’t need a knockout. He just needs an in. 

A little bit of breathing room. Something that will have his partner lowering their guard, weakening their defenses just enough for him to strike. Once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the match is won and victory rests on his square shoulders. 

Heeseung’s in this for the long haul, and he’s come to find that he doesn’t really care how many bruises he picks up along the way. 

Across the room, the lead trainer heaves a long sigh. 

“Alright, ___, that’s enough. You’ve earned your tally.” The most of anyone in today’s group. But you’re still glaring at him, and he knows it isn’t enough, not for you. “Heeseung, get it together. I expect better from you next time.”

You scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

Expectations are only met when people are held to them, and you doubt Lee Heeseung has even become acquainted with the concept of a consequence. 

Releasing one final, sharp exhale, you pull your knife away from his throat, tucking it back into the sheath on your upper thigh in one fluid motion. Swinging your leg over his torso, you remove your body from his own, give your anger some space to breathe. Without looking back, you let your strides eat up the distance between you and the exit. 

Someone – you think it must be Jay, or maybe Jungwon, tries to catch your attention on the way out, asking about a maneuver you pulled in the middle of the match. A tricky bit of knife work you’ve been perfecting over the last few weeks. Something that looked stupid as Heeseung did nothing but stand there, as if your blade was nothing but decorative. Made you look stupid as he stood and watched with nothing but a mildly amused expression on his face. 

You hate him for it. Want to show him just how pretty your knife can be stained with the deep crimson he must bleed as surely as anyone else. 

Lips pulled in a taut line, you unsheath the blade at your thigh once again, this time sending it spinning with deadly accuracy towards the line of trees that skirt the outside of the training facility. 

You don’t miss. You never do. 

It still feels like defeat. 

…..

Heeseung notices when you’re not at dinner later that evening. Despite the fact that you no longer train together, the inter-cohort spars have shifted this week's schedule. You should be here, sitting next to Jay and Jungwon, probably, pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

But you’re not. And he can only think of one other place to find you. 

The training hall is dark when he arrives, but Heeseung is no fool. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees you soon enough. Silhouette dark against the empty expanse, he has half a mind to intervene before you shred yet another punching bag to irreparable pieces. Instead, he just watches for a moment longer. 

He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that start to simmer, that always linger. Doesn’t know if it’s admiration or longing or something far worse. 

But he wants to. Wants to examine them until he knows them as intimately as the back of his own hand, until he can recite them by name and express them in ways that don’t make you want to press a knife against his neck. 

And he wants to keep watching, keep looking, keep noticing. 

Even from a distance, even in the dark, he can read the frustration in the set of your shoulders, sense the exhaustion in the way your legs move just behind the rest of your body. 

You need a break. 

He needs an in. 

Across the room from you, Heeseung clears his throat. 

Startled, you nearly fall on your ass mid-kick before you turn to the source. It’s dark, but you know it’s him. Who else would it be? 

Chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, you finally catch your breath well enough to tell him, “If you’re not here for a rematch, then you have exactly ten seconds to get out of this building.”

A beat passes. 

Another. 

Heeseung exhales. “And if I am?”

Bathed in the dying glow of moonlight, you go still. “Then you better put in your best fucking effort.”

Heeseung is across the room before you can release another breath. It’s ridiculous how quickly he disarms you. And you’re caught off guard, yes, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Your knife in his hands, he throws it to the corner of the room. And then it’s just the two of you. 

Heeseung spares neither time nor effort knocking your legs out from under you, sending you careening towards the mat. Screwing your eyes shut, you brace for the impact of a training mat that never comes, the back of your head cradled in a hand that serves as a barrier between you and the ground below. 

It’s a complete reversal of your earlier roles as he lets his legs fall to either side of you, face inches from your own. There’s no knife on your neck, and he was gracious enough to break your fall, but suddenly find your breath a difficult thing to catch regardless. 

Above you, his eyes are dark. Your noses nearly touch. “This is what you wanted?” he breathes, and you feel his words as much as you hear them. They dance across your cheekbone, your lips. Have your bones feeling molten, all your hard edges malleable. “You want me to fight you like I mean it? To really fucking spar with you?”

You’ve rehearsed your answer too long to deviate, even as your mind screams with sudden uncertainties. “Yes.”

Heeseung doesn’t spare it a second thought. “Too bad.”

“Why? You have no problem f–”

“I was there, you know.” Unbidden, the hand that doesn’t hold your head falls to the bottom edge of your black training shirt. Heeseung pauses there for a moment, lets his fingers trace the seam. Something in the air shifts, tightens, waits. Despite the way he has you caged, your hands are unbound. You could stop this, if you wanted to. Stop him. 

You don’t. 

Slowly, his hand begins to track an upward journey, taking your hem with it. The air of the room is warm, choked with summer heat and the odd sensations that simmer just beneath your skin, but you suppress a shiver anyway  as a sliver of skin is revealed. 

You know what he’s after, where his eyes fall to. It’s his fingers that hesitate. Dangle with uncertainty a hair's breadth from the scar that sits just above your hip bone. 

Heeseung inhales, eyes returning to your own for a moment. They’re searching for permission you won’t give and boundaries you won’t set. If he wants to walk this tightrope, he’ll have to navigate on his own. 

It’s a challenge he rises to. On his breath out, Heeseung lets his fingers find a home on the bare skin of your stomach, trace the jagged line that’s a shade paler than the surrounding area. 

It’s a scar you hardly think of, one you can’t believe he remembers. Gifted to you in your early days of training, when a fellow recruit thought the best way to better his ranking was to discard the strict sparring rules set by your superiors and draw blood as a last ditch attempt at victory.

You’d still won, even with a fresh stab wound on your lower abdomen. And he’d been shown the door, like all recruits that break protocol. 

“So what?” Your voice doesn’t come out nearly as biting as you intend it to. You curse the waver in your words. “I get one scar and suddenly I’m delicate?” 

Heeseung glances up, something sincere in his eyes when he matches your gaze. His hand is still on your skin. “We’re all delicate. And we all have the scars to prove it. I’ve just developed a particular… aversion to seeing evidence of it when it comes to you.”

You’re quick to school your features into neutrality. At least on the outside, you won’t give him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Apparently not,” Heeseung counters. “Since I’m not the one begging for a fight.” He holds your gaze when he adds, “And I have to say, princess, if you wanted me to put you on your back, there are much easier ways to ask.”

It’s as if you’ve been burned submerged in hot water, as if you’ve been burned, when you push him off of you with a speed that’s almost comical. And from the way heat rises in your cheeks, you just might have been. 

Your voice is dangerously low when you tell him, “You have three seconds.”

“Until what?” Heeseung knows better than to be hopeful. 

“Until I find my knife and put it to good use.”

Heeseung doesn’t need to be told twice.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 11 | Books, Breezes and Broken Limbs

summary: one cool autumn afternoon, you’ve been reading your book in peace and minding your own business until your doorbell suddenly rings and you’re met with an unusual sigh, a zombie man holding his fallen arm. Will you help him out or freak out by the sight of the monster and slam the door in his face?

warnings: ANGST&FLUFF, (hot) zombies, sewing limbs together, detached limbs, scars, needles poking through skin & possibly more!

authors note: the links don’t work on my phone so I’ll paste them later on my computer bc for a few days they havent been working on my phone and it’s rlly ticking me off 😭 yall judge this if it’s angst or not bc idkk rlly, this is kinda rushed but luv yall sm and I hope yall like this idea as much I do.

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist | moodboard

A cool autumn afternoon could be noticed as the soft wind hit my revealed skin and littered goosebumps across it, my window was creaked open while I sat under a cozy blanket in front of a warm fireplace, the hot flames casting a warm orange glow across the room as a hardcover sat in my hands. My eyes scanning over the words written down on paper and engulfing me into an imaginary world you could just loose yourself in.

Faint music radiated from the record player placed in the room somewhere but my mind is too concentrated on the authentic world of the author, I don’t realize my doorbell has started ringing but as soon as I notice, my eyes rip away from the page, tossing the warm blanket over the headrest of my chair. My feet drift over the fuzzy carpets sprawled on the floor before I reach my front door, I grab ahold of the door handle and slowly open the door.

I’m met with an unusual sight, only portrayed differently in different genres of movies and books but never to be seen in the real world. It’s a tall man with a green tint to his skin, differently shaped scars and sew marks all across his skin as torn clothes adore his body, he seems to be holding his other arm as it looks like it had fallen off but he doesn’t look like he’s experiencing any pain. My mind goes straight to the conclusion he could be a zombie? They said there was only a possibility of the undead existing but I’m experiencing it first hand.

“How can I help you?” I greet him politely, not wanting for him to think that I take him as a freak or a monster that he is, he clearly needs help with his arm and I feel bad for him, no matter what species he is, I want to treat him like I treat everyone else. “Didn’t expect to see a zombie at ya’ doorstep today, hm?” Are the first words that leave his mouth, his voice seeming withered and tired but no ounce of pain, not even seeming to hide it. Maybe he is a zombie?

“Answering ya’ question though, I could use some help with my arm. Do ya’ got a sewing kit by any chance?” He calmly speaks and I nod my head positively, slightly admiring him before letting him walk inside. I’ve really never seen an actual form of creature like him outside of my fantasy world, I lead him into the living room where I was just earlier and settle him down on the couch as I walk into the kitchen to grab the sewing kit I keep in one of the higher cabinets.

I could feel a pair of eyes follow my moves as I reach into the higher cabinet and graze the tips of my fingers over it, finally grabbing onto the small box I bring it to the living room, gently placing it on the coffee table in-front of the couch as I settle down next to the man. “Why wouldn’t you go to the hospital with this? Will you be able to move it without attaching the nerves together?” I ask curiously, my brows slightly furrowing in question as he lines his detached arm with the place where it’s missing, “I don’t think they would take in a zombie, besides they would probably want to take me for some kind of tests or discovery shit.” He answered, glancing over at me as I scavenge the small box for any fitting needles with my back slightly bend.

“Okay, that seems reasonable. Do you have a favorite color?” I requested, turning my head to look at him and he looks away, pretending like he wasn’t looking. A giggle as a response to his horrible hiding, a knowing look spreading across my face, “Well, firstly whats your favorite color?” He shoots the question back at me, not really knowing what he’s attempting to do I decide to be nice and just reply than question him again. “Um, it’s pink, what about it? He nods and says the thing I’ve never would’ve expected, “Yeah, pink is my favorite color.”

Another soft giggle rumbles in my throat as I pick out a soft pink thread, holding it up for him to see. “This one?” “Yup, exactly that one.” I sit up and turn over to him, preparing the thread by threading it through the hole in the needles head. Tying everything I need to before going over and poking the needle into his skin, starting to sew his arm back on. “Does it hurt?” Glancing up to check if he can feel any pain and he shakes his head negatively, “Not at all, don’t worry ‘bout me” he reassures and I go back to sewing his arm back on.

After a few minutes passed and soft chatter and chuckles filled the air around us, I was done sewing his arm back on and moved away from him, putting some distance between us now. “There you go! Is it good now?” He replies with moving his arm around, seeing how the pink strings look on his green tinted skin he smiles and nods his head. “Thanks, appreciate the help. I should probably head out now, don’t wanna hold ya’ any longer.” He chuckles before pulling out and handing me a small piece of paper with some numbers wrote on it as well as a name scribbled down, I could make out the name ‘Christopher’ that was the one written down.

He stands up from his seat and I follow behind him, leading him over to the front door where I first saw him and we interacted, a feeling of familiarity washes over me as we say our goodbyes and he leave, my gaze dropping down at the paper he handed me and realize it’s a phone number which I guess belongs to him. I return back inside of my house but instead of indulging in my unfinished book I reminisce about the oddly attractive creature who’s arm I’ve sewn on today, never thinking it would happen to me and not realizing what it can bring along the way…

@hearts4werka | do not copy, repost nor plagiarize any of my work. You can be ‚inspired’ by my work but pls credit me and and ask for permission first!

