#┋ wait just a moment; i can drop my values. – dash games.

[scaffoldheld-a]

what’s your muse’s love language?

LAVENDER :   your love is the love of childhood crushes, secrets told in the dark between two best friends and long car trips with your favourite sibling. you're a sweet person with a soft heart and a gentle way of showing your affection. a pure, idealistic love, yours is the love of intertwined pinkies, butterfly kisses, and rubbing noses.       key   words  :     pure, affectionate, innocent.       best   matched   with  :   fern, canary. tagged by.   @troubldtwn tagging.   anyone who wants to

[ibijau]

on AO3

Beta Nie Huaisang goes to check on omega Lan Xichen, since his lover hasn't gotten in touch in a few weeks. When he finds Lan Xichen nesting, he can only conclude that the child isn't his.

It had been a while since Nie Huaisang had last seen Lan Xichen, and longer still since he had come to the Cloud Recesses. Usually, for everyone’s convenience, it was simpler for the two of them to meet in the Unclean Realm, where people knew to mind their own business, and where Nie Huaisang’s failings as a sect leader gave them a good excuse to spend time together.

It had been over two months since they’d last met. In all that time, Lan Xichen had only written once, and about sect business too, so it hardly counted at all. And so Nie Huaisang, who was in the area for some other dealings of his, had decided that it would probably be fine to drop by and check on the omega. 

The men watching the gate did not bat an eye upon seeing him, since it wasn’t so unusual for him to come unannounced, but one evasively warned him that Lan Xichen might be busy. That wasn’t a problem of course. Nie Huaisang had a permanent invitation to make himself at home in the Hanshi for those times Lan Xichen wasn’t free to deal with him right away.

So like always he headed right for the Hanshi, already wondering what tea he’d make for himself while Lan Xichen dealt with his own business. Only when he entered the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang was struck by an unexpected sight.

The Hanshi, usually so neat and tidy that one could have eaten off the floor, was an absolute mess . There were fabrics everywhere in all shades of white and blue as well as the occasional dash of green, plus a great number of cushions of many sizes that Lan Xichen was organising in some manner that must have made sense to him.

Nie Huaisang gaped at the sight.

Lan Xichen was nesting.

There was no other explanation. Although Nie Huaisang was a beta, as a sect leader he’d had to deal with that sort of things before. People were always surprised to hear about it, but Qinghe Nie was very welcoming to omega disciples, and of course alphas had to deal with their spouses. A whole portion of the sect’s budget was dedicated to this sort of things, just because Nie Huaisang had found that it spelled trouble to have a frustrated omega failing to build their nest exactly as they envisioned it. In fact, although he complained about the waste of money, Nie Huaisang found the process somewhat fascinating, and he’d always been happy to give his opinion whenever asked for it.

This nest, though, was instantly hateful to him.

It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen and him had made any clear promises to each other. They liked to fool around when they could, but being a beta he couldn’t mark the omega, and would have been unlikely to ever impregnate him. That was the whole reason why Lan Xichen allowed himself such liberties with Nie Huaisang: it was a safe way to scratch that itch without ruining his prospects for a proper match when the time came. 

Still, even without promises, Nie Huaisang had thought they had a certain understanding. He had never taken other lovers since falling in bed with Lan Xichen, and not just because he was too busy for it. Compared to the esteemed Zewu-Jun, everyone else felt boring, no matter if they were alphas, omegas, or betas. But Nie Huaisang himself, by comparison… well, if Lan Xichen had found himself a proper mate, an alpha, he couldn’t be blamed for it of course.

Busy with the delicate task of constructing his nest, Lan Xichen didn’t realise that he had company until Nie Huaisang closed the door behind himself, a little more forcefully than he should have.

He hated the way Lan Xichen’s face illuminated upon seeing him, so pretty like this, kneeling in the middle of his half built nest.

“A-Sang!” he exclaimed,. “I was just about to write to you, as soon as I finished with this.”

He gestured at the mess around him, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t help a disdainful scoff.

“I think I’d have waited a long while before seeing that letter then,” he remarked. “Congratulations are in order it seems. And I suppose I’d better leave you to it, you seem very busy.”

“Nonsense, you simply have to help me,” Lan Xichen protested, picking up an embroidered cushion and looking around for the best place to put it. “I’m not too good at this, but you’ve said you’ve helped with that sort of things before, right? I need your expertise, A-Sang.”

If Nie Huaisang had been a reasonable person, if he’d had a little more pride, he would have left immediately. Hearing himself still being called A-Sang after this hurt too much, as did Lan Xichen’s casual attitude, as if he truly didn’t realise that it might pain Nie Huaisang to discover in such a brutal manner that he had been replaced. Above all, no self-respecting person should have had to help their lover help prepare a nest for someone else’s child.

But apparently, Lan Xichen really saw no wrong with that. Nie Huaisang, kindly, decided to blame it on nesting frenzy rather than on the omega’s tendency to close his eyes to anything he didn’t like thinking about.

Lan Xichen was the only person that Nie Huaisang could have allowed to be so cruel to him without hating him. His one weakness, now and always. So instead of leaving, he quickly untied his shoes and came to join Lan Xichen in the middle of his nest.

“Hold this,” Lan Xichen ordered when Nie Huaisang knelt next to him, handing him some delicate furs, a present from Nie Huaisang himself some years before. “And this, and…”

“Quite the luxurious nest you’re building here,” Nie Huaisang remarked as he started laying the furs and fabrics around so they would be both elegant to look at and comfortable to lay on. “Is that even allowed by your sect’s rules?”

“It’s my nest, I get to decide how I want it,” Lan Xichen replied in a playful tone. “For once in my life, nobody has the right to tell me how to do this. I will take full advantage of it.”

“Hm. And what about whoever sired your child? Don’t they also get a say? Maybe they’ll think this is too ostentatious.”

For some reason, that remark made Lan Xichen laugh. Nie Huaisang found himself increasingly curious as to the identity of whatever alpha had gotten his friend with child. It couldn’t be another Lan, or else Lan Xichen would not actually allow himself to be so extravagant. A Jin then? He really didn’t like the idea that it might be a Jin, because there was only one of them close enough to Lan Xichen for this to happen, and if Jin Guangyao had dared to touch the omega…

“He won’t mind,” Lan Xichen claimed with laughter still in his voice, before grabbing Nie Huaisang to kiss him.

Again, Nie Huaisang thought of protesting on account of his pride.

But what was the value of that pride when Lan Xichen's lips were on his, tender and demanding, when the omega's arms were wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. 

Nie Huaisang had sacrificed his pride for less pleasant purposes before. He didn't mind doing it again, for one last tryst with the man he shouldn't have loved.

One of Nie Huaisang's hands grabbed the back of Lan Xichen's neck. This made him gasp, and gave Nie Huaisang the chance to deepen the kiss, licking into that willing mouth. Then, with his free hand he started pulling on the ties of Lan Xichen's clothes, eager to undress his lover. 

Under layers and layers of pale silk, delicate skin became revealed. Nie Huaisang's fingers lazily danced over his lover's collarbone, over a firm chest, taking a moment to play with a nipple, just for the joy of seeing Lan Xichen's lips part for a soft gasp. His chest was still all muscle, but it would probably soon start to soften and prepare for the child’s arrival. The thought sent heat coursing through Nie Huaisang’s groin, for which he cursed himself. By the time such changes started appearing, everything would be over between them, Lan Xichen would certainly have married whatever lucky idiot had managed to breed him.

Enraged by that idea, Nie Huaisang tore off the rest of the omega’s robes, letting precious silk pool around them and adding to the mess of the half built nest. When Lan Xichen was left in nothing but pants, Nie Huaisang roughly pushed him down against the nearest pile of pillows.

Lan Xichen went down willingly, though could have resisted if he wanted. He was the stronger between them, and by far, but when they were alone he liked to pretend Nie Huaisang could push him around, to play the part of a delicate and submissive omega. Another game between them, another thing they didn’t talk about, and Nie Huaisang to this day didn't know if Lan Xichen did it for his own pleasure, or out of pity for his weak lover.

It had to be at least partly for pleasure, with the way Lan Xichen gasped when Nie Huaisang, having pulled down his pants pushed a finger into him to find him slick with arousal already.

“Zewu-Jun, how shameful of you to get in such a state while nesting,” Nie Huaisang teased, pressing in a second finger already, while his other hand pressed on Lan Xichen' s shoulder, pinning him against the side of his nest.

Lan Xichen writhed weakly, as if trying to escape but unable to.

“A-Sang don’t, ah, don’t call me that,” he complained, gasping when his lover’s fingers found the right places to tease. “It’s not…”

“Then what should I call you?” Nie Huaisang asked, trying to keep his tone casual even as he added another finger. “Er-ge? Lan-gege? Xichen-ge? A-Huan, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen, whose eyes had closed upon that most welcome assault, opened them again and whined at that last suggestion. Even though they had been doing this for some years now, Nie Huaisang had never really dared to use his lover’s personal name, fearing it would have been too intimate for the sort of relationship they had. Now though, if he was to lose all this, there was little point in not taking everything he could before it was over.

“You’re so wet, A-Huan,” he accused, removing his fingers from his lover’s hole and carelessly wiping them against the side of his naked thigh. “Isn’t it against your sect’s rules to be unrestrained?”

Lan Xichen pouted at feeling himself empty again, and shivered at Nie Huaisang’s words. As if suddenly remembering something, he quickly sat up in spite of the hand pushing down on his chest, proving that Nie Huaisang was only in control because it was granted to him. Nie Huaisang found it a more potent aphrodisiac than actually having the strength to subdue his lover could have been. He then saw Lan Xichen quickly reach behind his head, saw the white embroidered ribbon he wore be loosened and slide down, saw his lover smile at him with that spark of mischief Lan Xichen only ever showed when they were alone together.

“There, now I’m allowed to be unrestrained,” Lan Xichen said after dropping the ribbon out of the way and carefully laying down on the side of his nest again. “Let’s make the best of this, A-Sang.”

He opened his legs a little wider, shamelessly inviting Nie Huaisang to come enjoy his body. Nie Huaisang, in turn, pretended to ignore him and started undressing himself, taking care to fold everything neatly so it wouldn’t get lost in the luxurious mess of that nest around them. Lan Xichen observed him with hunger at first, which quickly turned to frustration.

“You’re teasing me,” he accused with a slight whine to his voice that made Nie Huaisang want to devour him.

“I’m just trying to be respectful,” Nie Huaisang retorted while fighting with his pants, the last item of clothing on him. “I believe your sect has a rule against undue haste, and against being careless with one’s possessions.”

“Then stop being careless with me,” Lan Xichen ordered.

Nie Huaisang froze, unsure whether to cry or laugh. Once again, he was stunned by how innocently cruel his lover was that day. He really should have put an end to this joke and gone home, leaving Lan Xichen to go get fucked by whatever alpha he’d found himself.

He should have.

He couldn’t.

Instead, Nie Huaisang quickly finished undressing, dropping his pants to the side without even pretending to fold them this time, and came to kneel between Lan Xichen’s legs. The omega smiled up at him, so radiant it hurt.