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! 🏷️ | @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend |

Special tag ! : @ifwdominicfike |

[unhingedangstaddict]

Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. “Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

[zhuoyichenpretty]

ep 24 commentary (brain fried edition)

my head is a little empty after ep 24 tbh!! brain is not braining after all the zyc hurt no comfort (-:

some scattered thoughts here and there, painstakingly corralled like cats out of my vacuous brain and into a list (spoilers):

ZYZ is really emo this episode poor dude like he is having a hard time keeping it together it seems. Every other word out of his mouth is depressing as shit, which is saying a lot considering how depressing he usually is already (': I kind of wanted this episode to pick his brain more, give him room to emote in the aftermath of all that. But it almost feels like the character refuses to be alone, like he might spiral if he has too much time to get in his own head. I'm still so curious to know, though, what he thinks about the state of their promise in light of how far ZYC went trying to save him. “He has us,” ZYZ said to WX. When the time comes, I wonder how he'll reconcile that with what he’s asked of ZYC.

PSJ and Ying Lei bonding! shenanigans! I did laugh thank you guys. Also, not that the team didn't operate separately before, but I really get a sense of how much ZYC held things together with how apparent his absence is. It's obvs heartwarming seeing how hard everyone is working to save him (PSJ especially for me bc I love their mutual tacit trust and respect and all the ways they're alike and different), but ultimately it's still so angsty (':

Kind of love the couple instances where ZYC has been referred to as fragile/weak/of delicate constitution (depending on how you wanna translate it) like that's a very interesting quality to assign to basically the tank of your team. Even if the comments are made facetiously, it just reminds me of how often we witness his mortality, and of course how everything about the styling, aesthetics, and content of the flashbacks to his childhood reinforce a characterization of vulnerability at the very heart of him. I saw someone mention how the Cloud Light Sword responded to ZYC's tears and to that vulnerability rather than brute strength, and I totally agree. I love how this "fragile" characterization plays into the whole fate weapon deal. ZYC's strength is (imo) unconventional, and it is his sensitivity, his compassion, and his deep capacity to feel that the sword acknowledges, resonates with, and empowers. Almost like it protects his tender heart rather than making it something he needs to overcome to get stronger.

One thing I will never get over is how incredibly they styled TJR as baby!Yichen, adult ZYC, and Bingyi. What do you mean this is all from one drama and not three separate productions. Insane. I'm out of my mind with how gorgeous every change in costuming is.

A tangential note is I've seen people mention (paraphrasing very much here) ZYZ's demon form being nicely subtle in its eerie inhumanity and tbh I have a similar feeling even just about human adult ZYC imo. Especially when his hair is down and he's got that thick eyeliner on and we get a close up of his contacts, if you told me from the start that he's half-demon half-human or something I'd believe it. Along the same vein, baby!Yichen reads completely human to me, and Bingyi of course completely demon. Something something the Cloud Light Sword bridges the gap something. This point is unintelligible and not narratively based but I had to make it because I've been thinking "wow ZYC elven" for days now.

Saw a tag about yuanyi getting us through some dark times but man they are PUTTING me through some dark times rn help?/

Been trying to put off talking about the baby Yichen scenes because wow I cried immediately. Well, no, I was like "yay! I love seeing baby Yichen!" and then they crushed me into demon dust lol. And then WX had to tell that absolutely precious story about when she got sick and ZYZ had to go like "actually ZYC was probably lonely as fuck" and yeah that's fine I didn't need my heart anyway.

Ending on this point so I can put a pretty screencap here: There is so much gravity to just the short scene of Bingyi removing his mask and dropping to his knees with that anguished and fatigued expression. TJR's acting is the gift that keeps on giving (me angst).

so sorry if anything here didn't make sense, i currently have the same thousand-mile-stare as Bingyi the more i think about how this all might end and how long I'm gonna have to wait to find out.

[walmartbrandwhatever]

Marbit figure skating au stuff because I cannot stop thinking about this. Will I write this into a fanfic? Probably. Anyways this turned out super long please if anyone wants to yap about this my dms and asks are open.

-Marcia first getting into figure skating because of her mom.

-like her mom is a really artistic person in general and it was something her parents both did for fun and taught her how to skate.

-It was something she could have control over and not worry about how to fit in and if she was doing things right. It allowed her to express herself in ways she had never thought about before.

-Two-bit truly got Into hockey because soda wanted to try it out but didn't want to do it alone.

-but the more they practiced together the more in love he fell into with it.

-hockey helped keep him from spiraling down a dark road, gave him an outlet to let out on instead of drinking himself Into the ground.

-anyways two and mar use the same rink to practice in, both preferring to practice at night.

-one day the rink accidentally booked both of them atthe same time. Two being too stubborn to just let her have it and mar refusing to give up any practice time they both just end up arguing with each other about who gets it.

-this goes on for awhile them always fighting for the rink. One day Two comes in with Soda to practice and sees Marcia already there running her routine with Cherry yelling out corrections.

-Two hadn't actually ever seen her practice before but seeing her be so connected to the music blasting through the speakers and the emotions clear on her face he couldn't help the grin that worked its way onto his face.

-Soda clocks this immediately and is like "dude ur so down right bad stop"

-Ofc he denied it but Mar comes over and says he could have the rink. He stops her before she leaves and comes up with a compromise. She gets it every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while he gets it every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday and they’ll alternate Sunday.

-She smiles and puts out her hand to shake on it. Two-bit right there thinks she's by far the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He's all fumbling over himself as they shake on it and she leaves

-soda shaking his head knowing that either this will be a super bad thing or a good thing for two-bit

-Cherry also clocks this but she's too focused on the other boy she recognized. Soda and her both exchanged a look seeing their friends fumbling over eachother before Cherry drags Marcia out of the rink.

-W/the new schedule both don't run into each other as much which both of them are lowkey sad about.

-they meet again after they both switched up who day it was for Sunday. They both almost immediately try to let the other have it before deciding they can take turns.

-Two-bit watches her work on her performance first and is just basically sitting there in awe.

-Two notices Marcia getting frustrated as she keeps failing this one jump and Two goes onto the ice and offers to help her land it.

-she takes it after a few more tries. Him gently placing his hands on her hips before lifting her and showing her how much more momentum she actually needed.

-with the newly advice she tries it and to her surprise it actually works. She just has this big ass grin on her face as she turns to two celebrating and he's just watching her with a grin plastered on his own face.

-she skates over and hugs him, thanking him for the help before pulling away and saying he could have the rink.

-bro is so down right bad for her.

-him going home that night and is like kicking his feet n shit as he's talking to soda about her.

-Cherry is also hearing everything from Marcia who is just as equally down right bad for this man.

-Cherry is also keeping it very to herself but her and Soda are talking the entire time two n marcia are working through their own thing.

-anyways Cherry drags Marcia to one of Two-Bits and sodas games. It's the first time Marcia has seen Two in action with his team. It's actually so bad.

-he spots her towards the end of the game and he has the biggest smile on his face the second they meet eyes. He winks at her before going back into the game.

-also two is a figher, that mf is CONSTANTLY beefing w/someone on the rink

-that game he and this other guy immediately start brawling and that scares the shit outta Marcia. She's never really liked fighting.

-past relationships that didn't end to well really pushed that fact, so not expecting it. It threw her off.

-two seeing the absolute horror on Marcia's face afterwards did not make him feel good. Typically he feels amazing after fight, well not amazing but it gives him adrenaline but seeing the utter fear resting in her eyes it did nothing but drain the life otta him.

-after the game he immediately heads over to her, apologizing the second she even registers it was him talking. He's all over the place but he just wanted to set things right and make sure she was alright

-that was a lot more than what some of the past guys she's dated has ever done for her so it definitely won her over. She tells him that it was already and just said she wasn't expecting it considering she actually didn't know much about hockey.

-he offers to teach her some things about hockey only if she teaches him about figure skating.

-the next day they both go to the rink and stick to their promise.

-instead of actually practicing that week they just go back n forth teaching eachother tricks and the basics

-anyways they finally get together after one of their little skate sessions. Two-bit has been planning on asking her out for awhile and he's a whole mess.

-it had actually been Darry who convinced him to ask her out. Two-bits constant chatter about Marcia Darry was finally like "dude just ask her out if it'll get you to shut up🫶"

-pretty much everyone else agreed. (Their annoyance was outta love)

-Two is like sweating as he stops her before she leaves for the night and is like visibly freaking out. Eventually he spita out a "anyways would you idk like to go out. Like to dinner? With uh me?"

-she has that smile two-bit always loves to see. She presses a quick kiss onto his cheek before agreeing and leaving without another word.

-and two-bit? Yeah absolutely dead. He stands there for a solid 5 minutes before steve Steve who was giving him a ride comes in asking what was holding him up.

-Two-bit just gently holding his cheek with a huge grin says it all.

-marcia that night is kicking her feet and screaming to Cherry about it.

-after a few dates Marcia is the one to officially ask him to be her boyfriend and he almost immediately says yes.

-they don't really tell anyone they are together but the gang can tell

-Ace totally sees Marcia at some point and does the whole "if you hurt him" speech before leaving her w/that.

Anyways I have so many more ideas that are riddled w/angst. I can't tell how old I want they do be. Like are they really far into their careers? Do I want marcia to qualify for the Olympics? Idk I'm still cooking but yall trust I will write this into a fic. Also if you use this au or hcs please credit me 🫶 I would appreciate it. LOVE U ALL MWAHH🫶🫶🫶.

[alipeeps]

Episode 21

As I suspected.. while the gang were having an emotional catharthis about Bai Jiu's mum... Chongwu Camp turned up to hunt for Wen Xiao.

Ayyy my boy Bai Jiu, all is forgiven. Yeah, you stand up to that scheming git who manipulated a grieving teenager.

Ugh I want to stab him.

What kindness? You took him in because you knew you could manipulate and use him! Listen to Zhuo dage, Xiao Bai!

What does he want the arrow for? Is he gonna... try to remove/obscure the Chongwu tattoo?

Called it.

My fucking heart!!

Go Zhuo Yichen!

Did she just... fucking snatch that arrow out of the air and fire it back at them:?!!

Is that what Wen Zongyu has been doing with his demon blood experiments? Creating demonised humans? His own personal army of demon-human hybrids? Can't imagine the prime minister (RIP) or king would be too happy if they knew about that...

Oh SHIT the one word spell doesn't work on them?!!

Oh FUCK the arrows are demonised too?!! That's why the one Sijing fired back at them killed the archer but her other shots didn't.

It's got fucking backwards-angled barbs along the shaft too! Bastards!

Is Zhao Yuanzhou gonna step in front of Wen Xiao and take an arrow for her?

Nope he caught it...

PLEASE tell me him getting cut by the demonised arrow is not going to count as the final step in sealing his 5 senses?!!

FUCK IT!! I KNEW IT!!

How many times did I say last ep that he needed to get at least 1 of his other 4 senses unsealed so that he wasn't vulnerable to having his last sense sealed? Why does nobody listen to me?!! 😂

Ohhh shiiiit the ever-burning fire will start to burn him if his senses are sealed?

Uhoh... fucking red haze incoming?

God I love how his pupils keep flickering between red and not!!

Congrats Wen Zongyu, you dumbass. You said a demon's inner core has a consciousness... with his senses sealed, his core's consciousness has taken over... but isn't his core basically made up of/controlled by malicious qi?

You had no idea what you were fucking with you goddamn dumbass!!

Aaaaand now he's loose in the mortal world, controlled by malicious qi.

Ugh and the visual of his bottle - the one from which he drinks to help keep the malicious qi suppressed - abandoned and left behind...

Aaand the gang is arrested.

God I love her...

Oh mannn... so he'll have retreated to the house where he barricades himself inside after each blood moon?

Oooh Zhu Yan vs his own demon core. This'll be where that clip from the trailer comes from then...

Yup, there it is.

How is it even possible that is the same damn actor? He looks like a totally different person!! 😍

Oh shit he's literally using visualisations of his relationship with Wen Xiao to fend off the visualisation of his demon core...

God I love this fucking song so much.

Our boy Ying Lei is tracking the shapeshifter demon.

Uhhh... noooo... Ying Lei... that's not Zhuo daren. Zhuo daren is in prison. And you're tracking a shapeshifter demon, Ying Lei. A shapeshifter demon. Ying Le? Hello?

He's such a fucking dork. I'm love him.

This has to be Xiao Bai having a nightmare, right? Cos they all got captured and put in prison. He's not following Zhuo Yichen through a forest...

Or is it not a dream? Did they only arrest Wen Xiao and Pei Sijing?

Ugh he hesitates to hold onto his braid... so Zhuo Yichen straight up offers it go him and tells him he can!

Because it's not fucking Ying Lei, Xiao Bai...

Ok so they definitely did only arrest the girls (rude!) and that explains why Ying Lei wasn't surprised to find Zhuo Yichen appear while he was hunting down the demon... the 3 of them went to hunt her together.

Uuuh you ran off so fast you left Xiao Bai behind, Zhuo Yichen!

And how's he supposed to know if anyone who comes up to him is who they seem to be, or if it's Ao Yin?

Ooops!

Dudes... my dudes... what if the Ao Yin in this scenario is actually... Xiao Bai?

How could he make a demon obey him? Because he's been sodding experimenting on them for at least 8 years!!

But yes.. well done Sijing, this particular demon was working with Li Lun!

Uhhhh is he though? You were still in Li Lun's illusion when he died?

Oh SHIT... and surely if he had died the illusion would have immediately dissolved? Which would mean he very much DIDN'T die.. and just faked you out with an illusion of him burning up!!

EXACTLY!!

Ru-roh Shaggy!!

Hahahaa the way he ducks away from Ying Lei's pat on the head - and then actively seeks one from Zhuo Yichen!!

Jeez, callous much? Also? Fuck you!

You tell him Sijing!!

AND WHOSE FUCKING FAULT IS THAT?!! YOURS!!

You made this happen!! All so you could get your precious fucking ever-burning wood!!

Point of order though... why did he wear that dumb mask for so long? Like.. who did he need to be hiding his face from other than us, the audience? There was no need for him to hide who he was from Chongwu Camp?

Don't you fucking stick that needle in my girl, you fucker!!

Hahahaaa Ying Lei is soliciting head pats too!! These dumbasses!!

Oh my god poor Zhuo Yichen!

Saved by Bai Jiu!

His double-take from.. "Thank goodness you're here!" to "Why are you here!"

Zhou Yichen she's a fucking SHAPESHIFTER!!

Why are they so fucking stupid?

Oh ffs didn't Ying Lei warn you about this Zhuo Yichen?!!

Aaaaand that's where it ends.

Ngl that whole sequence annoyed me. They KNOW she is a shapeshifter, why did they keep getting taken in every time she pretended to be someone they know?!

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Arceus Forbid Women Do Anything

Chapter 2/3 | 7,558 words | Rated T

Commandment II: Gatekeep

The self-indulgent Volo Wins AU fic has turned into non-diagetic game mechanics timeloop existential struggle with failure fic. Who's surprised

When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure. She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again. As she approached the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time. Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

Read the full chapter on AO3 or under the cut:

BEFORE

The Champion of Hisui knew that something was wrong when she reached the temple’s remains.

Volo had been acting more strangely than usual in the past few weeks, as their search for the plates of Arceus drew closer to its end. Restless, lapsing into bouts of discomforting behavior that she’d struggled to explain. She’d always known there was something ironic about his friendly mercantile persona, and appreciated his genuine nature whenever it showed. Having worked retail herself in the previous world, she could never blame Volo for avoiding his job at the Ginkgo Guild, exploring ruins and attaching himself to her adventures instead. With time she had come to genuinely enjoy his company, smiling despite herself whenever he emerged to congratulate her for quelling yet another frenzied noble. And after her banishment, when he’d been the only person to truly care for her, she hadn’t hesitated to accept his comfort.

She didn’t know what exactly to call their relationship now, in the wake of her victory against Palkia and Dialga. By all intents and purposes, it felt like they were a partnership—officially as seekers of the plates of Arceus, but also as friends. He was the closest companion she had found in this world, and she’d grown to trust him near-implicitly. Volo had put himself at risk on her behalf far too many times for her to doubt his intentions now.

But, still. He was being weird. His lecture about Giratina had been pretty normal (for Volo), but the deranged laughter interrupting it? Definitely harder to explain—even for the champion, who usually delighted in Volo’s bizarre behaviors.

Of course, part of that was due to Volo himself, who was easily one of the most attractive people she had ever met. If someone else did half of the weird shit he did, she was pretty sure she’d find it annoying or even creepy. But with Volo, it was endearing. Not just because he was beautiful, or because he had a pleasant voice, or because he held himself with exceptional confidence. She was endeared because he was brilliant, and passionate about his interests, and clever in his humor, and so very sweet towards his pokémon. And he was hot.

She sometimes wondered if he felt the same way about her. But he was so focused on his studies, on the plates of Arceus, that she assumed that any kind of latent attraction would not be made a priority. Occasionally she felt the urge to just straight-up ask ‘what are we?’, but that seemed far too modern an approach. And besides, did she even want her relationship with Volo to be physical, or even explicitly romantic, outside the realm of fantasy?

She didn’t know if she could stand to lose his friendship. Volo, more than anyone else in Hisui, felt real. He was more than a sycophant, a worshiper, someone who idolized her unquestioningly for her gifts. He’d praised her successes, of course, but she’d never been ignorant to the double meanings in his words, the slight contempt of someone who wished for a life they could not have. A life she did have, thanks to the Almighty Arceus plucking her from her original time and place.

From others, praise felt shallow and meaningless. She’d saved them from misfortune, and they’d thanked her because they could continue living as they always had. But from the lonely and mysterious Volo, praise felt meaningful and true. Through his resentment he saw the many facets of her—she was not a flawless hero—and as a result, hadn’t rejected her when she appeared to have failed. He hadn’t abandoned her after she’d saved the region, either, once she’d served her great purpose. And while he was absolutely using her to find the plates, she knew that she was using him too. And that, somehow, was a greater comfort than any other connection she’d forged in this unfamiliar world.

Of course, things weren’t entirely cynical between them. Volo had shown the champion genuine moments of support, even when it had served him no purpose to do so. He’d comforted her during her banishment, blaming the people of Jubilife for their cruelty rather than telling her what she could have done differently to appease them. He had never once encouraged her to apologize. He’d given her a safe haven with Cogita and dedicated himself to assisting her with the Red Chain. All the while, he’d shown no shame about his continued association with the traitor who supposedly doomed them all.

Arceus, meanwhile, had transported its champion to Hisui with only a smartphone as a tether, offering little support beyond a mission and a vague promise upon its completion. At least when Volo was negging her, he did it to her face. With effort. While being hot about it. When he’d asked the champion for her help with the plates, taking her away from the village so they could travel the world together, it had been a no-brainer to say yes. She didn’t even really know what the plates did—just that Volo cared about finding them, and so she did too.

But, still. Something felt wrong. Something had felt wrong, ever since their last conversation with Cogita. Volo was lying to her, and after everything they’d been through she had no idea why he would. She already knew that he was more misanthropic than he acted and negligent in his merchant duties, which were the things he seemed most invested in concealing. He obviously had secrets—she knew very little of his past, for example—but those missing truths had never threatened the dynamic they’d created together. This truth, whatever it was, just felt wrong. She would not be able to proceed until it was revealed.

The champion took a deep breath, more nervous about this confrontation than any that had come before, and entered the temple ruins.

─────────────────

NOW

The challenger returned to Mount Coronet for what would surely be their final attempt at victory.

They only knew what Arceus had told them: they’d returned countless times throughout their life to battle the Champion of Hisui, and each time they had lost. Lost the battle and their memory, returning to the wilds to train the pokémon they wielded. They knew that they were nearing the end of their life, and soon enough would not be able to ascend Mount Coronet at all—yet the voice of Arceus still urged them forwards, and so they climbed.

They understood now that the Champion of Hisui was a faithless traitor, who they would need to defeat in order to earn an audience with the detested false Lord. In their younger years Arceus had not provided this information, simply requesting that she be dispatched. After several losses, though, Arceus had eventually disclosed the entire truth. Ever since that disclosure, the challenger’s mood approaching Spear Pillar was always the same: overwhelming anger towards the fallen hero who had enabled the old world’s destruction.

The challenger reached the temple again.

“Welcome back,” greeted the Champion of Hisui, motioning to a bench at the edge of Spear Pillar. “Please, take a seat.”

─────────────────

BEFORE

She thought it was rather dramatic, the way he stood at the edge of the ruins. The sky around them was vast and pink, dotted by Hisui’s seemingly eternal clouds as the sun slowly set. Volo did not face the champion and the feeling of wrongness only increased.

“The temple lies in ruins now,” said Volo, still refusing to turn around. His voice was light, distant, a kind of detached calm that she had rarely heard from the passionate researcher. “Columns cracked and broken... like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens.”

The champion raised an eyebrow, stopping just before the stairs leading up to the viewing platform. But she said nothing.

Volo turned around then, wearing his winning merchant’s smile. “Well,” he sighed, “I detect a distinct lack of Giratina.”

The champion couldn’t help but smirk at that. It had always amused her, the way he acted like life was a comedy of errors and they had no choice but to play along. The way he’d spoken in the Celestica Ruins had been different, though—he’d been dead-serious about his own suffering and the suffering of others, deranged laughter aside.

And here was that humor again. It should have been a comforting return to form. But this time, the champion could not shake the chilling feeling that Volo was in on the joke.

“Hm?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand. His tone was unmistakably condescending. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in months, not since they’d grown to understand each other as more than merchant and hero. “Is something bothering you?”

The champion nodded stiffly. For all of her trust and confidence in their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder—

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” said Volo, having traded his smile for a chillingly neutral expression. “I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!”

He didn’t sound like himself. He put a hand on his hip.

“I daresay you deserve to know what I’m really after by now,” he told the champion, and her heart sunk.

She found herself stepping backwards, filled with incomprehensible dread. It didn’t matter what it was, it only mattered that she hadn’t possessed the sense to avoid this situation altogether. And now she had no choice but to accept that she was wrong about the only person in this world who’d ever felt right.

Volo chuckled darkly, his one visible eye noticeably changed. He looked… manic, was the only word for it. She’d seen hints of this before, but had chalked it up to passion. It had even been sweet, in small doses. But this was concerning. She wanted to reach out to him, and she wanted to leave this place before she learned exactly how foolish she had been.

The conflict left her rooted where she stood. The conflict, and the fear.

He seemed to sense that fear, his expression shifting back to an easy smile. He spoke clearly, thoughtfully, just as he had during countless discussions of history and ruins and oh, Arceus, this man might actually be insane.

“Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist,” said Volo, “there has been one question that consumed my thoughts: How can I meet such a being myself?”

The champion struggled to understand the implications of his words. All things considered, that was a perfectly normal Volo thing to say, so why did everything feel so—

"It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time,” Volo told the champion. “After all, Giratina wished to stand against Arceus.”

She blinked.

He…

He’d brought her here.

She was here, because of him.

And when she’d been banished…

“But that didn't do the trick,” Volo continued, still smiling. “So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed.”

He had her.

He’d had her.

Volo closed his eyes and lifted his head to the heavens, eerily peaceful in his confession. “Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity. You hold in your hands seventeen of them. So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?“

He opened his eyes and removed something from his apron. A purple plate, shaped exactly like the others. “Why, it’s right here!”

That was not a customer service smile, it was a smirk. She’d seen it last when he’d playfully challenged her to battle, but nothing was playful about this challenge.

The champion stood, slack-jawed, as Volo reached for the shoulder of his Ginkgo Guild uniform. In one smooth motion he removed the jumpsuit and his hat, revealing…

Oh, he was definitely insane.

"Now hand over the plates you gathered!” Volo commanded, dressed in the most bizarre outfit the champion had ever seen in her life. He wore a chiton-shirt with a cold shoulder, a pendant with a teardrop-shaped stone, gladiator sandals, and green capri pants. Had he assembled this look in the dark?

And the hair. He had done something with his hair. His beautiful hair that the champion had always longed to see at its full length, gelled up in a deranged imitation of God itself.

It was too much. All of this was too much.