Without thinking, Nie Huaisang’s hand trailed down his lover’s chest, coming to rest on his stomach. Nothing was showing yet, not even the first signs of softness, though when he probed using spiritual energy, he definitely felt there was something there, a presence too small to have reached consciousness yet. 

The pregnancy wasn’t very far along, three months perhaps, which would place its start rather close to the last time Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen had been together. That would fit, of course. Last time, Lan Xichen had needed to leave the Unclean Realm in something of a hurry when his heat had surprised him, forcing him to rush home before it overcame him completely… or so Nie Huaisang had thought at the time. 

Back then, he’d been disappointed that they’d barely managed to fool around at all. He’d been disappointed at himself, also, for still not finding the courage to ask Lan Xichen to stay, heat or not. With himself a beta there was so little risk of unwanted consequences, while surely it would have been more comfortable for Lan Xichen to go through this with a partner for once…

As it turned out, Lan Xichen hadn’t faced the discomfort of his heat alone. He just hadn’t wanted to spend it with Nie Huaisang either.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Xichen's arm, forcing him to turn around. Lan Xichen willingly obeyed and got on his hands and knees, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He gasped when Nie Huaisang pressed into him faster than he normally did. But then, normally he wasn't so angry at the man he… 

The man he didn't want to love, Nie Huaisang thought as he started moving without giving the omega time to adjust. The man he shouldn't have loved. The man who he should have known he'd never get to keep. 

“A-Sang, be gentle,” Lan Xichen begged, before moaning when Nie Huaisang, instead, fucked him harder. 

The beta soon fell into a punishing rhythm, skin slapping against skin. The only sounds leaving Nie Huaisang’s mouth were grunts, while Lan Xichen alternated between begging to be treated gently or more roughly, as if unable to make up his mind. 

When Lan Xichen's pleasure cries became louder, his body tighter, Nie Huaisang found it in him to fuck even harder into that too willing body, until at last Lan Xichen tensed under him, coming undone with a silent gasp. Nie Huaisang kept going, enjoying that slick tightness for a few thrusts more until he felt he could hold on no longer. 

Pressing inside as far as he could go, Nie Huaisang bent down and bit as hard as he could onto Lan Xichen while spilling his seed.

It was a vain effort, of course. Still, when Nie Huaisang’s senses returned to him and he saw the imprint of his teeth on the side of Lan Xichen's neck, almost deep enough to have broken the skin, he felt a twisted satisfaction. The mark would fade in a few days, a few hours even if Lan Xichen expended some energy to get rid of it. But now Nie Huaisang knew what the man he didn't want to love would have looked, had he been able to mark him and keep him. 

A memory he would surely cherish in the future, when nothing else remained. 

Nie Huaisang pulled out and sat up on his haunches, the better to look at Lan Xichen lying under him, beautiful in his contentment, pale skin decorated by the first signs of future bruises. If he hadn't just come, the sight of such perfection on display for him would have made him hard. Even like that he felt some new desire run through him. 

Lan Xichen cracked open one eye. He smiled, turned around to rest his back against the now crumbling side of his nest, and opened his arms in a silent invitation. One that Nie Huaisang should have refused, the same as he should have refused all the rest. One he took, as he had taken all the rest. 

It was comfortable to lay like this, his head on Lan Xichen's chest, cuddled against one side of that hateful nest. Nie Huaisang could have fallen asleep like this, sated and warm, with Lan Xichen's long fingers lazily tracing senseless patterns on his back. 

Life didn't get better than this, and Nie Huaisang was selfish enough to take what wasn't his to enjoy. 

"I was thinking what we should do, since both our sects need an heir," Lan Xichen said, just as Nie Huaisang was abput to fall asleep. "If it's a girl, let's raise it like a Nie. Your sect is more reasonable about letting women rule, so it'd be… you don't like that?" 

Nie Huaisang shook his head, his body suddenly so tense he could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

That child was his? 

He would have assumed… betas weren't very fertile, and everyone said they had better chances of conceiving with a woman of any sort than a male omega. Nie Huaisang had made his peace with that, knowing he and Lan Xichen wouldn't… That there would only ever be a very low chance of...

But a low chance was still a chance. 

"It's fine if you'd rather see a boy inherit Qinghe Nie as well," Lan Xichen said, his hand turned soothing on Nie Huaisang's back. "In that case if it's a girl, we'll get to spoil her." 

"I don't mind seeing our daughter rule the Unclean Realm," Nie Huaisang weakly replied, still terrified he'd misunderstood somehow, that Lan Xichen had just been carelessly cruel again, that… 

But Lan Xichen kissed the top of his head with affection, and took to running his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair. 

"We'll see when the baby is there," Lan Xichen concluded. "I… you want this too, don't you?" he asked, suddenly sounding worried. "We never really spoke about… if you don't want to be involved, I'll… of course I won't force you. I can raise it alone if you're not interested."

Nie Huaisang rose on his elbows to look at the man he loved, who carried his child, and was shocked to find Lan Xichen looking truly worried. As if there were anyone in the world who wouldn't give everything to be in Nie Huaisang’s place. As if Nie Huaisang himself hadn't been ready to sacrifice any dignity he had left for what he thought were scraps of Lan Xichen’s attention. 

"We're raising our child together," Nie Huaisang firmly stated. "I'll claim it if you let me, I'll marry you if you let me. Anything you want from me, just ask and it's yours." 

Lan Xichen smiled brightly at him, happy beyond words. Nie Huaisang found it in him to smile back.

He would just have to get Mo Xuanyu to hurry up with that ritual, so that Jin Guangyao could be taken care of before the birth.

[honeymoonjin]

TGM Bonus Content #11

HELLO folks this was a long time coming but here is the week 2 elimination from Tae’s perspective ;;;-; also i know BC are usually irrelevant to the main story but this one has some pretty important info so i suggest you read,,,,, it’s only 1.8k 

---

Everything feels way too official.

It makes Taehyung’s throat dry. It was a little easier to say fuck the competition earlier with Y/n. Now, after being properly voted out and Sejin directing him to the confessional shed, things were different.

It isn’t that he regrets his decision either; it’s just a little scary leaving everyone else behind. The loneliness feels almost tangible, like a film of sweat on his palms that he can’t wipe off.

He stands outside in silence for what feels like a icy eternity. He knows what he has to do, and yet he waits at the door of the confessional instead of going inside.

Eventually, Sejin returns. He’s quiet for a moment, clearly trying to give the recently eliminated contestant space, but that’s exactly what Taehyung’s stomach turns over. His heart skips a beat when the producer gestures towards the shed, and Taehyung forces himself to speak up.

“What changes now?” Taehyung asks, voice croaky. “I can’t have sex with Y/n, I know, but what else?” He eyes the door of the shed warily. “Is this the last time I’ll use this?”

Sejin shrugs. “The confessional booth has never been an enforced requirement, it’s just preferred for the players in the show. You don’t have to come here anymore.”

“No, that’s not-” Taehyung forces himself not to feel too nervous, aware that his anxieties are making this bigger than it needs to be. “...I like kinda talking to the fans, that’s all. I wanna come back.”

“Then you’re welcome to,” the producer responds easily, before his face softens. Reaching out to place a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, Sejin gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re no less important on the show, and certainly no less valued amongst Y/n and the others just because you’re eliminated, okay?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes, even as the warm touch soothes him. “But you were going to send us home once we get voted out.”

Sejin breathes out slowly, lips moving silently like he’s deciding whether to speak or not. His eyes lift towards the cameras attached to the exterior wall of the house, before using the grip on Taehyung’s shoulder to step inside the shed. Kang and Shin are nowhere to be seen, and the small room is cool and quiet. “A lot of things are changing on the show,” Sejin answers carefully after he slides the door shut again, flicking the light on. “Partly because of the viewers’ response; partly because of all of you.”

“Us?” Almost like instinct, Taehyung finds himself going to sit on the stool. Sejin’s ruggedly handsome face is a little pinched as he double-checks the confessional camera is turned off, and it makes the boy worry.

“I’m telling you this because I trust you with the information, but do not forget you’re under a legal non-disclosure,” Sejin warns. After receiving a bewildered nod, he continues. “All of this was a gimmick,” he explains wearily. “The higher-ups told us our viewership was tanking due to bigger competitors and that we needed something to capture the attention of younger demographics, the 18-30 bracket, and I know from my girlfriend how addictive those reality shows on television can be. All of this - the big house, the pool, the prompts - it was all just a marketing gimmick.”

Taehyung doesn’t know how to respond. Sitting there with his mouth open like a fish seems sufficient, as Sejin continues.

“My boss just wanted all the pretty visuals and clickbait to get people’s attention. He couldn’t care less about the show or the people on it as long as the viewership increased. I don’t believe I ever told you this, but I’m from the HR department. I’m not even meant to be working directly with shoots, but the original proposal was so shocking that I applied to take it over. I tried to budget in for things like proper food and personal items, adjusted the application form to try and get genuine and safe people.” Sejin sighs out, arms crossed tightly in discomfort at the honesty. “My boss wasn’t happy about cutting corners in other areas like expensive sex toys and cameramen, but once the views started skyrocketing and the fanbase on social media began to grow, he became a little more comfortable with the idea.”

Taehyung closes his mouth with a small frown. “And now he’s happy with it?”

The producer laughs without humour. “He doesn’t get it,” Sejin admits, “can you believe that the views peak when the eight of you are together? Every breakfast, lunch, dinner, or meeting, they shoot up. Sometimes more than the actual sex, the viewers want to see you. So that’s why it’s not important that you’ve been eliminated. We made the decision to keep everyone around because I don’t think it’s wise that we separate you. And my boss wants fatter pockets, so he can’t afford risking the view drop if the house gets emptier and emptier. Do you understand?”

The masseuse nods mechanically. “Yeah, I think so.”

The uncertainty isn’t enough for Sejin, who purses his lips, brows knitted together. “Taehyung, I’m telling you this because I want you to prioritise your enjoyment here. I can see you are becoming close with some of the people in this house, and I want to encourage that. Not because of the views, but because I know they’re all good people that care about you, and you deserve to get something out of this experience. The CEO and main council of Bangasm would wring you all dry if they could, so don’t feel guilty about taking full advantage of whatever they’re giving you, whether it’s food or WiFi or, I don’t know, the pool. And please don’t forget that I’m on your side.”

Sejin clearly isn’t expecting the hug, because when Taehyung launches off the stool and wraps his arms tightly around the larger man, he stumbles back a few steps. After a moment, though, he brings his arms up to return the embrace, and Taehyung tightens his grip and savours it for a moment longer before letting go.

“I knew you were a good egg,” Taehyung announces proudly, setting himself back on the stool. “Let’s do this exit interview!”

As he sets up the camera and pulls out his phone to find the questions, the producer tries to hide his fond smile. He doesn’t do a very good job, but Taehyung chooses not to point it out.

“Okay, Week Two exit interview, Kim Taehyung,” Sejin announces in the smooth tone he always uses for anything official. Taehyung prefers his regular voice, but decides not to mention that either. “First of all, how do you feel now?”

Taehyung hums. “Should I pretend to be sad for views? I can fake cry if you want.”