Volo’s gaze burned into her, his visible pupil having grown noticeably smaller. “I will be the one to bring them all together!"

The champion gripped the strap of her satchel. How dare he make commands, when he was the reason Arceus had brought her here? He should be begging for her forgiveness!

Volo was ranting now, seemingly to himself more than the person he’d just betrayed. "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I must know what it is!"

When the champion was banished for Volo’s actions, he had comforted her. He had cared for her. Why would he have done that? Why would he have done any of this?

He stopped smiling. He spoke to her now, although part of her wished he wouldn’t. "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power. And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world!"

His words at the Celestica Ruins echoed through the champion’s head:

Ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking, I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

The champion was pretty sure she was currently going through something like that.

“Of course,” Volo continued, “if I create a brand-new world, then the Hisui region that we currently exist in will be undone and returned to nothing. You, everyone you know, and all the Pokémon living here will vanish in an instant, as if you'd never been."

He’d brought her to this world, and now he wanted to destroy it.

Destroy her.

The champion wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at Volo’s chest and demand that he admit that their connection was real, that she wasn’t a fool, that he regretted what he’d done to put her in harm’s way. She wanted him to be cured of this divine madness and come to his senses. She wanted him to be the person she’d grown to love—because of course she’d grown to love him, of all the people in this stupid world, instead of someone normal and unremarkable and disinterested in becoming a god.

Because that was what Volo wanted, right? To become a god? To subjugate God, and take its place?

And then he would destroy everything. This entire reality, gone. The people and pokémon within it, gone. Her, gone.

Did he really care for her so little, that he would erase her along with the rest of them?

And how deranged was she, to be more upset by the loss of his friendship than the loss of everything and everyone else?

Volo crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the champion as if he saw right through her. As if she wasn’t a person at all, but an obstacle in his way. The final barrier between him and Arceus, between his destiny and desires, in which she would have no part to play.

She would have given him the damn plates, if he had just apologized and explained. After all, it had been Arceus—not Volo—to bring her to this godforsaken place.

"If you want to keep this world from disappearing,” challenged Volo, “then face me in battle!”

She would not be giving him the plates. He didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve to be God any more than God itself deserved to be God. Arceus and Volo—a deity and its unfashionable imitation. Honestly, in that moment, the champion despised them both.

“Not that you have a choice,” Volo taunted, grinning widely because he was insane. “Even if you don't wish to battle me, I'm not above using force to take those plates from you."

He held up a pokéball and stared down at the champion. With the slightest of nods, she removed her samurott from her satchel.

She had Arceus’s blessing and Volo clearly did not. She was going to defeat him, just as she’d defeated every other enemy in her path. Only once she’d sufficiently humiliated him in front of his god would she allow herself to process everything she’d learned.

Volo tossed out his first pokémon with a knowing smirk, his form surprisingly confident and precise. For all of his intellectual strengths, the champion had never known him to be a particularly skilled trainer.

A spiritomb emerged from his pokéball.

Clearly there were many things the champion did not know about Volo.

─────────────────

NOW

“Please,” the champion repeated, motioning to the bench beneath the heavens. “I really think you should sit down.”

The challenger scowled at her, crossing their arms over their chest. “You know why I’m here.”

She rolled her eyes. The outsider had no memory of meeting her before, but her behaviors felt familiar all the same. “Yes,” the champion sighed, “I know that you’re here to fight me.”

“And then Lord Volo.”

She smirked at that. “Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

Her attitude enraged the challenger. A wicked traitor to the god that had chosen her—unfathomable, really, in her irreverence.

“Seriously,” said the champion, looking the challenger up and down. “Sit down.”

“Why?” the challenger said, suspecting a trap.

“You look exhausted from your climb.”

She was uncomfortably earnest in her explanation. And she was correct.

“How old are you now, anyway?” the champion asked as the challenger sat. To their surprise, she sat down beside them immediately.

“Old enough to finally defeat you,” said the challenger, avoiding her searching gaze.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.” And then, thoughtfully: “It’s been quite some time since we last met. I was beginning to wonder if Arceus had decided against sending a senior citizen in its stead.”

The challenger, naturally, took offense at the insult. “How old are you, then? I assume that your lack of humanity implies a lack of mortality as well.”

She nodded with a face that appeared far too young for the person wearing it. “I do not age conventionally, that is true.”

“Can you die at all?”

“Not by natural means,” the champion said. “Although I suppose I am still flesh and blood, just like you. But you are old and frail, while my youth has been preserved. Your remaining time in this world is incredibly limited, and yet you’ve come here again—do you not have other things to do? Interests, passions? Family? Does your entire life revolve around your mission from God?”

“Does your life not revolve around your Lord?” the challenger deflected. “According to Arceus, you chose him over the entire world.”

“In a manner of speaking, I did,” admitted the champion. “Though I don’t expect Arceus to ever fully understand my decision.”

“Decision? You lost.”

Something flashed behind the champion’s eyes. It felt good to drag her down from the heavens.

“It was once said,” she told the challenger through gritted teeth, “that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.”

It was an odd response. The challenger did not care to understand its purpose. They were indeed old and frail, and this was their final chance.

“Today,” they told the champion, “I will win.”

“Very well,” the champion said, withdrawing an ancient-looking pokéball from her fine silks. She stood up and offered her challenger a hand. They glared at it. The champion sighed, withdrew her hand, and watched as the challenger struggled to their feet.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Her final pokémon was on low health when she finally defeated Volo’s Togekiss. She had refused to speak a word during the fight, despite his taunting smiles and various confident poses. In addition to being insane, Volo was apparently also an incredibly skilled trainer. Not quite as skilled as the champion, though, as his final and most beloved pokémon returned to her ball.

Volo shook his head, still wearing that deranged smile, as he returned the pokéball to some unseen pocket in his ridiculous Arceus outfit. The champion sighed with relief, grateful that this would be over soon. He’d abandon the temple in defeat, and she would mourn his betrayal in peace. Short of physically attacking her, he had no other way to take the plates by force—and she still could not believe that Volo was capable of such brutality, when his entire goal was to create a better, fairer world.

(Honestly, if he hadn’t hurt her so profoundly in the process of achieving that goal, she thought she might admire him for his idealism.)

She shook her head. He was a hypocrite and out of his right mind. The last thing he deserved was admiration, or even an attempt at understanding. She would return to the village and forget all about him, and try her best to find someone else in this world who made sense. Maybe if Arceus saw her success, it would even return her to her world. Defeating Volo had been her ultimate mission, right?

Which…

If Arceus had sent her to correct Volo’s disturbance of the natural order, it had always known about Volo’s hidden intentions. This entire time, it had watched its chosen champion find comfort in her destined enemy, without so much as a word of caution.

It must have been intentional, then, for Arceus to keep her in the dark. But why?

“Why?” Volo demanded, now despondent in his defeat. “Why you?! Why do you have the blessing of Arceus?”

She didn’t know. He knew that she didn’t know.

“I’ve devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other!” Volo ranted, seemingly towards the heavens themselves. “I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest and study! All the time I’ve spent poring over the legends.. Everything that I’ve done—!”

The champion had served Arceus’s mission dutifully since her arrival in Hisui. Although reluctant at times, she had quelled the nobles and assembled the Red Chain. She had immediately opposed Volo, who sought to destroy the world Arceus created. This mission was her entire life—her job, her hobby, her singular purpose upon being transported to Hisui without her consent.

“You outsider!” Volo hissed, now glaring directly at the champion. “It’s almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!”

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

Volo had been the one thing, here, that she’d chosen for herself. To her, their friendship had been disconnected from her holy mission or crushing responsibilities—in fact, it had been a much-needed relief.

But the entire time, he had only viewed her as Arceus’s chosen hero. And he despised her for it.

Silent tears ran down the champion’s cheeks. He seemed not to notice, or not to care.

“No,” Volo told himself, “no, this isn’t finished yet.”

Please, she almost begged, but didn’t. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand. But she couldn’t leave, either, not when he still posed a threat, not when she deserved answers but couldn’t yet bring herself to ask—

Volo grinned again, his derangement reaching its apparent peak. “Can’t you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?”

She felt something, as dark shadows began to appear behind Volo. A massive void, from which a large creature began to emerge. It screeched as Volo began to laugh, its wings unfolding and its body taking material form. The champion recognized Giratina at once, well-primed by Volo’s lecture in the Celestica Ruins.

Volo regarded her in the throes of his mania, unwilling and unable to recognize her as anything but his enemy. Perhaps that was too charitable an interpretation, but—

“GIRATINA!” Volo shouted, clenching his hands as if they already held the plates of Arceus. “STRIKE HER DOWN!”

He laughed again, his eyes wide and his body hunched, as Giratina roared.

The champion released her final available pokémon, which only possessed a quarter of its health. She then turned on her heel, summoned Wyrdeer, and headed for the temple exit, using the ill-fated battle as a brief distraction. She ignored the sound of her fainting pokémon and Volo’s confused yelling as she pulled her Arcphone from her satchel and held it to her ear.

“You have to stop him,” the champion demanded as she entered the passageway beneath the peak of Mount Coronet. The cave was cool and blessedly quiet, and she only stopped moving when she received her response.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

─────────────────

NOW

As always, the challenger had put up a very good fight.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” the champion asked, almost bored in her victory. The challenger just glared at her, returning their fainted pokémon to their pocket.

“One can hope,” they said, and revealed their knife. If repetition with the expectation of different result was insanity, then they were no longer insane. Because this approach, this last-ditch effort, was entirely unprecedented—even to Arceus itself.

Using their last reserves of energy and strength, the challenger seized the woman. Short of stature and physically softened by ages of casual godhood, she could show little resistance to even the oldest of heroes. And, of course, there was the matter of the blade held to her throat.

“He will lower himself from the heavens and face me,” the challenger said between gritted teeth. The champion swallowed.

“Arceus has driven you to this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Lord Volo has driven me to this. Arceus has only ever encouraged me to be better.”

“Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.”

The challenger’s eyed widened. “How do you…?”

The champion sighed. “I heard it too. Every single time.” She was infuriatingly unfazed by the threat to her life. “How relieving it must be,” she said, “to lose the memory of each of your losses.”

“I find it rather inconvenient, actually,” shot back the challenger, holding the blade closer to her throat.

The champion smiled sadly and shook her head.

─────────────────

BEFORE

Eventually, she found herself trying to lose.

The fight with Volo had become like second nature to the champion, who since her first attempt had assembled the ideal team to counter his specific pokémon and fighting habits. Arceus knew she had been given enough attempts to observe him, some of which ended before Giratina even appeared. Volo was undeniably skilled, and dedicated to his own victory in a way that consistently astounded the champion. But while each new battle seemed to be Volo’s first, his memory struck of previous victories and defeats, the champion remembered everything.

At this point, she knew Volo almost entirely as the man she’d truly met atop Mount Coronet. Memories of their previous friendship lingered in small instances, but she had lost much of her attachment to his formerly comforting presence. This made it easier for her, as Arceus’s champion, to study and practice and try again and again and again.

She was confident, now, that she could defeat him. Him and Giratina, and then she would finally witness the world after such events transpired. Would he give up immediately, or try to harm her further? Would they finally speak as their true selves, or would he just disappear? If he did disappear, would he be gone forever?

The champion was still far from completing the the Pokédex and meeting Arceus, who only potentially could send her home. In the meantime, she would still be stuck in Hisui, alone. Almost certainly without him.

The outfit was not… irredeemably ill-conceived. With some modifications, she could understand the vision. And it would be easy for Volo to take down the Arceus style, allowing his hair to flow naturally. When the champion watched him during their battles, she often tried to imagine him in a different state of mind. She analyzed what she understood of his plans, was reluctantly impressed by his enduring commitment to his own aspirations. She got the best impression she could of the real Volo, a friend and a stranger and her only companion in this endless cycle of failure.

She never spoke to him. The idea of conversation felt wrong, as if disturbing a scripted play or painting over a work of art. And besides, even if she managed to change the narrative through speech, her inevitable failure would render the results meaningless. She would, always, try again. Until she won, she would try again.