Sejin sends him a warning glare, but that smile hasn’t left. “Honesty is preferred.”

“Okay,” the younger boy allows, deflating a little. “I feel okay. I was sad before, but I want to turn this into something positive, like an opportunity instead of a loss, you know?”

“And were you surprised about Y/n’s choice?”

“A little.” Taehyung pouts at Sejin’s raised brows. “I’m not lying this time! I know that I told Y/n to vote for me and we decided it, but I guess I kinda thought maybe she’d change her mind and save me. But now that it’s done, I’m really glad it’s not the others. I don’t want to see them upset.”

Sejin’s head drops, almost seeming touched by Tae’s response, though he busies himself with reading off his phone. “Is there anything you would have done differently if you could start the competition again?”

Taehyung bites his lip, thinking hard. After a few moments, a frown has graced his features. “I think I would’ve been a bit more selfish if I knew I was only going to get two weeks when everyone else got more. I just kinda wanna go back in there and kiss Y/n, but I can’t. That part definitely sucks.”

“What are you going to do now that you’ve been eliminated?”

At this question, Taehyung brightens back up again. “I want to spend time doing the things I love. Watching anime, gaming, I wanna train Mango so that maybe she can become an inside dog. And I want to get closer with the others now that I don’t have to worry about competing against them.” If Taehyung is honest with himself - which he does prefer to be - he’ll admit that he never felt like he was competing against anyone.

“Finally, since your elimination, the fans have been tweeting their reactions real-time, and the #WeLoveYouTaehyung hashtag has actually entered the trending tweets for South Korea. Is there anything you want to say to the viewers of the show, to those that support you?”

It’s hard not to tear up at the thought of people at home, cheering him on and supporting him. He blinks hard, nose twitching. “I’m sorry I couldn’t win for you. But I hope you continue to support me, and I’m going to try and chat with you all on Twitter more now. Thank you for the love.”

Sejin smiles sadly, reaching up to switch off the camera. “That’s all, buddy,” he says in a small voice, “you did well.”

Taehyung waits for the disappointment or the cold realisation to creep up inside him at those words - that’s all. But they never do. Yes, maybe Taehyung is done with the competition. Maybe he wouldn’t win the mysterious unknown prize, and maybe he’d have to restrain himself from kissing or touching Y/n like he wanted to. But there was a kind of liberation in not having to worry about that stuff anymore and just focus on enjoying himself.

An idea lights up Taehyung’s head suddenly, making a grin stretch across his lips. “Thank you, PD,” he says with a small bow, “I’ll go head upstairs now.”

Sejin reminds him that he’s in the bunks from tonight onwards for the week, but even that doesn’t damper his excited anticipation. He dashes inside, catching sight of the guys and Y/n in the kitchen, clearly preparing a meal of sorts.

Everyone’s staring at him, probably waiting to see if he’s going to put on a smile or burst into tears. Taehyung chooses the former. “I’m going upstairs to have a shower,” he says, “don’t wait up. I’ll come back down when I’m done.”

Y/n bites her lip, guilt stricken on her face, but before she can pull him into a conversation, Taehyung hurries back out and up the stairs.

For the first time in almost the whole two weeks, Taehyung locks his bedroom door.

It takes barely any time to open his computer and load the site he wants. Down the sides of the page, sponsored ads mingle with genuine ones, but the top banner is exactly what he’s after.

He clicks through, enters his credit card details, and grins when the confirmation comes up, displaying the purchase information and a link.

Thank you for your purchase! The order was successful.

Click here to go to the Bangasm TGM livestream site.

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Post Games Zenith Part 2

Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Rebecca and Elvira!), @maple-writes (also thanks for Asher!), @nightskywriter, @rhikasa, @pen-of-roses, @aeslin-writes, @the-moving-finger-writes, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @makeitmonstrous, and @timefirewrites!

The day after that demonstration with Lynne, Nesri kept following Cirrus around, trying to get him to spar with her. Rebecca had told us where the shocker was, so we were planning on getting it tonight. While Nesri and Cirrus were arguing back and forth, Asher approached me.

“I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but if something goes wrong we thought it might be a good idea to have someone on the inside.” He paused. “If you remember my interview, and what I did to Caesar, I was wondering if you would be okay if I did that to you? I’d take your soul, and put it into the body of someone who works there, and you’d be able to use it like it was yours.”

I blinked. It was a good idea, just surprising. “I think that’s a good idea. I am willing to do it. I would just like to ask, if it’s okay, if you could describe how it feels so I’m more prepared.”

He smiled. “Oh, of course. Well, it’s a little different for everyone, but to be honest, it can be uncomfortable. It might hurt a little when I take you out, and you might think you’ve died, and it might take a few minutes once I put you in another body to figure yourself up.” I nodded when he paused. Understandable. “If something does go wrong, like if I drop you, you should have no problem returning back to your body on your own.”

I nodded. “Wonderful. Thank you. Do you think it would be a good idea to test it out first? Such as, transfer my soul into another one of our bodies?”

“If you like. Especially if it’ll make you more comfortable with it later on.”

I nodded, and there was a knock on the wall behind us. I turned around, even though I already knew who it was. Elvira. I hadn’t really seen her away from Rebecca. “I suppose you’ll need another body for that.”

I bowed my head. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Asher looked surprised when he saw Elvira. “Good. You should probably both sit down for this. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I sat down on the floor immediately and nodded, waiting for Elvira to sit down as well. She grabbed a pillow and sat down as well. “Is there anything the receiving person can do to resist?” she asked calmly. “Should I practice putting up a fight for you?”

“That…” Asher nodded. “That might be a good idea. Hopefully, whoever we catch won’t know what’s coming but you can try to struggle. Maybe.” He glanced at me. “Do you want to hold her down as if we’ve kidnapped her?”

Elvira interrupted before I could respond. “I meant…spiritually.”

“Oh, right.” He laughed. “Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot you can do I don’t think.”

“Interesting,” Elvira said at the same time I spoke. “Whenever you’re ready then, I suppose.”

“That’s good to know,” I said.

“Okay then, I’ll start with you, Elvira. I’ll be quick.” Asher took a deep breath and reached one hand toward her chest, tracing her collar bone and pulled something out. She went limp, and I tensed. I shook my head, though, and relaxed. I had already decided to trust him. His hand shook a bit when he turned to me, and black claws were forming on the tips of his fingers. He reached for me, and despite myself, I tensed. And the whole world disappeared. I was falling, but something was controlling me, and as soon as it started, it was over, but it still wasn’t right. “So, how are you feeling?”

I blinked; my breathing was too fast. I forced myself (but not myself) to take deep breaths, and I looked around until I didn’t feel dizzy. I tested out the movement of my arms and legs. “It takes a little time to adjust to—” I winced at the different voice that came out of my (actually Elvira’s) mouth. “But it’s not horrible.”

Elvira was making faces, and I stared at my body. Now, that was strange. She (but also my body) sat up, rolling her shoulders. “Well, then…that was…” She startled. “Is that…MY voice??” She shook her head. “I…wasn’t ready.” Then she smiled mischievously and started humming. Wow.

“Good!” Asher smiled. “Once you’re settled, why don’t you try walking?”

I stood up on shaky legs. The left leg felt especially wobbly. “Don’t go near Rebecca like that,” Elvira growled. “Be careful. My—that leg is scarred. My, but this is rather strong. Sore, though.” She held out her arms for balance as she took some steps.

“Noted.” I took a few steps, but it didn’t feel right. “I’ll need to walk around some, however, to get used to walking in a different body.”

Asher nodded. “Take your time.”

I wandered off, and with each step, it felt easier to walk in the new body. I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I bumped into someone. I looked up and froze. It was Rebecca. Crap.

Rebecca steadied me with a smile. “Whoa, there, creampuff. What’s the hurry?”

I stared at her. Crap. “Uh. I’m not who you think I am. Asher—Asher used his magic to switch our souls, so I’m Zenith.” Asher nodded as well.

Rebecca just stared back at me before she quickly removed her hands. “Wait—that—right. You can—right. The plan—yeah.” Her voice grew intense. “Did she agree to that?”

I nodded. “Yes. She’s using my—Zenith’s—body now.”

“I wouldn’t have done this if she didn’t agree,” Asher assured.

From another room, Elvira yelled, “Wait, IS THAT REBECCA? What did I say?!” And then quieter. “Where is the volume control in these lungs??”

Did she mean what did I say to her? “Nothing incriminating!” I called back.

Rebecca turned to Asher. “Er. Thanks.”

Elvira stormed up. “I’m the real Elvira.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “You’re taller than I remember. So, you two’re…practicing the swap? Should I host a race or something? How soon can you be done?”

“They should be able to handle that,” Asher said. “It would be good practice for adjusting to different physicalities.” He paused. “You think we should make a prize for the winner?”

“That would certainly make things more interesting. Hmm. I don’t think we have much of value to wager, so let’s say we stake our pride. The winning soul gets the opportunity to…lightly embarrass the host a bit. For the sake of example, I could…sing.” She grinned evilly at the last word.

I cocked my head. “Interesting…” Rebecca whispered a suggestion in my ear, and I voiced it out loud. “Rebecca says I can show off your toenails.”

Elvira’s face drops in shock (weird to see that on my own face), then her eyes narrow. “I’ll allow it.”

We lined up at the beginning of a hallway, Asher waited at the middle, and Rebecca waited at the finish line. Asher called for us to start, and Elvira dashed off. I tried to do the same, but the legs wouldn’t move like I expected, and I almost fell.

“Shit!” Asher laughed as I jogged after Elvira. I couldn’t move as fast. She was well over the finish line when I finally made it.

She smirked at me. “Watch my language!” Rebecca clapped in the background.

And thus, they called everyone together, Elvira didn’t really explain that she was not me, and she sang a couple sea shanties to the audience. Everyone was grinning by the end of this (I had to admit, I didn’t have a bad singing voice), and Nesri was rolling on the ground, laughing with tears streaming down her face. Wonderful.

After everyone finally got over themselves, Asher took us aside and switched our souls back. “If a woman called Ginger ever asks, this never happened.” We both nodded.

*

But finally, it was the actual heist where we’d steal a shocker. I was back in my original body, and Elvira and Asher accompanied me. I knew the building we were going to steal from, and yes, it had a lot of security.

But there was a guard that we could steal, that would be out of sight of the others. I brought them around to the side of the building, and peaked around a corner of another building to check to make sure only a lone guard was there.

I snuck forward and grabbed him before he could notice me, covering up his mouth so he couldn’t scream. I dragged him back to the others and nodded at Asher.

Asher directed me to a hidden corner and whispered an apology to the guard before he took his soul. He turned to me. “Ready?”

I nodded. He transferred my soul first. Still felt weird. I rolled my head and moved my arms and legs around to make sure I was used to it. I nodded to the others. Asher would stay behind with my body, and Elvira would come and show the way. “Let’s go.”

Asher pushed the guard’s soul into him, wincing and shuddering a moment before he nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Elvira looked around, her eyes darting everywhere. She glanced back at Asher. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Asher nodded, and Elvira nodded and led the way. She actually knew where the shockers were, but I would have to pretend like she was a prisoner. I held her arm as we walked forward, and when a guard stopped us, I straightened.

She frowned at us. “What is your business here?”

“I am taking this prisoner to get fitted for a shocking device.”

She nodded, as if it was perfectly normal that the Capitol sent a prisoner over without letting anyone know, and she moved out of the way to let us through. No one bothered us as Elvira whispered directions to me. We finally stopped in front of a door, but when I tried it, the door was locked.

I frowned. “I guess I’m supposed to have the key.” I glanced at Elvira. “Do you know how to pick locks?”

Her face went blank. “Maybe.”

I sighed. “Can you, or not? If not, I can always kick the door down. It’ll just be louder.”

Elvira stood up straighter. “Well, I know exactly how it’s done, but I would’ve liked to have known beforehand so I could have brought proper tools.” She pulled out a hairpin. “You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver about your person, would you?”

Probably not. I felt around in his pockets, and my fingers hit a screwdriver. “Holy shit, he does.” I handed it over to her.

She stared at the screwdriver for a little bit before she took it. She stretched, and I frowned. Was that really necessary for picking a lock? She started trying. “It might not even be the right kind of lock.” It didn’t seem to be working.

After a little while, she looked over at me. “You, uh, wouldn’t also happen to have a key on you, by any chance?”

I shook my head solemnly. “Thank you for trying.” Elvira moved back, and I stared the door down. Hopefully, this guard was strong enough to kick the door down. I took a deep breath, kicked it, and it actually worked.

Of course, a guard heard that. “Freeze!” I turned to her as she pointed her gun at us. “What is the meaning of this?”

I tried to gesture to Elvira to not say anything. I forced a smile. “When they transferred the prisoner to me, they totally forgot to give me the key, and I didn’t realize until it was too late. And you know how they are. I wasn’t about to go all the way back to the prison to request that they give me the key. I’d rather take a dock in pay than that.”

The guard smiled and lowered her gun. “Those people are so stupid. Of course they would forget to give us the key. Fine. Just hurry up.”

I nodded, and we walked in as she walked away. There were shockers everywhere, just asking to be taken. I grabbed a couple, and since there was a window facing where we got the original guard, I opened the window. It wasn’t that far up. “Let’s leave this way. The guard would probably question us if we went back her way.”

Elvira nodded, and we escaped back over to where Asher was. I held up the shockers so he could see it was a success.

He gave us a tired smile, as he was sitting next to my body. “All done?”

I nodded. “We were seen, so we should probably get out of here quickly.”

“We got away with it for now,” Elvira added. “But I agree. We ought to hurry.”

He waved me over, and I handed the shockers to Elvira before I followed. Asher whispered something about staying quiet after being put back (maybe directed at the guard?), and then he switched us back. I tested out my movement as Asher stood up, gripping the wall and shaking his head. The guard sat up, blinking and dizzy.

I walked over to Asher and offered an arm, and he took it. The guard ignored us as he found his footing and walked back to his post. Elvira walked with us, looking around to watch for anyone as we slipped away, I heard shouts from the building. We had gotten away just in time.

[leggomylino]

hi celi :)) 🐬🧮🚏🔮🪐 !!

Angie <3 <3 <3 :D

🐬 - “Favorite English lyric?”

OOF you know I gotta say-- I have a few.

“Fly to the sky” - Get Cool Felix’s “Cookin’ like a chef” - God’s Menu “LIKE AN ASTRONAUT” 😩🌠 - Astronaut “I’ll always be on track” - On Track (Even a Fool Knows) ((I put this one in a scrapbook 🤪💓))

I’m sure there’s more but my sleep-ded brain can only think of those for now

🧮 - “A concept you’d like them to try?”

I think I’d like to see a storybook/fairytale/mythology theme? I think having an album that’s like a book and every song is a chapter or important moment in that story...they already kinda do something like this but, ah, hopefully you know what I mean 😅 I imagine it to be a softer, dreamy aesthetic as well, with lots of deep hidden secrets and values portrayed. And like, the whole thing is a synchronized dream they’re all having; or maybe they got sucked into a book and have to fight to make it back home

🚏 - “Song recommendations from your bias?”

Okay listen everything that Chan my man has written is phenomenal 😩✨I’d recommend just about anything that’s been written by him

🔮 - “Last dream you had about SKZ?”

BRUHHH okay listen. I have what a friend of mine calls “Fire Emblem” dreams and what this means is-- if you’ve ever played or heard of the Fire Emblem franchise, the games consist of long RPG stories with plenty of plot twists and turns. The last one I had was actually last night and it consisted of Hyun and Felix listening to me tell a story to this girl I was babysitting??? It was weird and not Fire Emblem-y so I’ll give you my biggest tea one I remember.

My friend and I (I’ll call her Kumi, her sometimes-internet name) had been hired as detectives to solve a burglary for some snotnosed princess’s missing crown. The King was a man who liked games so he additionally hired our rivals, SKZ, who ran a detective agency across town. Whoever found the thief (who was apparently also a murderer, as he killed a few guards and servants) would get a ~handsome~ reward and become the modern kingdom’s official sleuths.

Kumi and I were raring to go and dashed off to do our research. We decided to start by interviewing all the potential suspects that the palace guard had managed to gather for our convivence (lol). Because SKZ got fair dibs as well we chose to split up and multitask; she would take a few suspects to the library and I would take the other half gathered in a waiting area. She went off to the library followed by half the guys, and I entered another room where a suspect was already waiting for interrogation.

Oddly enough it was...this giant closet??? There were lots of clothes and boxes but I just ignored them and sat at the small table. I asked a few questions and jotted notes until I became keenly aware that it was just the two of us in a closed off room and for a sec could only stare at the closed, dark brown door. Then I dumbly looked back at the suspect, and he had this evil grin on his face and pulled out a knife.

I’m a very pro-safety gal so I immediately jumped up and reached for my taser and/or pepper spray but before I got there Seungmin comes walking out of the thick wall of clothes with a calm, pleasant smile on his face. He asks the man what he thought he was doing and starts commenting nonchalantly about “what a lovely day it is” and the man, for some reason, acts very afraid and drops his weapon, and Seungmin handcuffs him and has Lino and Changbin escort him out. Flushed from my possible-death experience and embarrassed at my stupidity I thanked him for saving me (note: this would be the first of three dreams he ends up saving my behind (nonromatically) idk why he’s just my guardian angel apparently). I made a joke about being his enemy in the contest, and he laughed and said it was no problem. When I asked why he was hiding between the clothes or where he came from/how long he’d been there, he just smirked and didn’t say anything. 😳💧

Before we stepped out I asked if he’d like to form an alliance and split the reward, and he agreed. Seungmin and I were partners for the rest of the dream, later joined by Felix, Han, and Hyunjin, who had gained a crush on Kumi. Because I’m a Chan stan I later asked Minnie where he was at, and he replied by pointing somewhere behind me. I turned around to find the princess drooling all over him and working her feminine charm and uh...🔥🔥🔥 started walking over to drag her off but he ended up politely turning her down 🥰🤪 Seungmin told Chan about the growing alliance and he got the others to sign off on it, so then we all worked together and found the crown!!! ...Felix actually found it in like the princess’s bathroom LMAO it was never stolen she was just...careless and wanted attention.

The End <3

🪐 - “Funniest SKZ meme or tweet you’ve seen recently?”

I don’t have nor do I check Twitter but I’ll share my favorite Jeongin (and skz) meme of all time with y’all 😊

Send me an emoji(s) and I’ll answer about SKZ!

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BRIDGET! You’ve been accepted for the role of POMPEY. Admin Minnie: I had some trouble writing Piero in the beginning; in fact, I rewrote him a few times because I couldn’t find the right words to describe the core of him. But you, Bridget, nailed it exactly in ways that I had not even seen myself. You made him utter real — sometimes uncomfortably so, all of that feeling and pride, As I was reading your application, I immediately felt like he was already yours. I really tried to pick out my favorite line in your application, the detail that really drove it home for me — but the truth is, Bridget, you won me over so thoroughly that I love it all. I cannot wait to see you on our dash again, Bridget, and I’m so happy you’re back! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Bridget

Age | Twenty-two

Preferred Pronouns | She/they

Activity Level | I’m either gonna be on every three minutes or three days apart, there is no in between, but I promise to keep my activity constant and in line with your standards and let it be known if I am having any struggles with meeting them.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | Hazel

IN CHARACTER

Character | Pompey ; Piero Montrelle Ruiz

Piero ; italian: rock

Montrelle ; italian: mountain

Ruiz ; spanish: famous ruler

What drew you to this character? |

Listen, I made a meme when I was apping Hazel, Imma show y’all right now:

It’s a dumb meme and I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but share it.

I honestly play characters like Piero more than I play nicer, more morally-sound characters like Hazel, but I wanted to try something new, so ultimately I decided to pursue Hazel at the time. That said, as much as I love Hazel and would love to write her again, I kept thinking about Piero and his youth and ambition, and so now here we are, me obsessed and wanting to write him.

Okay, rambling ? Done. Let’s do this.

Something about Piero just screamed to me boy king, and that’s just my style. It was in the way he put himself above other children, his pride and his ego. He was born to be something and, in his youth, before he knew of his parents’ empire, before they told him who he was meant to be, he was searching for it. He couldn’t find in it eager kiddy games, he couldn’t find it in chit chat or childhood experiences. But there was something that rushed through him when he saw them stumble, he found satisfaction in figuring things out ages before them. It was in feeling better than them, feeling stronger and superior, and — simply, just being better. He had no time for laughter, for foolishness. What was the point of that, if not to waste time ? ( He was a mean boy, but his parents never pushed him not to be. If he caused another to bleed, it was their fault for not defending themselves. If his whispers of cruel words caused them to weep, they needed to strengthen their mental fortitude. No fault was to be found in Piero ).

I also want to pinpoint there’s something about Piero that also reads naivety to me. He considers himself wise and intelligent, and to some point I do agree ( books and tutors can teach, and they do ) but there are other notions that bring out his youth. It’s in his eavesdropping on his parents — yes, he was young when it happened, but still someone wiser would have understood that some secrets are such for a reason. Instead, he lusted for the unknown, something bigger than himself ( this — as well, is something I’d like to focus on, but I’ll come back to this later. ) and he found himself frenzied until he was finally privy to the family secrets. I see him as being inexperienced, someone who doesn’t have quite the worldliness as someone twice his age or even someone who had to struggle for basic needs during their childhood.