As she approach the Temple of Sinnoh once again, the champion thought that she might be going insane. It made no sense, that she had not yet used her knowledge and practice to end this cycle. But every time she had the chance, she just… couldn’t. She would lose, retreat to the cave, call Arceus, and receive the same answer each time.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

There had been a few close calls, where she’d almost won. Especially against Giratina, she often stood a very good chance. But then she would remind herself that this was not fair in the slightest, because she had been given infinite chances to practice and strategize. Yes, Volo had technically cheated as well, but abusing Arceus’s blessing in such a manner simply felt cheap.

That was what she told herself. Eventually, someday, she would see an opportunity for victory that she could truly call fair, and she would take it. But until then, she would just have to lose.

And he would still be here. Insane, but here.

Insane.

She was going insane.

“I think I’m going insane,” she told Arceus after yet another loss.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“I know I’m going insane.”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“Why don’t you try, for once?” the champion challenged, gripping the phone tightly.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

And then, she thought it. For the first time in what felt like an eternity of repetition, she finally thought something new:

“Why can’t I lose?” the champion asked, her voice shaking as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not understand what she was asking, exactly—she could not lose because Arceus had blessed her, that much was already obvious. The world, this world, worked in her favor in some unearned and unwanted way. Yes, she could retreat from the mountain at any time to train her team, but that still left Volo up in the temple, nearly indistinguishable from the person she had grown to love. He would not follow her, would not attempt to seize the plates by any other means, seemingly frozen in time and place by divine circumstance. She would never have her former friend back, and if she moved forward, Arceus would never allow her to befriend him as he was now.

And she—

She would just keep going, in Volo’s absence. If not this battle, she would be fighting another. Again and again and again, until Arceus deemed her worthy. Arceus, who had lied to her, manipulated her, taken her from her home without her knowledge or consent. Who had created this world and its mysterious mechanics, blessing—no, cursing—her to endure.

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

God’s champion hung up the phone.

─────────────────

NOW

Much to the challenger’s surprise, Lord Volo had not immediately arrived to save his champion.

“He can see this, right?” they demanded, as their arms grew increasingly tired around her.

She scoffed. “Of course he can.”

“So why isn’t he coming? Perhaps he cares less for you than you believed.”

The champion met the challenger’s gaze. “He knows that you would never actually murder me. That is not becoming of the world he designed.”

The challenger narrowed their eyes. This had always been a possibility. “Fine,” they said. “But would your Lord stand by while you are in pain?”

For the first time, the champion looked afraid. “I—”

The challenger plunged their knife into her fine white silks.

─────────────────

BEFORE

The champion surrendered.

It was not a victory, nor was it any sort of defeat she had experienced before. Instead of intentionally losing the fight, she had refused to even allow its commencement. She had approached Volo where he stood, suspended in space and time, and offered him her satchel containing the plates of Arceus.

He stared at it, pupils shrunken and hungry. A smile crept onto his face. “How precious,” he said, almost tenderly. “You only needed a moment to think, before deciding to see things my way.”

The champion scowled. To him, it had been only a moment.

“You’re insane,” she said, showing no resistance when he began to take the satchel from her. He paused, though, upon hearing her first words towards his true self.

“Did you not listen in the ruins?” he asked, slight irritability piercing through his mania. “My reasoning is entirely rational. If God did not want to run the risk of its power falling into our hands, it should not have created its plates on our mortal plane. It is my right to seize them, and use that power to create a better world.”

“You could make this world a better place.”

Volo shook his head, smiling sadly. “Can’t be done. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You made it better for me.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was so, so tired.

Volo narrowed his eyes, pupils still tiny but slightly more focused. “Whatever could you mean by that, hero?”

“You know my name,” said the champion, cursing her voice for cracking at the last word.

Volo looked properly confused, now. Especially as the champion began to shake. “What are you—”

“Just take it,” the champion said, feeling that lump in her throat again. She had felt so strong, when she’d hung up the ArcPhone in the cave. Self-assured, energized by the notion of ending this vicious cycle. It had seemed, if only for a moment, that she had found a way to truly win.

This did not feel like winning.

“Just fucking take it,” the champion repeated, shoving the satchel towards Volo. He did without further comment, but did not immediately dig inside. He only watched her, still far from sane but seemingly calmer at least.

Volo furrowed his brow. “You said I made the world better, for you. But I was using you. I am the reason for your existence here. You should hate me.”

The champion shook her head as a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

She winced.

Volo studied her carefully. “What,” he said, “do you think your god would say of this?”

The champion shut her eyes. “Arceus doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course it does. It has chosen you to receive its blessings. It loves you, as it will never love—” Volo cut himself off, though of course she understood how the sentence would have ended.

The champion felt pathetic as she met his eyes. “I love you.”

He blinked. “How?”

“I just do.”

Volo began to pace, shifting into a paranoid state. “A trick from Arceus,” he muttered to himself, clutching the satchel close to his chest. “A test? No, a safeguard—a temptation…”

A temptation?

“This is all by design,” Volo continued to ramble, “If I allow for this endearment, for this enduring desire—”

Enduring desire?

“I must be strong. There must be a better world. I must not allow myself to—”

“Was any of it real?” the champion asked, point-blank.

“Yes,” Volo said at once.

“Which parts were fake?”

“The parts that mattered.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. Volo sighed.

“The parts vital to my mission,” he clarified, “were false. The merchant charade, the search for the plates.”

“And that’s what mattered?”

Volo avoided her eyes. “Nothing else can matter in this world,” he told the champion. “Nothing else will remain.”

He looked haggard, as if this was a truth he’d refused to admit to himself before having it forced from his lips.

“It has never been my intention to carry over unwilling parties,” Volo reluctantly explained. “Involuntary acquiescence has no place in my better world.”

“What about lying and manipulation?” the champion asked. “And erasing everyone and everything that came before it?”

Exhausted, Volo gave his response: “I said ‘better.’ Not perfect.”

After a moment, the champion replied. “It mattered,” she said quietly. “To me.”

“Your mission?”

“Us.”

Volo regarded her as if for the very first time. “Us.”

She stepped forward slightly, reaching for his hand. He allowed her to take it, using the other to clutch her satchel.

“Do you want them to remain, in your new world?” the champion asked, looking into Volo’s wide exposed eye. “The parts that were real?”

He gave the slightest of nods.

She could not have him in this world. She could either continue this endless loop of suffering, or defeat him and likely never see him again. And it wasn’t just Volo who mattered, but the champion herself—with Arceus as her god, she knew that she would never truly be free.

“Is this the right decision?” she asked Volo, squeezing his hand tightly. He gently leaned down to place her satchel on the temple floor, then used his other hand to stroke her face.

“Must there always be a right decision and a wrong decision?”

“I should be ashamed.”

“I disagree.”

“What if I’m insane?”

“I would say that you are just as sane as I am,” Volo reasoned, “if you wish to remain by my side.”

The champion frowned. “That is not a reassuring statement.”

“It is all I can offer,” Volo said, holding her hand to his heart. Then, with a small smile: “That, and—”

He kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, his eyes were almost back to normal.

“So?” Volo asked, eager and curious just as the champion had remembered him. Her heart ached with the comfort of familiarity—lost in the cycle of repetition, she hadn’t even realized how much she missed her former friend.

“It’s not perfect,” she said, “but it’s better.” She allowed herself to finally relax as Volo held her close.

Keeping one arm around his champion’s waist, Volo leaned down to retrieve the satchel once again. Despite her divine mission, the champion did not intervene.

“Very good,” Volo praised. His voice was warm and earnest, lacking the condescension one would usually associate with such a statement. “Now, rest. You’ve done more than enough already.”

And with that, at least, the champion could wholeheartedly agree.

─────────────────

NOW

Lord Volo appeared at once.

The challenger stepped away from the champion, their hands shaking as the knife clattered to the temple floor. Violence was a rare occurrence in this world, and murder was almost entirely unheard of—yet here they were, resorting to the former and possibly the latter as a desperate final effort.

“This was my mission,” the challenger prayed to Arceus as a figure descended from a shimmery stairway to the heavens. “Now please, give me strength...”

Thou hast been defeated in battle. Thou shalt try again.

“No, I haven’t! I’ve won—look, he’s coming now!”

Lord Volo was a tall man, appearing much as he’d been depicted in historical records and famous works of art: blonde, pale, draped in white silks resembling those of his champion. He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the world he had created, barely giving the challenger a glance as he walked right by.

Thou hast been defeated in battle, the voice of Arceus said. Thou shalt try again.

But the challenger was not beaten yet.

They reached for the knife, even as their joints ached. Lord Volo disappeared the weapon with a flick of his wrist. He then took his champion in his arms and placed her onto the bench, speaking words that the challenger could not hear.

She seemed to be speaking, as well. Alive. Despite everything, the challenger felt relief at that.

There was a sort of peace, in knowing that this was the challenger’s final try. Their pokémon were fainted, their god had seemingly abandoned them, they had compromised their own values out of desperation after a lifetime of repeated failures. Now, Lord Volo would disappear them just as he had the knife.

At least in oblivion, the challenger would finally be able to rest.

The champion muttered something more to her god, who then turned to face the challenger. He did not look happy, but seemed to be exercising some kind of restraint.

He looked back at the champion, who nodded. Lord Volo sighed.

“Very well,” he said, and flicked his wrist again. The challenger inhaled sharply, and then they

─────────────────

In the heavens, he saw to her healing.

“I’m sorry,” Volo said for what felt like the millionth time, although it would never truly be enough. He held a hand over his champion’s wound, glowing gold with healing light. “I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the champion said, kissing the side of his other hand. “The rosiness had begun to return to her skin, her deific attire now clean of the blood that had stained it. “I understood the risks of going down there undisguised.”

“That isn’t supposed to happen, though,” Volo said, trying to mind his temper as he channelled healing towards the champion’s wound. “Violence and murder, they’re not—not a part of our world.”

“Neither is the voice of Arceus,” the champion countered. “But even from within its containment, it still finds a way to haunt its champion.”

She glanced pointedly towards the pokéball on Volo’s hip. He had wielded its power to destroy the old world and create this one anew, to grant himself and his partner endless life and a home in the heavens above. He supposed it made sense that if Arceus’s power still existed in this world, its voice could never truly disappear.

“What will happen now?” Volo asked, shifting slightly against the headboard of their bed. “Will there be another challenger?”

“Probably,” said the champion. “Eventually.”

“But the one who…?

“I think they’re safe. An infant without memory of their past life, reborn free of Arceus’s influence. Of all the people in this world, why would it choose them again?”

Volo frowned, thinking of the recent confrontation. “I wanted to destroy them, for what they did.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” teased the champion, “to make sure you don’t repeat old patterns.”

He smiled fondly, thinking of the many way they’d helped each other create this new world from the ashes of its predecessor. Not only was his champion beautiful, but she was also brilliant—always had been, although he’d been rather slow on the uptake. In Volo’s defense, he’d very much written her off as a loss before her surrender on Mount Coronet. It had been a matter of strategy, to avoid considering her inner life.

“Can I ask you something?” said Volo, watching his champion with endless interest. She nodded. “What changed your mind, in the cave?”

She looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“On the day that the old world fell, you initially ran away,” Volo recalled. “Disappeared into the passageway for only a moment, then emerged again to hand over the plates. Why?”

The champion appeared conflicted, which was not the desired outcome of Volo’s questioning. He had his suspicions, based on previous reactions around the subject, that this was not a memory she often wished to revisit.

“I felt defeated,” the champion said, “so I tried something new.”

Volo couldn’t help but think of the challenger, who his champion had always seemed to care for despite the annoyance they caused. Even after their unfathomable act of violence, she had insisted that Volo reincarnate them rather than destroy them entirely.

“Something new?” he asked the champion, as he felt her pain ease beneath his fingertips. “Had there been… something before?”

She nodded. “Over and over again. And I remembered everything.”

A chill ran down Volo’s spine. With this revelation, the champion’s requests to borrow his spiritomb while facing Arceus’s challenger made an entirely new sort of sense.

“You never told me,” he said.

“In a way, I did,” she replied with a soft smile. “When you suggested that we were both insane, I didn’t disagree.”