( Also, there is the fact his parents groomed him as being special. He never earned the title, instead it was bequeathed unto him from the very start. His parents claimed he walked younger than most, talked younger than most. He excelled in classes, he excelled in his physical ability. Again and again, his parents claimed him remarkable. I think, amongst the Veronesi, it might be time for him to realize that maybe he isn’t more than his name. This probably should go under plotting but I’m imagining him seeing others with skills he was never taught, maybe those his mother would have considered barbaric and uncouth. Piero wouldn’t see that, though. He would see force and deadly talent and he would see the areas in which he holds deficits. Also, just the ability and skill that comes with time and practice beyond natural talent. I keep reminding myself that, although a little bit weary with a lot of trauma, Piero is still nineteen. I used to think that was so old and so mature, but he’s barely more than a kid. Fun Science Fact: brains aren’t developed fully until their mid-20s !!! Some studies suggest early 30s !!!! Piero hasn’t even reached 20s !!!! He’s still baby !!!!! He’s going to make mistakes and learn and he might be reluctant and angry to do ( please see trauma re: parent death and assassination attempts )  so but he’s gonna do it to better himself which is what he wants to do !!! )

Piero learned so much from his parents, from tutors and teachers alike, but there is something more about experiencing things for himself and not just from the words of others and that’s where his youth shows. The first time he fought, really fought, not for practice or for fun ( something about him just coded him as a bully in my mind, one who’d pick a fight with someone who, one, would fight back, and, two, someone he would definitely beat, but I digress ), in my mind, was when Tiberius came to kill him. There was a fight or flight reaction and he was proud and cocky and pumped up on adrenaline because — this — this was what it was all for. He fought with a flurry of fists, frenzied, wild. In that moment, he knew this for certain: Ruizes were powerful and forceful and they would not flee. If he died right then, so be it, but he wouldn’t have looked death in the face and accepted it.

Okay, so this has turned into a rambling character analysis, and I apologize because I said I was done rambling, and clearly not. That said, I don’t regret it. I just have so much passion and fervor for Piero and I could write a ton more. I might. Later. We’ll see.

I just can’t help but be captured by how striking he is. He’s new to Verona, new to this scene of criminal seediness because this is when he’s finally beginning to get his hands dirty, beyond the basics of opening his eyes. His parents were introducing him to this life, but they didn’t let him delve too deep. They were bringing him in slowly, and then they died. He had nothing right then, nothing but his name and its weight. That wasn’t enough, but his brutality was. When death came for him, it made a mark on Tiberius for him — maybe all of the Capulets, too — and now he’s determined to leave a stain on all of Verona, perhaps Spain and the rest of the world, too.

I originally saw him as something of a blank slate when it came to his being in Verona, but after thinking it through a tad more, he isn’t. His parents wrote his future for him with the very incident of his birth, and now he is filling in the blanks that have been left for him after their deaths. Verona — the Capulets — they are a step in his path to power. Here, he could find allies — he already has enemies — and he learned at a young age the value others could be in company. Over time, maybe they will see that he is someone with a bright future, someone who should be watched carefully because blink and you’ll miss his grab for something better.

He should not be overlooked and that is something I think people might do. Sure, his family had a reputation, one that might cause some pause, but they might think he isn’t them. He is young and inexperienced, but there’s a chip on his shoulder and in his mouth is a taste for blood. He won’t go down quietly or without a fight. He is watching and waiting for chance and opportunity. He’ll prove any doubter wrong, he’s sure of it with all the self-confidence and egotism a princeling could have.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. Emotional Motion Sickness: Something that struck me about Piero is how he once wore his emotions on his sleeve. He fought for his life, fueled by loss and grief. He has a practiced void in his eyes and locked tears away. In my mind, this is not him, it is not in his nature. He was the sort to be fueled by idle amusements, wanting satisfaction, his eagerness knowing no bounds. He feels, and he feels immensely. It could be said it’s what he does best.  But now? He is quiet, showing little. It’s vacant and a little numbing, and the void in his eyes is cold and distant. What his cards are and what he intends to play are known to him and him only. I can’t help but think that maybe, one day, he is going to break, the facade dropping, eyes blazing. Anyone caught in the crossfire surely would regret their taunts and jeers.

1. I just have this vision of him snapping. It would take a lot — honestly, a lot — because he’s created this solid version of himself, almost patient, somewhat mostly obedient ( I do imagine he chafes under rules a little — more than a little bit actually, but he bites it back time and time again ) but unfeeling. Jibs and jabs don’t get to him. They seemingly roll off of his back. I have to say that isn’t the case. He’s proud and he can only take so many insults. If — actually, when — he breaks, it’s going to have been a long time coming. The facade will start to break, cracks showing in the twitch of his fingers, the tension in his jaw. Maybe it will earn him respect from those around him when he snaps and demands more for him  — he’s more than just the last of the Ruizes, living off of the faded glory of their name, and he’ll be damned if he’s not allowed to show it — but maybe it will only be a reminder that he was a loose end, and he was meant to be dead to begin with.

2. Who Am I? You Decide: He comes to Verona and what’s most obvious is that he has offered himself wholly to the Capulets. It’s not what his parents did — they were owed power for their allyship while Piero is now owed nothing. At the beginning, he is dutiful and obedient. He’s got nothing to lose but he has everything to gain here. He has to prove himself, really it’s his main goal. To do this, he finally understands words his parents told him so many years ago. Detener la marea y esperarar al momento adecuado: Hold back the tide and wait for the right time. He’s trying to listen and be quiet and wait and watch, but he’s never known patience well. He acted and reacted in his youth — power and privilege granted that ability — and this restraint is taking a lot of effort.

1. The facade crumbles and falls slowly, piece by piece. It starts with remarks and quips that are a touch too dry and that have too jagged an edge to people who don’t matter. It then escalates. He tries to manipulate situations where he sees a chance to take hold. He bites when he should be muzzled ; he acts of his own accord. I have no doubt that his own desires and whims to take action will get him in trouble. He is a wicked boy and always has been, soul stained black by birthright and only darkened with time. He found thrill in other people getting hurt, whether by his hand or not. He found glee in twisting his words to twist knives in others’ hearts. Maybe he learned it from watching his parents — they were by no means good people — but maybe it was part nurture, part nature. It was fate to be bad, or at the very least unkind.

2. His true nature shows in these ways: he speaks when he shouldn’t, he becomes too comfortable around Tiberius, a man who is like a friend and a brother, but ultimately was the man who was meant to kill him. It shows in his interactions with Vivianne, charm oozing, frenetic words of grandeur and idyllic plans slipping from his lips in eager commentaries about Verona and Spain and the whole world further. He speaks to them as if they are not his betters — as if he is more than even an equal — and soon it is not only them. It will become everyone.

3. Throwing Rocks Around Your Room: Everything in his life has been destroyed or taken from him in irreparable ways. This new life, this new existence, a part of him wonders how long it will last ( there is, of course, a certainty that this has to last. It’s this life in the mobs, or death. No middle, no escape. All or nothing. Black or white ). He seems so neutral, so unmoveable, but his head is a wrecking ball. He thinks of ways to destroy not only himself but all those around him. A part of him thinks the Capulets are to blame for the ruination of his family and their name — exceedingly childish, for sure — but he wonders what it would be like to see them crumble, perhaps making a martyr of himself in the process. The one flaw to this is that he does not want to die. For what use was him surviving this long if it comes not to a head ? He needs to make a mark. He needs to be known not just by a few Capulets and other Veronesi — but by everyone. He wants parents to shiver when their babes utter his name. He wants his name in history books, imprinted on pages that will survive longer than their maker.

1. Destruction has followed Piero. At first, it was only others, starting with children who crossed him, and then it turned to the enemies of his family. He did well when it was his hand casting the stone. And then, it turned on him. His family’s empire turned from masterpiece to rubble. Another turn took and his family was whittled down to one. The idea of erupting and destroying who he thinks hurt him ? Somewhat appealing. But he can’t do it. He wants more. He’s hungry to become bigger than he is. I want him to find a way to do it ( and while he’d consider acting Brutus within the Capulets, his own pride and ambition would be champ at the bit, rendering him unable ) or at least consider his options. He’s restless as part of the Capulets. He feels like they are keeping him down, not letting him be enough.

4. I Don’t Have a Fancy Title for This One I’m Sorry: When it comes to Tiberius, Piero wants to impress him, to prove him right, that sparing him was the right choice. But at the same time, bitterness remains and finds itself seeping into his blood, the feeling intensifying, every time Piero finds himself being held back by the scruff. With his … befriending ( that isn’t the right word, and it doesn’t convey what I want to say ? Admiring ? Infatuation — not romantically, of course ) of Vivianne, he wonders if impressing her over Tiberius is the way to go. He considers ignoring Tiberius, going off on his own and making his own choices. Maybe that’s what he needs to do to shake off the status of initiate, to become a soldier.

1. tl;dr: Eventually, if Tiberius doesn’t let Piero have a little more responsibility and things to do, he’ll find someone else who will grant him that.

Current State of Being

→ Piero is trying to stay in line, keep quiet, and do what’s asked of him. But he’s antsy and he’s simmering. There’s so much he has to say ; he’s so not used to being at the bottom of the pecking order. It’s not going to last. He’s got a lot to say, he wants to do things. Sooner or later, he’s going to stop waiting for permission ( and, in turn, he’ll beg for forgiveness if need-be )

Character Goals

→ Have Piero use his voice. He stops listening to the jeers and taunts of everyone who thinks they know all there is to know about them, and he tells them off. He’s no longer silent and maybe people will look at him in a different light. Or maybe he gets in trouble. Either way would further. I’m leaning towards having him react and get angry, raising his voice in a way he shouldn’t.

→ His true nature shows. Wicked is as wicked does. He gets comfortable in Verona. He acts on instinct, he lashes out. Maybe someone gets hurt — maybe it’s him, maybe not. He starts to abuse his ability to talk to people, twisting words and twisting hearts and feelings. Manipulation is in his blood. He acts out, he steps out of line and does something for people to see him as more than just a little initiate in the Capulet’s gang.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? |

Don’t kill baby jk do it i dare you

IN DEPTH

( i’m replying to some of the questions & i did a para sample )

What is your favorite place in Verona?

He gets lost more often than he’d like. He wanders down streets he’s never gone down and through alleys with unknown endings. A part of him would be delighted if it wasn’t overtaken by the idea that he needed to know these streets better than he did. There was no time to be idle, no time to do anything with purpose. Most of the Capulets, surely the Montagues, knew this city like the back of their hands.

He wanted to know it better than they did, better than those naturally Verona-born. It was more than a want, it was a need that burned within him.

Still, the streets were beautiful.

It was different than home, than Spain. There, his family had resided just outside one of its largest city. From his room, he could hear the sounds of cars whizzing by on nearby highways. If he didn’t close the curtains, he would be bombarded with the lights of the city, no stars to be seen.

Here, despite its age and all of its magnitudes, Verona seemed infinitely smaller to him. He was refusing to allow himself to like it, to find a home.

It’s a long time before he finally answers the question, and his response can hardly be considered an answer. He only gives a shrug of his shoulders, absent, vague, and his gaze turns towards the window. His eyes are dead and shark-like as people pass by.

That’s not an answer, Piero.

He sighs, a loud and exasperated sound. There’s another pause on his part, this one longer and emphasized by his ability to not look at the asker once. This person — the soldato — means nothing to him. He’s sure they’ve already passed their prime. They’re as likely to ascend further as he is to fall flat — which is to say unlikely. And because of this, he cares little for them. He waits to say something poised and clever until perfect ears are listening.

Finally, there comes an answer, the barest bones of respect he’ll give, one with a little more substance to it. That doesn’t mean his voice has an affect that is more than flat. It doesn’t mean he seems to care. “ There’s a little flower shop that I can see from the window of my flat. I’ve never — “ his nose wrinkles at the thought “ — I’ve never bought anything from it, but it reminds me of when I was living another life. ”

It reminds him of the day his parents died and he was left standing alone to face their destruction, his shoes sticking to the hardwood floors as blood dried on their soles.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

“ Ambition is my folly. ”

It’s said lightly, airily, as if it doesn’t matter. Look closer, see how the muscle clenches in his cheek, how there’s a sparkle momentarily flashing in his eyes before it fades to dullness. He wants to do something that has weight ( — like the heft of a gun in his hand, the feeling of his body atop another’s as his fists bear down ) and yet he is relegated to simple tasks only. He feels like a page, or perhaps worse, a pawn, unimportant and oh-so-easily replaceable.

Maybe his mistake has been living.

It shouldn’t seem like that.

But he hates being an underling. He hates being told what to do and when to do it. His life is now dictated by another, not even a Ruiz. When it was his parents instructing him, it felt different, less like someone was making all of his choices for him and more like — more like he mattered ? There is no need to convince himself that he did matter to his parents — he was next in line, preened and primed, being readied to take the throne his family had been sitting on for generations — because he knows it’s true. Here ? One wrong move can cost everything.

Perhaps he should have allowed himself to have been martyred, killed in cold blood despite fighting to prevent it. He would have been the last of the Ruizes ; they’d have been remembered for not going down easily. Now ? He thinks a wrong glance cast could mean his throat will be slit.

You don’t seem so ambitious to me.

He supposes most won't have seen it. Tiberius knows — Tiberius has heard him ask over and over for something to do, something bigger and better, with meaning, and so has Vivianne, he would be remiss to forget her — but everyone else ? He doesn’t suppose it’s important enough information for his sponsor to pass along that he wants to do more, so he rationalizes that most think he’s just a good little soldier-to-be, keeping his head down and toes in line. It’s not time for people to fear him, not just yet. That time will come.

“ Then maybe my biggest mistake was that lie. ”

Para Sample

He has been being followed for sometime now. It is always a shadow in the periphery of his vision, disappearing when he turns to see, a jacket billowing behind someone who had just walked out of frame. Piero wonders if this should make him nervous. He’s considered it, the idea that someone must want him dead to end the Ruiz family once and for all. They came for his parents, now it’s his turn. It’s a horrifying thought at first light, but there is something dangerously satisfying to him within it, at the idea of someone considering him that necessary to end. Perhaps it’s dark and twisted, but not all boys born to wear a crown come out golden.

Nearly a week passes, and by now he’s on edge. Every knock on the door of the shitty motel he’s staying in, every blow of wind against the glass windows, sets him on edge. There are purple circles under his eyes, dark as can be. He hasn’t been sleeping well. He tosses and turns, his deepest worries allowed to fester and grow in unguarded dreams, until he wakes unrested. He can’t go on like this much longer. He’s wondered if it’s worth it to flee Spain, to call on distant relatives, begging on bent knees for salvation and charity. His own pride sets him straight. Cowardice is not an option. Ruiz blood has reigned over Spain for generations. He will not be the one to bring that to an end, bringing shame to his name and the memory of his parents.

It’s just past three in the morning when he hears the turn of the doorknob. He sits up straight in the rickety armchair in the corner, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room, and he stares and he waits. He considers running. There’s a window in the bathroom, already open. He’s slender enough to squeeze through it if he really wants to, he’s given thought to it already — the doorknob rattles again, a thump echoes through the room as something hits the wood of the door — but he thinks to himself he doesn’t have the time. If he tries it, he’ll be caught halfway out. He cannot flee if it will lead inevitably to his demise. It’s embarrassing and shameful and wouldn’t do. Even in the face  of death, Piero is as proud as ever.

The moments before the door cracks open, broken by the weight of another’s body, seem to last forever. He thinks of himself. He thinks of all the things he has yet to do. He thinks about his parents, their dreams and expectations for him. This becomes painfully clear: he cannot die without a fight. This is his moment. No matter the outcome, someone will remember the Ruizes. They were once noble and strong, but they didn’t allow their fire to go out so easily. It’s all he can do.

The door breaks, and he’s on his feet finally. The room is still dark but he can see motion in the darkness. He will let his attacker come to him. To tire himself out, to make all motion, seems like it’d be a mistake. Though he’s expecting it, the first hit knocks all of the air out of his lungs. Another hit lands, then another. Finally, something snaps within him. Elbows in, chin down. That’s what his mother taught him. He’s wild and frenzied, suddenly hits aren’t met with pause, and he begins throwing blow after blow, some hitting, some not. He’s all in. There is no hesitation, not anymore. It’s become apparent, right then, after this week of waiting, that perhaps another motivation is a fear of death.

It’s not an unreasonable thing. He is barely nineteen, hardly an adult, barely lived. He thinks there is so much more for him to do, to see and to experience. In his head, his mantra becomes I will not die today. Over and over, he says it to himself, despite blows hitting his body, his own strikes meeting their targets, muscles pounding against flesh.

Thoughts continue to rush through his mind. Why is he fighting ? For his parents. Why does he need to ? They’re dead. There are tears welled up in his eyes, out of pain and anger and grief. They shouldn’t be dead. They should be here. He shouldn’t be fighting. A choke sob escapes through swelling lips, but he doesn’t let himself falter. This is life or death, and he is doing everything he can to choose life.

His mouth tastes of iron and salt, but it isn’t from his own body. A fist met his lips, teeth scraped against gentle flesh, and Piero had drawn first blood. Though there were bruises forming on his own body already, though his muscles ache and scream, there is something satisfying about that. All he can do is manage to stay standing, quick on his feet, landing in jabs where he can.

The sounds in the room are heavy breathing and the noise of flesh hitting flesh. He wonders if the neighbors have been disturbed. He wonders if they care.

He isn’t sure how long has passed. He isn’t sure how much longer he can last. This fight, this rush of adrenaline coursing through him, it’s all new. Before this, it had always been fights that ended when someone hit the ground or time was up. Never had stakes been so high. A part of him is screaming for it to stop ; another wonders why this is only the first time. There’s something fulfilling in it, and maybe that’s monstrous, but Piero thinks that maybe he was born to be brutal and bloodthirsty. For so long, he had been charming and a pseudo-intellectual, clever and cunning. There had been merit to that, yes, but this ? Every fist that connects with skin sends a rush through him, a thrill like never before.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when the man takes a step back from him, a thrown swing causing him to fall off balance. For a second, his heart leaps to his throat and he thinks this is it. But the man doesn’t take the misstep as an opportunity. Instead, he’s looking at him, interest crossing his features. Piero doesn’t let his fists fall to his side, he doesn’t know why the man has stopped, and he is too in the moment to care. He takes the chance the man doesn’t and swings, his fist meeting the man’s jaw. It lands with a satisfying thwack, but again the man doesn’t retaliate.

“ That’s enough. ”

Piero can’t help but flinch under the tone of resolve and authority, but when he looks up again, the man is still staring at him. No, he is studying. Piero can’t fathom what he can be looking for or why their fight has stopped. His body is screaming, surely if he wakes tomorrow the pain will have increased tenfold, and his most basic reaction is still fight, fight, fight.

He’s winding up his fist again but again the man speaks. “ I said, enough. ”

Piero knows when words spoken are no longer suggestions — when instead they become commands. His fists fall, his shoulders do, too. His expression turns petulant, childlike in its quick and open displeasure.

He is silent, waiting — for what ? He wonders briefly. It could be death and damnation that awaits him. A part of him, however, thinks differently. He has never been idyllic, seeing the world through rose-colored glasses with glee and a grin, but something inside him is waiting not for death’s hand to grip him.

Instead, he waits. Blood is rushing through his ears still, his pulse is throbbing. Finally, finally —

“ Sit down, boy. Let’s talk. ”

Extras:

FAST FACTS

( i looked up spanish naming customs for this and i might have gotten it right but i might not have i need to do more reading to be 100% sure but i still wanted to include it )

→ Full Name: Piero Ruiz Lorca

→ Mother: Marcella Blanca Lorca de Ruiz

→ Father: Piero Ruiz Zapatero

→ Siblings: None

→ Birthday: July 12th ; this makes him a Cancer

→ Hometown: Cordoba, Spain

→ Dominant Character Traits: harsh, ambitious, bloodthirsty, rash, driven,  

HEADCANONS

001. For generations now, men wore the name Piero, his grandfather the third, Piero the fifth. There were expectations to meet, legacies to exceed. Live up to your namesake. Piero’s father was speaking of his own father at the time and, while this weight of that bore heavily down, the young boy could only think of becoming instead like his father. His grandfather died before memories of him solidified in a young child’s head, and so he only knew of him through tales and rumors. For his father, though, he watched as all stood when he walked into a room, his presence commanding respect, his reputation demanding it. While his hands were stained bloodied red, he was a beacon of light that people looked to, he captured attention easily. Once he understood, Piero craved that same state of existence. The children he grew up around, he had their attention, but in a different way. They whispered about him when his back was turned, they ducked their heads and left the room once he entered. It was a shame, really, but he was sure he would grow into his father’s shoes, filling the role the elder Ruiz did easily. For some time, he believed he was doing exactly that. And then, his parents were slaughtered, and the role he had to fill was that of a ghost. Now that he is human once more, as part of the Capulets and their crew, he feels like he once did as a child, unliked and not very seen. It’s digging at him, shoving splinters under already broken nails, causing him to grit his teeth and try a thousand times harder to earn a little bit of the damned respect he so desperately craves. It’s one of the few things that his father told him to do, this living up to his namesake. His father might be dead, rotting in the ground, with most of his words forgotten to time and space, but his spectral voice lives on in Piero’s head.

002. I have this image of Piero, maybe no older than fifteen, sixteen, at a table surrounded by compatriots of his parents. An older man, in his fifties, or perhaps, his sixties, is chewing tobacco. It’s disgusting. His gums are coated in black spit and when he smiles there are specks on his teeth. Piero cannot hide his disdain. But he’s chewing something, too. With all of his egotism, his thoughts that he is better than those before, he’s found a better option. Mint. It’s fresh and better and — the adults around him, most find him insufferable. For good reason. Anyway, it’s stupid and dumb, but god, I imagine it’s a habit he hasn’t broken. It also means mojitos are his favorite cocktail. No, I won’t elaborate on this or give any good reason for it besides please, I want it, and it’s just youthful arrogance, you know ? Before Verona, before his parents died, I feel like he had just come into himself — he felt sure and he was certain that life was grand. Era una vida tan buena. He was cocky and a little … I don’t know. Smarmy ? That’s not quite the word I want, but god, Piero was living each day as it came. Nothing could faze him. He lived under the shield of his parents and their name, of his own youth. There was privilege in that. He had seen the taste of power and luxe that his parents’ world — the one he was set to inherit once he was of age — and it delighted him. He revelled in it. He wouldn’t have to unlearn his innate cruelties, his hubris. He was a prince set to ascend, his crown was never askew.