Still so very cryptic. Volo kissed the champion’s forehead, vowing to someday learn every secret within it.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked as the stab wound faded entirely from her skin. Good as new.

His champion regarded him knowingly, lovingly, shamelessly.

“I feel better.”

[ottpopfic]

Four almost dads take a little girl to a pumpkin patch and nothing bad happens

-

“Will!” Leo shouts through a rainbow, scaring the shit out of the blond as he preps dinner

“Jesus fuuuu-freaking Christ man what do you want ?” Will saves just in time, still getting used to having impressionable ears around 24/7

“Pumpkin patch!”

“Pumpkin patch?”

“We need to go to a pumpkin patch”

“Aren't you supposed to be wedding prepping?”

“No shut up, I just learned Jason’s never gone”

There is a muffled call of “I've been to a patch of pumpkins before” from somewhere on the other side of the rainbow. 

“Babe a garden doesn't count!” Leo yells back before returning to Will “Also it would be fun to take Katie she needs a pumpkin”

The eight-year-old perks up at the sound of her name, having been too busy in her own world of coloring to pay attention to grown-ups. Today the drawing is of Festus, a welcome break from her usual repertoire of what they're pretty sure is her bio dad being brutally ripped apart and eaten by Cyclops.

Nico is sitting right next to their foundling at the table, a research text in one hand and his sketchbook in the other as he picks his way through the spellwork of his current case. But Will can tell his husband is listening by how he’s no longer taking detailed notes. 

“ Anyways ,” Leo continues on, his gestures getting bigger in his excitement “I found this place that-“

Leo’s arm goes right through the rainbow, disconnecting the call. Will takes the opportunity to go sit at the dining table with his family before Leo calls back so they can all be in the frame.

“We can go in the middle of the week,” Leo says without greeting as the rainbow reconnects “It's not like Katie is in school or anything right now”

It's true, she's not. She legally barely exists at the moment, just enough for Will and his husband to be her foster parents, making it so the truancy office is none the wiser. Right now they are focused on her mental and physical health, getting her into doctors and helping with her episodes. She obviously has some PTSD from her time in the swamp, and she's still underweight as well. They only just got an order in for braces for her weird backward knees, but it's still a week out until they are ready.

Therapy on the other hand they were able to find through The Program. Dr. Block isn't a demigod nor does he have the sight, but his sister is a child of Dionysus making him in the loop on the magical world. They have more mortals with halfling families joining these days, their family members living to adulthood opening doors on both sides.

It's probably the best that she's not in school at the moment, she's only been officially theirs for a little over a month since they brought her home from camp. The kid is still a little unsure about getting left again, and still very unsure of the outside world in general. The only places she truly relaxes are the di Solace apartment and the Way Station.

“Also there will be fewer people then” Leo presses on “easier on Chiquita and spotting monsters”

“Neeks?” Will checks

“I don’t have anything time-sensitive,” Nico says with a shrug before turning to the eight-year-old “You wanna go on an adventure Mostriciattola?”

Katie looks taken aback by being asked her opinion on the planning, so it takes a second for her to pause before thinking it over and then nodding with a smile. 

“Perfect!” Leo exclaims “You have some days off next week right -”

So next Wednesday the five of them pile into Will’s little four door and drive out of town to the pumpkin patch. 

They were able to find Katie a pair of green heavy-duty rain boots in her size from the Way Station’s collection, and she has her new favorite pair of embroidered overalls stuffed into them. It had been fun getting ready this morning, their little apartment bustling with the addition of Leo and Jason. Leo helps Nico get the kid ready by putting her hair in a pair of french-braids, and Jason helping Will pack the cooler. They have gone on double-date outings like this before, but the addition of Katie is making it extra joyful.

Leo drives because Will is sleep-deprived and Jason shouldn't and Nico hates it and if Leo doesn't he gets car sick. Something about being able to feel the machine working while the world moves around him, but when he drives he can just be the machine and it's fine. Whatever, Will passes out fifteen minutes in anyway. 

Katie wakes him when they get there, climbing over Will in her rush to get out. Then she's doing that excited stim she does, a little stomping dance from foot to foot, before giving a spin so she can shake Will's arm.

“I'm up I'm up” he laughs, Katie gives him a huge grin and then speeds off to see what Nico and Leo doing in the trunk.

“Okay,” Jason admits as he steps out of the shotgun passenger door  “This is not a patch of pumpkins”

It is very much not a single patch of pumpkins. The place was at one point a family farm, most of the original buildings have been repurposed into things like gift shops and cafes. There is a large corn maze off in the distance, hand-painted wooden signs showing the way to the pick-your-own orchards and caramel apples. There is a playground made of hay bales and a paddock of animals to pet and feed. 

With the leaves just changing color and the air slightly crisp the whole place feels cozy and autumnal. Both Katie and Jason are looking around in amazement, Will wonders if their kid has ever been to something like this before 

Fortunately, the place isn't crowded. There are what looks like a handful of families and one group of preschoolers on a field trip. This is good, because they all figured out fast that Katie struggles with large crowds, becoming quickly overwhelmed. They haven't figured out if it's her PTSD or obvious neurodivergence yet, but Will suspects it's a combination of the two.

When they start off towards the buildings Katie quickly falls behind, even with everyone walking slowly. It is hard for people over six feet to compensate for a little girl with a disability, so Jason gleefully crouched down to ask if he can carry her. Then the big softy has the kid perched on the crook of his arm bent close to his body. Katie's smile is blinding, one arm holding onto Jason's shoulder the other free to stim on the floral embroidery of her overalls or to point when she spots something interesting. 

“Fuck that's cute” Leo murmurs to himself before catching up with his fiancee and taking his free hand in his own 

Katie directs the group with her gestures, for a kid who still won't really talk she communicates very clearly. The four of them are perfectly happy to go where she wants, a lot of it is peering at plants and decorations until they find the menagerie of animals behind a wire paddock. They scrounge some quarters between them to get pellets from the coin-operated machine, totally worth it for the little giggle the cows get out of Katie when they eat from her hand. 

Nico is audibly surprised so many of the barn animals aren't running screaming from him, that is until they figure out that the cows are obsessed with Jason.

“I hate this” Jason gripes, but he's not moving away because Katie is half leaning out of his arms to pet the cows and get all slobbered on. The ones not getting loved on by the kid are inching closer staring at Jason like he has something they want, a few of them attempting to mouth at what they can reach of his sweater sleeves. 

“I think they have peacocks in the next pen” Nico points with a shit-eating grin.

True to his word, the next paddock is full of birds, and the two peacocks and single peahen are staring down the son of Jupiter like they want to eat him. Jason lets out a little puppy whine of distress.

That gets the girl's attention, turning back to the blond with a concerned face and papping at his cheek with a bovine-slobber-covered hand.

“It's okay,  I'm okay” Jason tries to reassure her, but Will can tell the expression doesn't reach his eyes by the way she frowns. 

They have found that Katie does this thing, where she will study your face for a long moment until she finds what she is looking for. It's a little unnerving, big dark round eyes boring into your own with such intensity many people become taken aback. Will finds it reminds him of Nico as he tries to parse some dead something out of your aura, or when an Aphrodite kid is looking into your love lines. Taking a peek into parts of you that only someone touched by the divine can do

They have no clue what she can see in people when she does that, but it feels like she's looking deep into your heart and separating out your true intentions. 

Also, the longer Jason has worked on his own mental health the shittier his poker face has become, so for Katie he's not a hard egg to crack. She wipes cow spit off on his sweater and points to the hand sanitizer dispenser. 

“Ready to clean up” he asks, trying his best to keep the relief out of his voice, Katie nods yes and points again.

Katie directs them to pumpkins next. It's a small hay ride to the patch, lame compared to the ones back in Texas though Jason looks a little spooked by the rattling of the cart, past an apple orchard heavy with dark fruit. The kid has no interest in the trees, she's off following the hand-painted signage to the pumpkin patch before they are all of the tractor bed. Nico is quick to follow her, and they are in the waist-high grass before anyone can stop them, though Leo hangs back for a moment to squint at the tractor. 

Will immediately starts to fret watching his husband and kid toddle about into the tall grass “What if there's ticks”

“Can't you like, psychically remove ticks?” Leo asks.

“I can check for lyme disease and stop spirochetes, it's not the same”

“I think it's too cold for ticks now” Leo tries to reassure.

“I can zap the ticks off” Jason supplies plainly like it will help anything.

Leo gives his fiancee one of his patented ‘babe that's ferial wolf shit’ looks “You are not zapping ticks off the kiddo” he tells him.

“It's always been fine before, I just get staticy and they fall right off”

“Anyways” Leo breaks in, “I think it will be fine”

Will's worry spiral is interrupted by Katie’s little ‘whoop’ of success, holding a pumpkin bigger than her torso above her head. The three of them clap and cheer as Nico tries to help steady her on the uneven muddy ground, but she is not deterred. She's carrying the gourd through the dead cattails and goldenrod back to the group and looking very pleased with herself.

Katie plants her big orange prize at Will’s feet and is then dragging Jason into the grass and vines by the hand, determined to get him a pumpkin too. Leo and Nico switch places as the small child guardian, Will’s husband with his own much smaller pumpkin on his hip.

“There are no ticks,” Nico tells him, sliding his free hand into one of Will’s back jean pockets, knowing his worries as always “I can tell they sprayed”

“Okay,” he relents a little, leaning into his husband's shoulder.

“Do you want to go get a pumpkin?”

Will pulls his lips thin, watching Leo struggling to keep Katie from eating a frankly ginormous grasshopper as Jason snacks on a rogue pumpkin flower.

“I promise there's no ticks”

“Promise?”

“Promise” Nico squeezes his butt with the hand in his pocket “Also I don't think Leo can keep both of them from eating bugs at the same time”

“Fair enough” Will relents with a snort of laughter, and wades into the grass to join the commotion. 

After paying they drop the pumpkins off at the car, no use hulling them around. It also gives them a chance to get drinks from the cooler and remove the bits of dead plants off Katie. She doesn't look to mind all of the fussing over her, everyone picking bits of foliage and seeds out of her hair and clothes as they spot them, she's perfectly happy to sit on the ledge of the trunk with the gourds, drink her juice-box, and kick her boots against the bumper.

“Not sure where we should go next,” Nico asks as he studies the map Will nabbed when they got there “What else is there to do now that we have pumpkins?”

Jason tilts his head to the side like a confused dog “I thought you said you have been to one of these places before”

“Yeah but that was for like, a zombie outbreak” Nico confesses with a shrug “This is the first time I've gotten to explore without the undead”

“I mean, you could add the undead” Leo teases, Katie perks up excited at the idea.

“No” Jason and Will monotone together, both Leo and Katie huff and complain good naturally and then grin at each other like the little goblins they are.

“We can just wander around” Will supplies, peering at the paper over his husband's shoulder “There's like food stalls and stuff”

“Sound like a plan?” Nico asks Katie, she smiles around the last of her juice box and nods.

They pick their way back across the gravel parking lot to the main buildings. Leo is squinting at the pick-your-own tractor that is currently loading the preschool group as they pass “There's something off with the tractor”

“Leave the tractor alone,” Jason tells him.

“But-”

“Leave the tractor alone,” Nico and Jason say together, Leo sighs deeply and dramatically. 

They get caramel apples at the cute little stand, mostly because Jason has never heard of them and the way Katie’s eyes get big and excited at the colorful display of toppings. Will insists on making sure they are cut (because choking hazards and the feral idiots chewing on the sticks), but that doesn't stop his kid from forgoing her fork to excitedly scarf down her treat and becoming incredibly sticky, it's very cute.

“Do not lick her” Leo warns his fiancee with a threatening plastic fork, clocking something in Jason’s posture and clueing Will in that it's time to clean her up. 

“ But ” Jason starts, looking conflicted “but puppy -”

“Don't lick my kid” Nico reinforces, Jason gives a huff sigh of defeat and pitifully watches Will clean Katie off with a wet-wipe. 