003. As a child, he was raised not only to be smart, wisened by words of the experiences and the words in books, but to be cultured as well. His mother took him to parties with him on her arm, where his smiles never quite reached his eyes under the coos and remarks of her friends. He talked when spoken to, he never raised his voice. He could be charming when he needed to be, grins and chubby-cheeked, with words uttered that they desperately wanted to hear. He never enjoyed them, especially not when his parents would slip away into back rooms to have their own meetings. He would wait resting under the doorknob, eyes desperately seeking for some revelation under the door’s crack, ears yearning for words through the keyhole. The door would open at midnight, if not later, and he would fall into the room because of how he’d been leaning against the door. On the rainiest of days with no other plans, they would find themselves lost in museums all over the continent ( they had money, and while they didn’t quite flaunt it, they didn’t have qualms about traveling ). Beautiful things never caught his eye. They were nice, sure; but they were idle and dull and fleeting in his mind. Were his mother not guiding him ( in another life, one without bloodlust and bloodshed, she would have been a curator — a stunning one, establishing beautiful collections that many would travel to. alas, this is not our story ), he would have been lost in statues of gore, in paintings of wars and hatred. There was something about them that caught his attention and never let go. Is there beauty in being brutal ? Piero would say so.

004. The Ruiz home was decorated with exorbitant quantities of flowers while Piero lived there with his parents — why wouldn’t it be that way ? Their front for their operations was a massive floral establishment, it was only fitting for their home to be decorated accordingly. As a child, he loved their scent filling the halls and rooms — roses and lilies and all sorts of magnificent blooms. They were pretty and they weren’t long-lasting, but they were always something that represented his family, and he would be remiss to say a part of him wasn’t fond of them. However, from the day his parents died, all he can remember besides their shouts in frantic Spanish is the scent of blood and flowers. Now, any breath of anything floral makes him gag. It’s unfortunate.

005. The first time he held a gun — the first time he did so with meaning, it loaded, intended to be used against another — he was fourteen. He followed behind his mother, into a meeting with a man who owed the Capulets money. She knew he was unlikely to run or cause a fuss ( he had pride and character, his mother told him, and though he had wronged them, only a coward would have fled or refused his fate ) and thought it perfect for Piero’s first attendance. He stood behind his mother, just beside her shoulder, and listened as she talked. He stood on the balls of his feet, eager and ready for his chance to do something — anything. It never came, much to his disappointment. His mother said everything she needed to. She demanded payment. The man refused, citing he couldn’t. His mother nodded, then she fired one shot into the middle of his head. They left quickly after that, someone would be coming to clean up the mess, and the weight of Piero’s gun felt heavy in his hands having gone unfired.

006. He has nightmares. Nobody knows — he refuses to tell anyone for fear of it being seen as weakness or a vulnerability — but surviving two assassination attempts ? It should come as no surprise that it’s affected his psyche. But there are nights, more often than he’d like, that he wakes up, thrashing, sweat-coated legs and arms tangled up in bedsheets, and his heart is beating in frantic panic. It takes a moment for Piero to realize that his life is in no danger ( at least, not at that specific point in time ) and then he lets his head fall back to the pillow. The days after, he finds himself more on edge than normal, dark-circled eyes narrowed and angry.

PINTEREST BOARD

Rambly Bits That Didn’t Fit Anywhere Nicely But Still Provide Notion Of Character And I Didn’t Want To Delete Permanently For Fear Of Regretting That Decision Later

2. His parents were not good people. They never had hope of cleaning the blood off of their hands and fingers, but they never had desire to burn them clean. At his birth, he was blessed by aunts and uncles in hopes he’d have a fraction of his parents’ abilities — their cruelty, their decisiveness, their skill with gun and blade. He grew up in a home that never knew weak submission ; it was eat or be eaten, and he learned that quickly. He watched friends of his parents cry for mercy after failures — ones he didn’t understand in the moment, not until years later, when he crept downstairs in the midnight hours to watch their meetings through stair railings — and he watched as they were met with slaps to cheeks and sometimes worse. He was too young to understand the permanence of death, but he understood that a hole in a man’s temple meant he was never getting up. He saw the cool poise his father wore as he held a smoking gun — he imagined himself, older, in the same position. He echoed the steely edges his parents’ voices took ; he repeated the words they said that meant nothing to him until his cadence and tone matched theirs.

3. His parents praised him while he was in school when teachers and tutors reported that he was harsh in the face of sadness or whining and unable to handle the wrong answers of others.  It only worsened ( bettered ? ) as he grew older. His harshness seemed less precocious and began to unsettle others. Tutors and teachers began to dislike being in the same room as him. He wore a smile that said let me do as I please and his temper echoed I mean it. He asked them questions about things they didn’t know, baiting them with their insufficiencies until they had no other option but to quit. His parents would only hire someone new with no question. No one was spared. He asked personal and probing questions until they shifted in their seats. He was like a needle under their skin, sharp and uncomfortable.  )

4. Being a part of something bigger than himself. Isn’t that what a king does — or in Piero’s case, a princeling ? They are a large part of their kingdom, surely, and, though they might be its head, it cannot exist without its body. There needs to be support. When he was young, being a god amongst the other children wasn’t enough. He wanted something more. He wanted to be something more. He knew his parents did something that made them special, and their dis-including him ( for whatever reason it could be, he wondered night after night, staring up at the stucco ceiling, sleepless and agonizing ) just wouldn’t work for him. He needed to be involved, he needed to know. His knowing parts of their secrets, the whispers he overhead, was enough to build up his patience until it came to know more.

5. He has his eyes set on the crown his family once wore ; he was born and bred into a vicious line.

6. It’s a game of chess. Where once he was perhaps a knight or a bishop aside his parents’ queenhood, someone who could advise and assist, he feels now hardly more than a pawn. There are others in charge and he acts in their stead to do their bidding. He knows it’s what he must do. He must build his power back up, but gods above, the wait is agonizing. He wants to feel the rush of adrenaline that power brings surge through him again. He wants to make his own choices and decisions.

7. His peers had it worse. Unlike teachers whose authority he undermined, he knew he was better and above his cohort — a king amongst sheep. He ruled conversations even when no word slipped from his mouth. They needed to entertain him or he’d find another way to spend his time. ( A brief interlude: his “ friends ” didn’t like him but were scared of telling him no — also, they were most likely the children of his parents’ friends and associates, so there was need to make good with Piero. ) He’d pit them against each other with lies and rumors he’d overheard or made up. It was interesting to see them scramble, like ants under a magnifying glass. So long as he was amused, where was the harm ?

[randomnotesofmyown]

Psycho-Pass (11-12)

Episode 11 - Saint's Supper Recap: Tsunemori and Masaoka went in to look for Kogami while the rest of division one stayed on the ground surface to deal with the jamming.

Ginoza admitted to others that he wasn't sure what was going on. Kagari replied that, judging from how desperate Kogami sounded, the matter must have been very serious.

Senguji was still trying to hunt down Kogami. One of the PSB drones appeared and found Kogami.

Kagari walked with another drone and found the source of interference. He kicked it over.

An electric hound dashed to attack the PSB drone that located Kogami. Kogami ran to the drone and retrieved a dominator, and managed to destroy that hound with a destroy decomposer model.

Kogami got up and Senguji fired again. It hit him this time.

Kogami tried to work out how to defeat Senguji.

"His appearance...silence after every two shots...The enemy's weapon must be a double-barreled hunting gun.

Cut to Makishima. He commented into the earpiece, "Unfortunately, your time is up. The jamming has been broken. Soon the main unit of the PSB will rush in." Senguji replied with a sad and fearful voice that Lovecraft was taken out. "Shot and destroyed. He finally started shooting back."

Then, Senguji continued speaking with renewed strength. "When I was young, I often took part in construction work on infrastructure in developing countries. The more dangerous the place was, the more money I earned. Conflicts often occurred suddenly, and there was a limit to our ability to predict scenarios and manage risk. There was a time we were attacked by guerillas in one of those countries. I think it was at least 70-80 years ago. Then, too, the colleague sitting next to me was shot. My friend, who had been crying and shouting just a moment earlier, had now turned into nothing but a lump of flesh. His blood splattered and dripped down my head. and his smell stuck to my entire body. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but for me that was a good memory. That time, I felt alive...I felt really alive...I felt it more strongly than I have felt in my entire life. However, I'm experiencing that feeling once again right now."

"Once again, the blood has been set afire in this mechanical heart of mine. And now, you're telling me to run? That would be cruel." "But from here on, it won't be just a game." "That's exactly right. As a hunter, I've shot down lots of prey over the course of many years. But now, I want to confront that man as a duelist. Makishima, surely you didn't muck around with my game to see me turn tail here, did you?" "You're exactly right. I'll see your life's splendor until the very end."

And the cat and mouse chase went on. Kogami fired a shot at Senguji, hit him in the arm. Senguji retaliated and shot Kogami in the stomach.

Again, Ode to Joy played in the background as the game continued. Seeing the trail of blood, Senguji was sure that the Enforcer would soon see his end. But the person he saw was Funehara Yuki. Kogami pointed a dominator at Senguji

He fired. The end of Senguji.

Kogami told Funahara to get out of there and seek therapy as soon as she could. “You saw...too many things that you shouldn’t have.” The heavy blood loss from the gunshot wounds took its toll on Kogami. The enforcer slumped to the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness when Makishima approached, handcuffed Funahara and took her away with him. The dominator was out of reach, Kogami could only watch as Makishima walked away.

Tsunemori and Masaoka got to the hunting ground. They found the injured Kogami. Masaoka turned to the drone that went along with them to get the first aid kits while Kogami told Tsunemori about her friend being taken away.

Tsunemori ran off on her own in the direction Kogami pointed.

Ginoza and Kagari inspected the hunting ground and were guessing how many people had died there. An incoming message from Masaoka

Ginoza and the others got to Kogami, and Masaoka ran off in the way Tsunemori had gone.

Tsunemori caught up with Makishima. She pointed her dominator at Makishima. But the coefficient of Makishima was below 100, and the dominator became locked.

Tsunemori ordered Makishima to drop his weapon and surrender.

Makishima replied, "In order to buy some time until your reinforcements arrive, shouldn't you make our conversation lively? I'm sure an experienced detective would make that determination." 

"When you said 'multiple crimes', which were you referring to? Mido Masatake? Ouryou Rikako? I think that there's value in people only when they act based on their will. So I've asked many people about their suppressed free will and observed their actions all this time." "Don't be so full of yourself! You're just a criminal! " "How do you define crime to start with? That dominator you're holding...Does the Sibyl system that governs that gun decide it?'

Tsunemori pointed her dominator at Makishima again

"By analyzing a bio-organism's force field readings by a cymatic scan, they figure out how a person's mind works. The intelligence of science finally uncovered the secret of souls, and this society changed drastically. However, people's wills are not a part of that assessment. I wonder just what sort of criteria you use to divide people into good and evil?" "I want to see the splendor of people's souls. I want to check and see if it really is precious. However, when humans base their lives around Sibyl's oracle, without ever consulting their own wills, do they really hold any value?" Makishima tossed the shotgun at Tsunemori and went on, "Well, while I'm here, I guess I'll try testing you. too. To assess your judgment and actions as a detective." Makishima chained Funahara to the pole with another handcuff. 