Katie acts like he's trying to waterboard her, squirming and trying to suck the excess charmel off her fingers. The wet-wipes quickly get abandoned so Will can take her over to the hand washing station situated by the port-a-potties. The eight-year-old is fine washing her hands on her own, so Will gets one of the bandannas out of his bag to sneakily wet under the spigot. 

“Ah-ha!” he laughs at his kid as he wipes her down, her face scrunching against being cleaned  “Got you.” She gives him a stink face when he's done and then drys herself off on his sweater sleeve, he guesses that makes them even. 

They wander for a while after that, either letting Katie lead the way or encouraging her game of musical adults that consists of getting passed from one pair of arms to another at her insistence. There are gardens and decoration displays to look at, lots of things to climb and explore, and photo ops at every turn. It feels like someone is always taking a picture, and no one is being sneaky about it, Will even catches his husband setting his lock screen to a photo of Will holding their kid among a huge patch of mums and marigolds and smiling to himself.

Eventually, they make it to the back of the property where the corn maze is. The thing is huge and intricate, the map on the plack showing that it has shapes of stars and moons and a smiling jack-o-lantern in the design.

“Do we wanna race?” Will asks, hand in his pockets.

The normal double date plan when they do something like this is a competition, either splitting up as couples or one pair against the other to see who can get through faster. 

Jason is not a competitive person, not like Will can be, and neither tends to be Nico. At least until Leo Valdez is in the picture, whatever it is about that man brings out this sibling-like competitiveness in Will’s husband. Something about their part goblin part I-have-known-this-person- way -too-long-and-lived-through- way -too-much-of-each-others-bullshit esk relationship just makes them egg each other on in the right circumstance. 

This time they have Katie though, making the teams uneven. 

Leo has that covered “You wanna see if we can beat your dads at the maze” he asks the girl.

And that's pretty awesome, to be called Katie’s dad, Will is still getting used to it. She hasn't called them ‘dad’ yet, at least not out loud (but that's not much of a surprise, she doesn't say much) but she's acknowledged them as such in other ways. Mostly in how she reacts when others call them her dads, pointing or agreeing when they do.

Like now, with Katie nodding and confirming. She does an excited little hop before turning to Will and Nico and sticking out her tongue. 

“Rules?” Jason asks, knowing his fiancee.

“No powers, no inventions, no weapons, no explosions, no flying, no talking to the dead” Will ticks off on his fingers.

“And no talking to birds!” Leo adds.

“I can not control what the birds have to say to me” Jason defends

“To the middle or the end?” Nico breaks in before they get into another spiral of how far passive powers can go before it's cheating. 

“Uuuuuuh”

They all look at the laminated map of the maze stapled to the plack to decide, Katie points at a tower structure towards the center.

“To the tower?” Will asks

Katie smiles and nods yes.

“To the tower it is!”

“Couples or blonds vs brunets” Leo asks the child.

Katie thinks for a second, grins, and then tugs Nico over to Leo.

“Then it's settled!”

Per camp rules, the youngest gets to count down the start of the race. Katie does so with her fingers, the second she gets to zero Leo scoops her up under his arm like a sack of potatoes and sprints off down the tunnel to the right, Nico hot on his heels. Will can hear his kid’s giggle through the dried plants as she’s sped off.

“Oh we're totally losing this aren't we,” Jason asks.

“Yep” Will confirms, and they both set off to the left.

“I gotta ask” Jason starts as they wander through the half-dead corn “How are you three doing?”

“Good, I mean” They take a turn to the right past a quaint little scarecrow, Will putting his hands in his hoodie pockets against the breeze punching through the leaves “You’re probably hearing it all from Nico”

“Yeah but I wanna hear it from you”

“It’s pretty awesome,” Will can’t help but smile remembering the little patter of bare feet inbound for a hug every time he unlocks the door at the end of the day “I wish I was home more, but we knew that was going to be a thing from the beginning. I can’t deny that coming home to a full house doesn’t make my day”

Jason grins at that “She has a way of lighting up the room doesn’t she”

“She really does” Will agrees “and she’s already doing loads better. I’m really proud of how well she’s done today”

“Yeah Leo did good finding this place”

“He totally did. We just want to wait a little longer until we take the next steps, I want her a little more back on her feet before she makes a big decision”

“Hm?”

“We want to ask her if she wants to be adopted,” Will says “It's really her choice, she might still have other family out there”

“But you want to adopt her?”

“Gods yes,” Will says tipping his head back “More than anything, we should have done it from the jump”

“You should have” Jason agrees matter a fact, but he's already bitten Nico’s head off about this “But she's here now”

“She is” Will looks both ways at a fork as Jason sniffs the air, both deciding left at the same time “She always felt so right”

“What are you gonna do if she still has family out there”

“I mean we're looking” because they are, because it matters “Nico has feelers out on the dead end, but it's been no luck so far. She deserves that opportunity”

“And if you find her family?”

“Then we take it from there” Will shrugs. He doesn't want to give Katie up, but everything he's been reading about adoption says that kids do best with their family of origin, or even just keeping bio family in their life. Will and his husband are ready to do whatever they need to do for their kid.

They lose the race, getting to the tower finish line a bit after the other half of their group. Nico is holding Katie in a front carry, looking like an adorable mix of tickled pink and hating life. Leo on the other hand is laughing so hard he's bent at the waist with a hand braised on the wooden structure to keep himself upright as he wracked with mirth.

“What happened?” Will asks

“Katie called me ‘dad’-” Nico starts.

“No!” Leo interjects as he catches his breath “ Chiquita what did you call him?!”

“Papi!” the kid declares, a quiet chirp and so so proud of herself, turning to look at Will in his husband's arms with a big smile.

Nico groans but doesn't correct their kid, pointing his face to the sky in a proud ‘why me?’. Will can't help but melt at the sight.

“Aw,” he coos “is Nico your dad?”

Katie frowns at Will like he's stupid and shakes her head no. “Papi” she insists, quiet but firm. Then the whole world changes as she points to Will next and declares “Dad”

Will points to himself “I'm Dad?” Katie nods yes enthusiastically, he can feel the smile that's splitting his face as he chokes out “I can be Dad”

Katie smiles impossibly wider and reaches for him, and who is Will but to take his kid out of his husband's arms and hug her close.

“Are you crying” Leo bullies

“No” Will sniffles wetly, then sneezes because of the lie. Katie startles at the sneeze, looks at Will like he's gross (fair), and squirms to get put down.

“I think your adoption talk is going to go well,” Jason tells him as his kid toddles off to torment Leo, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Will grins and wipes at his eyes “I think so too”

-

Notes:

How ‘Papi’ actually happened

Nico and Leo are discussing different words that are the same in both Spanish and Italian (Katie is pointing at things to demand their names in both languages)

Leo AuADHD no filter ping pong ass brain Valdez: lol it's so funny that ‘Papi’ is a word for dad in both languages

Katie (pointing at Nico): Papi

Nico: 🥲

I have also settled on what the Katie Stare actually is. She has always been able to see and manipulate things that take the form of ‘fibers’, breaking down make-ups and patterns they hold in her mind (a legacy gift). So technically she pinging into the neuro pathways in the brain and getting what is a basic ‘vibe read’. If you asked her what she was doing she would only be able to describe it as a ‘vibe check’. It's not super strong, Will’s a better lie detector with just his allergies, and she has to focus to use it but it gets the job done. I like the idea that a lot of powers are not always understood on the scientific side because of how demigod culture is under-researched with all the dying and all, but there are technicalities to gifts if people decide to study them.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 3x14 Long Distance Call

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

Dean’s admission echoes in Sam’s aching head as they sit beside each other, on their respective motel beds, drinking beer and nursing their bruises, while the TV flickers ominously in the darkening room. Dean’s found an old horror movie that he must’ve watched so often he knows it by heart, mouthing some of the lines in sync with the characters, his swollen face lighting up in childlike joy at the outdated, involuntarily comical jump scares.

Sam could never get behind his brother’s enthusiasm for horror flicks. In his opinion, they’re dealing with enough horror in real life as it is. Why Dean would find relaxation - even joy - in watching people getting terrorized and torn apart by monsters, aliens or (worst of all) other humans is beyond him. Why he would fill what little downtime they have with even more fear and blood and pain is something Sam will never understand.

He also can’t get behind the sudden insouciance that Dean is showing, sitting rapt in front of the TV, their earlier conversation about Dean dying in three weeks seemingly forgotten. Very possibly, it’s just a front - a mask he’s put on to disguise the very emotions he admitted to only twenty minutes ago. Up to anyone’s guess whether he’s protecting himself or Sam by sliding back into the brave act he’s put on for months now. Pressed, Sam would guess the latter. In the end, it’s his modus operandi, and as much as Sam rebels against needing protection - he’s twenty-five now, for god’s sake - he believes that, by correlation, it’s what keeps Dean together. Taking care of Sam means he can’t fall apart. Not even three weeks from going to Hell.

Sam shudders.

“Ohhhh– that was nasty, wa’n’t it?” Dean grins at him, pointing at a slashed-up body on the TV screen, the insane killer silently walking out of the frame, machete dripping blood.

Sam shakes his head, albeit carefully, his brain still sloshy from getting knocked out earlier. How can Dean find gory murder amusing when he’s about to get ripped apart himself? He suppresses the ‘A little too close to home, don’t you think’ he’s got on the tip of his tongue.

Dean slaps Sam’s leg. “Oh come on, Sammy! Admit it - it’s funny!”

Sam doesn’t laugh. “Haha.”

“Wuss.” 

A knock on their door pulls Sam out of his thoughts and Dean away from the screen. 

“Papa John’s Pizza!” someone announces cheerlessly outside and knocks again, impatient. “Your order’s here!”

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Dean gets up and, after checking through the window, he opens the door to a weary-looking twenty-something in a red-and-white uniform holding a family-sized pizza box out to him. Dean pays and tips him generously. That, too, is his modus operandi: they may be near-broke most of the time, but Dean never lets a person with a shit, low-paying job go without a tip. He’d rather not order at all. Sam can’t remember if that’s something Dad taught him, but he doesn’t think so. 

Door shut and locked, Dean returns to his bed with the steaming box and opens it, his eyes already swinging back to the TV where the crazed machete murderer is stalking his next victim.

“He’s in for a surprise with that one,” he comments cheerfully before he maneuvers a slice of pizza out of the box and bites off, sauce dripping down his chin and onto the bed. Sam wants to say something about the sheets and using napkins, but he doesn’t have it in him. As much as he complains all the time about Dean’s messy eating, he knows he’s going to miss it when–

No. He’s not gonna go there.. They’ll find a way to save Dean. It’s not gonna-

“Dude! You’re not even looking!” Dean admonishes, chewing. “This is the best part! The Final Girl!” 

There’s screaming on the screen, blood splattering all over the place, and the killer growls and snarls like some rabid dog. It sounds way too much like a Hell Hound. Sam swallows.

“Dude, you okay? Lord of the Flies leave you with a concussion after all?” 

Dean’s eyes are on him now, giving him the full Winchester-X-ray scrutiny, pizza and movie momentarily forgotten.

While it’s true that the Crocotta knocked him out, Sam doesn’t think he has a concussion. His head hurts, and he’s a little dizzy, but he can see straight and he doesn’t feel like throwing up the two beers he just drank. No, the lump in his throat is nothing but dread, pushing up through the bravado he, too, has been putting on for Dean. 

“D’you want a poem?” he’d joked earlier, to kill the tension and knock Dean out of his panic. It had worked. Humor sometimes was the only thing that worked when his older brother was spiraling. Humor or pure, physical force. And Dean needs him. No matter the show he’s putting on, Sam sees it in the taut line of his shoulders and hears it in his exaggerated laughter. Behind the pretend mirth, despair still glimmers in the green of his eyes. 

For once, Sam’s got to be the one to lean on. He can’t waver now.

“I’m fine,” he says, waving at the TV. “Just that Pizza Face over there is not exactly making my mouth water.” More blood sprays on the screen as the triumphant Final Girl takes an ice pick to the killer’s ugly face. Sam pointedly wrinkles his nose. “Yuck.”

Mollified, Dean chuckles. “Lightweight.” He takes another hearty pizza bite and licks a string of cheese from his split lip. “Wait till you see what happens with the teacher in part two! Guy knows how to handle a chainsaw, I’m not kiddin’!”

“There’s a part two?” Sam asks, horrified. Why anyone would want to watch a sequel to this ludicrous garbage eludes him.

Dean grins devilishly, although it must be hurting his badly bruised cheek. “Yeah, and it’s on right after. A marathon, in fact. Parts one through four back-to-back.”

Sam has to keep himself from sagging in dismay, and he stops the agonized groan that wants to slip out of him. A whole night of battling insomnia and the monsters waiting for Dean in Hell with badly made-up, fictional monsters prowling over a scratched TV screen - it’s not his idea of conquering fear. But, apparently, it’s Dean’s, and if this is what his brother needs, if this is what helps him face the nightmare waiting ahead, Sam will be by his side. In this dismal motel room and in the three weeks to come.

“Alright then. Pass me a slice,” he says, gesturing at the pizza, to a crescendo of screaming coming from the TV. “And another beer.”

Dean’s grin widens, and if he’s still scared underneath the twinkle in his eyes and the bright flash of his teeth, it’s hard even for Sam to detect. “That’s my boy!” 

He balances a slice from Sam’s veggie half of the pizza onto a napkin and hands it to him, followed by a fresh beer that he pops open with his ring.“Get comfortable, dude,” Dean instructs joyfully, rearranging the pillows between his back and the headboard. Then he lifts his beer bottle to toast to Sam. “It’s gonna be a looong night.”

Sam toasts back, a twinge in his chest. Twenty-one nights left. It’s time they start making them count.

The Damage Control Series Masterlist

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

[bretonalchemist]

i NEED to expand on this 10 years later/the farmer never moved to sdv dream so here it is :

- Sebastian left and became a very successful programmer who lives in a high rise building in Zuzu City and wears suits, but he's very jaded about the world. He sneers at the optimism of his little brother, but somewhere deep inside, he misses the person he used to be.

- Alex has made it pro and he's good but he's also empty inside and he turns to alcohol to fill it up. He calls his grandparents every evening and visits them every weekend religiously. He cries into the dark once Evelyn hangs up.

- Shane has a made a few suicide attempts but Jas had a breakdown at about 13 yo and slapped the shit out of him so he's trying to get better, he stopped drinking and is going to therapy but he is living life through gritted teeth

- Sam is a semi-famous rockstar. He thinks he loves it. He doesn't. He actually doesn't really know what to do with his life now that he has reached his goal, and desperately tries to fill the hole in his heart by buying extravagant gifts for each member of his family. He's always smiling but his eyes are so, so tired

- Elliott has written several books and published none, because he lacks the confidence. He feels like his masterpiece is just at his fingertips and often spends entire nights feverishly writing. He's work drunk. His clothes and fingers are stained with ink. Willy hired him as a clerk to run the shop when he's on the sea, and that's the only money he makes, and he mostly spends it on supplies and alcohol at the saloon. He's become too thin with haunted, crazy eyes half the time.

- Harvey became the new mayor of Pelican Town when Lewis resignes for health reasons. The whole town is growing older and he feels his workload getting bigger. He feels guilty that he cannot keep al of them healthy, even if it's not a logical thought. He doesn't have the time for any hobbies anymore. He doesn't even have the time to realize that his own health is deteriorating. The man is in burnout.

- Haley also left for Zuzu City because she got noticed on social media and became a model. She's finally living the life she dreamed of, full of fancy clothes and sparkles and so so many people taking care of her without her asking. And she hates it. All of it. And she doesn't know why and it drives her crazy. She becomes hateful and angry, the cliché of an ungrateful celebrity. She doesn't dare contact her sister because she doesn't want to admit that she was right about everything, so she's alone

- Leah has moved to the farm and become a farmer. Her ex was stalking her and buying every art piece she made, so she stopped completely. She slowly started making art again, but now, every piece she finishes gives her panick attacks and she destroys them in a frenzy, crying and hyperventilating the whole time. She adopted a big german shepherd that serves as a guard dog, a farm dog and a support animal, named Minnie

- Penny created a montessori school and Pam takes kids from Zuzu City to Pelican Town so they can go to the school. She has a small classroom of 12 kids, all ages up to 10. Her mother is SO proud of her and she is happy to do wake up to go to work everyday. She still reads books in her spare time and is much more confident. But she kinda feels like she's going to become a crazy cat lady, because none of the bachelors left in Pelican Town seem interested in her. She doesn't want to seems desperate but she kinda is, the kids she takes care of make her heart twinge with pain everytime they slip up and call her "mom"

- Abigail has become a tattoo artist, she set up her shop in the community center and people come from far away to get her art on their skin. None of her friends are still in town, so she became buddies with Shane, who frowns at her everytime she downs a can of beer. Her parents divorced and her mother went back to her grandparents'. She still lives with Pierre, but she's old enough to realise that he is not her biological father, and that's the reason why her parents separates. She is angry about everything. She used to play the drums to release some frustration but it started not being enough, so she finally bought a sword from Marlon and went into the mines. She fights monsters when she's so angry she can't speak and her eyes seem to throw curses at people. Her body is full of callouses and scars from all her ventures into the mines. The wizard tries to approach her once but she punched him square in the nose. She is fairly sure he sometimes casts protective spells on her, she can feel her skin prickling weirdly, but it just angers her and makes her take even more risks.

- Emily has started a Youtube channel and uploads meditation, ASMR and hypnosis videos. She's built a loving community and feels like she's making a difference. But she's also losing grasp with reality. She's making enough money not to work at Gus' anymore, but she is so focused on her community that she is going out less and less

i had a dream that Fields of Mistria had an update and the map was a bit bigger, but also npcs came to visit from out of Mistria and it was the Stardew bachelors/bachelorettes !! except they were all like 10 years older, also Maru and Sebastian had a new baby brother who was like... 7 maybe ? and he followed Maru around like a duckling because he admired her so much. but Maru was so much colder, she had lost a leg and had a robotic prosthetic instead, and i was trying to uncover the story of WHAT HAPPENED ???

[helliixns]

Once my WiFi stops being fucken estupid, mark my words I will ADD Stolas’ new beau into the roster bc he is a CUTIE

[fighting-these-demons]

Divorce Saga Domon - A Haunted Honk Prequel

Hello Internet Stranger looking up G Gundam on Tumblr dot com!

This is an idea for a fic set in an Alternate Universe involving Queer Non-Canon Relationships between the characters of the series.

If you are not looking for this content please scroll on.

If you ARE looking for this content - and you're ok with reading my and other's Headcanons for this Alternate Universe I've haphazardly spun up -

Then go ahead and feel free to:

Check The Tags Of This Post For The Pairings

and click the Read More below!

--------------------------------------

Ended up outlining a completely different fic as a Segway for an explanation instead of making progress on the Royal Flush Haunted Honk AU's Clown Motel Fic like I wanted to but uh....

For y'all's review for the AU: A Prequel Outline - Divorce Saga Domon

--------------------------------------

Hey real quick - I'm thinking of maybe changing the timeline to 2 years post canon as opposed to 3 years and change post canon.

The reason being: I had a thought that this scene could either be part if the fic or if it's getting to big then it could be a stand alone tie-in prequel fic as part of this AU but - like

Immediately Post Divorce Domon Needs Space and runs off. As one does. And he runs to Earth because he just wants to Get Lost for a while.

He has Argo smuggle him out to avoid detection.

Argo has Andrew help stow Domon in a storage hanger of a Neo Canadian supply ship that's returning to the US - they have trade often enough and share agricultural resources - which leads to Domon ending up in New York when he hits Earthside pavement.

He's privately worked on his English the last couple of months and after being dropped in New York with a different hairstyle, outfit, and accent he's unrecognizable. 

He considers making his way west to get some solitude in the wilderness, but something about that initial plan feels off now that he's on the ground.

Chibodee is also Earthside for a special series of prize fights aimed at raising charitable appeal for the US in the eyes of Neo Americans.

Domon decides to hit up Chibodee for a fight on a day between matches hoping it'll clear his head and give him the clarity to decide on a course of action. What ends up happening is an unexpected heart to heart via blows and a breakdown.

Domon is happy for Rain and Kyoji, and he knows it's not true; but he feels like he lost a piece of himself when his relationship with Rain fell apart.

Domon's instinct is to run after that but Chibodee knows this city and Domon doesn't hide out for long before Chibodee drags him back to his place to stay and just "Chill out and breathe. You don't have to be anyone but yourself here. You can take as long as you need to find out what everything changing means for you." Friends and teammates stick together.

So Domon spends a few weeks with Chibodee sparring and hanging out in New York. Chibodee does a frankly awesome job at containing his feelings because he's focusing on Domons feelings and being a good friend first and foremost. Whatever he's feeling can wait until after Domon is done going though it.

There's a bit of a twinge in Domon's heart as he leaves that he can't really place.

After he returns to Neo Japan and gets settled back into life with his family, The Dreams start.

They're mainly set in New York. Small things first like noticing Chibodee's smile and his eyes. Then sparring sessions that begin to turn lurid.

He thought these kinds of dreams would stop after he was married.... he doesn't know what to do about this.

I just figure it gives more clarity and sense of time for the journey from Comphet Marriage Dissolution to Feelings to Confession. Idk.

But I got stuck on a bit and then had this thought and needed to get it down before I lost it and it was so long it made sense to make it its own post as opposed to several replies.

The Maize and Clown Motel will probably still be 3 years and change post canon for clarification.

@thedragonchilde @amplexadversary @youreaclownnow

[jaythelay]

I'm drunk, probably blocked by most here and that's fine I imagine I'm alot to deal with, but I really think this is something any leftist needs to hear:

Lose your Innocence.

The world does not play fair, nor does it reward it. The world is not like Bernie Sanders or Tim Walz, the world works, presently, upon rules that dictate the strong-minded do nothing as to not oppose their own fears or morals, while the weak-minded do as they please.

The world is going to take and it will grin, you will never know if they're sincere in their justified outward appearance, but it doesn't matter, what matters is you were wronged, and they will get away with it.

The issue is not that something "wrong" happened, it's that it had No Purpose. That is what stops you, you know there's a purpose, and yet so many times you've seen it without. Without ever knowing if it was ignorance or malice, you never try it yourself.

The truth of the matter is always and has always been, that you were too innocent to strike back, to strike first, or to strike too hard.

Leftists need to genuinely? Start being what republicans describe them as, they need to be "the deep state" they need to be ridiculously anarchistic, socialists, not just push for livable wages but thriving, really just shove that shit down people's throats.

They need to start breaking shit and saying mean words.

As is, your innocence holds you back from ever throwing a punch, you feel as though it's meaningless to do so in the first place, but the fact is, Republicans Have No Reason, for what they do other than a Larp, it's Fun to them, they find Fun in Killing or Maiming Innocence.

You don't need to do that. You need a purpose behind it, one that isn't that. Call them faggots, call them absolute larpers, *** them on twitter, do it all man. Because they just proved there Is No Order, No Purpose, and most importantly, No Point in anything.

If they want this kind've world, you gotta toughen the fuck up, and break some fucking teeth (metaphorically, of course.) and do shit you've seen as wrong for so fucking long, because it Will happen to someone you care about otherwise. Republicans don't experience their own bullshit, bring it to them, because everyone pretends the left does anyways, you might as fucking well now.

tl;dr democrats/leftists aren't cool, they kick you out for making shitty jokes instead of making shitty jokes back. They don't have anything cool like my faboribe electric man elgon mufks! They don't even really say anything and when they do, it's some boring politics about another country and that pisses me off because I still can't pay off this thing, or this costs more and now that I'm politically active I'm paying attention to solely what the cool people say because I'm cool.

Leftists don't have dumb content or humor, they don't get stupid, and that, is why they don't understand the dumb fun of republicans. On top of this, they're also too weak to throw any punch socially and instead focus on critique.

To put it simpler, to the wider public, unfortunately and this is a bullet to the fuckin' heart, the Left's HBomberGuys vs R's Keemstars? Keemstar fuckin' Wins. Figure out why.

[summer-sapphic]

Hi I'm mad