"I'm going to kill this woman, Funahara Yuki...right before your eyes." Tsunemori's third scan of Makishima:

"If you want to stop me, instead of using that useless piece of scrap icon, you can pick up the gun I just gave you and use it. If you pull the trigger, a bullet will come out." "Th-there is no way I can do it, because you are..."

Because I’m a good civilian? Because Sibyl decided so?"

Tsunemori started questioning why.

"I don't know why, either. I've been wondering about it since my childhood. My psycho-pass has always been pure white. It never got clouded, not even once. All sorts of vital reactions in my body must be affirming me, thinking that my actions are those of one who is sound and good." "You guys can't measure my sins. If there is someone who can judge me, it would only be those who can become a killer based on their own will."   Tsunemori picked up the shotgun and demanded Funahara be released. "Or..." "Or I'll be killed...by your intent to kill. That would be a precious ending in its own way." "Now you feel the importance of life in your index finger, don't you? As long as you're a puppet of Sibyl, you can never experience that. That's the weight of decision and free will." Again, Tsunemori did a scanning on Makishima.

"Descartes said that those who can't make a decision can't do so because either their desires are too great, or they lack intellect. What's wrong? Unless you hold it firmly, the bullet will miss me."

"Now, aim at me with the intention to kill." Tsunemori, shaking all over, fired. Twice. And both missed the target. 

Tsunemori dropped the gun.

"How regrettable. How very regrettable. Inspector Tsunemori Akane." "You disappointed me. So I have to give you a punishment."

A trembling Tsunemori begged Makishima to stop.

Makishima slit Funahara's throat. Tsunemori screamed and sunk to the floor.

Kogami came to and asked about Tsunemori.

Kogami, on a stretcher, padded Tsunemori and asked what happened. "I met...that man." "Makishima Shogo can't be judged by the Dominator!"

End of episode 11.

episode 12 - Devil's crossroad

With a change in the opening theme song, this episode marked the start of part two of the season. The episode began by looking at things that took place three years ago. Kunizuka Yayoi dreamt of herself practiced playing a guitar behind the stage in a disco, she cut herself on the strings of that guitar. Someone approached her to help. She woke up to find herself in a detention cell. 

Ginoza invited Kunizuka to become an Enforcer. "Sibyl determined that you have the aptitude for it. I think this is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you."

"Does that mean...my Psycho-Pass will never recover?"

She didn't say yes and remained in there for more than six months. All that time her readings stayed above 100.

Ginoza visited Kunizuka again. Kunizuka was about to reject the invitation again, but Ginoza told her it was about a different matter this time. Entered Kogami, who explained that an antisocial club had been found in the Kitazawa area. And they would like Kunizuka to help, as she used to be a guitarist in the area.

Kogami got a call from Sasayama, who became tired of waiting. Ginoza left to join Sasayama while Kogami continued trying to persuade Kunizuka.

In the car, Sasayama was puzzled that a musician had become a latent criminal. Ginoza replied, "I hear that there are many cases of people's hues getting clouded when they become deeply involved in their art. It probably means that a strong affection like art that moves people can be a medicine and a poison as well. That's exactly why it started requiring prior approval."

"And then an approved artist ends up becoming a latent criminal? Good grief." Sasayama said, then he asked if Kunizuka would become an Enforcer. When Ginoza told him the girl wanted to return to society, Sasayama laughed, saying she was naïve.

Kunizuka made clear again that she didn't want to become an Enforcer. "I refused. I don't wanna do things that could cloud my Hue like that."

Kogami asked if Kunizuka wanted to leave the correction center and play music again, and checked on the number of rejected requests she made to obtain guitar strings. Kunizuka angrily demanded Kogami to leave. However, Kogami produced a pack of guitar strings that Kunizuka wanted so badly, and Kunizuka was surprised. Setting sight on it, Kunizuka recalled the moment when the stranger painted her fingernails, her own team member came to pull her away, scolding her that getting close to an unauthorized musician would result in her Hues becoming clouded.

That stranger then left to prepare for another performance while Kunizuka's team member said they should go home. Kunizuka said she wanted to listen to the music of that band.

"Music by an unauthorized band is worthless!" "I think making music that curries favor with Sibyl is what's worthless, though." The stranger retorted.

Kunizuka finally agreed to help. She explained to the PSB agents the venues the group of people being referred to as an antisocial community would most likely use as their base of operation: Yellow Hood or 27 Club.

Sasayama infiltrated 27 Club while Masaoka got inside Yellow Hood. Both reported they found nothing yet.

Ginoza, Kogami and Kunizuka waited on a PSB vehicle. They started talking, Kogami told Kunizuka that almost no latent criminals returned to society with a normal state of mind, they either ended up being executed or became accustomed to a life in the place where things were continually taken from them. But Kogami added that Kunizuka might be able to overcome it with a strength of will. "And there is another way," Kogami continued as he handed a dominator to Kunizuka. "If you want to escape a life of continually having everything taken from you, you can join the side doing the taking."

A message from Sasayama reporting that he noticed some fishy people. Kunizuka recognized the voice singing in the background.

Sasayama went to talk to the people he found suspicious and requested to take a look at what was inside a paper bag. Then, without opening the bag, Sasayama determined that inside the bag were Molotov cocktails and immediately subdued one of the targets, the other fled. Chaos ensued. As the agents called for reinforcements, Kunizuka went inside the club to try to find the singer, Rina.

Kunizuka found her. Rina asked why was Kunizuka there and was taken aback when Kunizuka told her that she came with people from the PSB. Rina's friends caught up with her. They appeared with a bag of Molotov Cocktails.

Rina told them to move on, she would catch up with them later. The gang moved on. Kunizuka asked Rina what she was doing.

Rina said they were a resistance force that aimed to overthrow the Sibyl system. "Why don't you fight with us?" Rina asked. "I can't do that." "Why not? Because you're authorized?" "No, that's not it." "You know how wrong the current society is, don't you? Even if you elect politicians in token elections, they're just figureheads. As long as all the bureaucrats are chosen by the Sibyl system, calling it a democracy is just a big fat lie! People have all become slaves of Sibyl, giving it control over their lives, and yet they haven't noticed! But our music will definitely become a major force! We can move people's hearts! We'll change the world with our music!" "That's not what it was about for me!" "Yayoi..." "It wasn't about that at all! All this time...I just wanted to stand on stage again with you. That's all I wanted!" "That's not enough! When you were institutionalized, I realized how powerless I was. Just having fun won't solve anything! If you don't have power, it's totally pointless!" "Totally pointless?" "That's right! We need power! Yayoi!" "Everything was fine as it was...but things changed, huh?" Kunizuka pointed the dominator she carried with her at Rina and tried to persuade Rina to join her undergoing a rehab program. Conversation over. Rina started walking away to catch up with the others, ignoring Kunizuka. Not being registered on the list of authorized users, Kunizuka could not shoot with that dominator.

Kogami and Sasayama found Kunizuka. After some considerations, the former musician now agreed to become an Enforcer.

And with that decision, Kunizuka gave up on her dream of playing music again.

End of episode 12.

Comment: Episode Eleven: An episode with a heavy ending that came both from Makishima's words and Tsunemori's failure. The weight in Makishima's words was that, in such an extreme scenario, taking an action based on a decision made independent of the system that Tsunemori had come to rely so heavily on, and failing to act based on it, came with huge moral consequences either way. Tsunemori would either become a murderer or someone who failed to save her friend's life. It involved a life in both ways, either Makishima killed her friend or she killed Makishima, Tsunemori wanted neither and she couldn't act the way she knew she should.

She was aware that a life was at stake, that despite Makishima was about to kill, the Sibyl system did not register a coefficient reading high enough to authorize activation of the lethal mode, and that killing Makishima with the shotgun was the only way to save Funahara. Yet she couldn't bring herself to aim at Makishima. She failed to save her friend. And she blamed herself for that failure. Seeing a friend die after having missed the opportunity to prevent it by means of killing a person whose coefficient dropped all the way to zero, Tsunemori experienced trauma, helplessness, frustration and grief. This was one of the moments that made me feel the emotions of the character. It was unsettling, it was powerful.

Episode twelve: A takeaway from this episode was that the Sibyl system did not like people with passion. It determined that people with passion beyond its allowed range were dangerous to society. And thus it became a censor determining how and what people could express with their arts. But arts was not supposed to be confined. I could identify with Rina's position. And yet, by trying to overthrow what she considered to be evil, she became evil herself. And that was...sad. It was also sad that Kunizuka Yayoi, so eager to get her old life back, to relive her dream, ended up forsaking them.

[imthatpeculiarone]

Sam is Obsessed With TikTok

Words: 1k Ship: Dean/Castiel Tags: Love Confessions, TikToks, Sam Ships It , TFW

This is inspired by the TikTok going viral recently, and because of this tweet. Written in 20 minutes at 12am so hope you enjoy this mess!!

Recently Sam, much to Dean’s chagrin, became obsessed with the app TikTok. 

Dean had no idea how or why but all of a sudden, his brother had delved into the world of short, funny videos; a world he then lived for the next several weeks. Dean heard all about it of course and had seen far too many videos for him to possibly enjoy. Sure, some of them were hilarious, Dean could see the comedic value. Others… Dean just couldn’t understand. 

Everyday, when Dean spotted Sam, his younger brother had his eyes glued to his phone. Dean supposed it was a nice change of pace from finding Sam with his head buried in a book.

However, Dean did not expect Sam to start making them. He especially didn’t expect Sam to rope him and Cas into it as well.

They had just finished a hunt in St. Louis and stopped to grab a bite to eat before the journey home. Dean had demolished his bacon cheeseburger and was moving on to his side of fries when he saw Sam setting up his phone on the dash of the impala. 

“Sam, what are you doing?” He grumbled around the sweet and salty taste of fried potato. 

Sam wrinkled his nose.

“Don’t talk while chewing.” He said. “And to answer your question, we’re going to play a game.”

“A game?” Cas, who had been silent until then, piped up from the backseat. “What sort of game?”

“Well, I’m going to play some music and we’re going to point to each other consecutively,” Sam replied. “So I will point to Dean, he will point to you and you to me. This will keep going until there is a beat drop. Whoever is being pointed to as the beat drops, has to do a dare.”

“A dare? What are we Sam? Nine year old girls at a sleepover?” Dean groaned. “And what’s the point of the phone?” 

Sam shrugged. “I’m going to film it.”

“You’re going to film.. wait… oh goddammit Sam is this a Tiktok? Are you making a Tiktok?”

Cas made a confused noise from behind him, while Sam just sighed.

“Can we just do it?” Sam asked, exasperated. “C’mon Dean, it’ll be fun.”

Dean went to argue but was interrupted by Cas.

“I want to play.”

He turned to look at the angel who was staring back at him with pleading eyes. More like puppy dog eyes, similar to the ones Sam liked to pull every now and again. Dean sighed and faced the front, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Fine.” 

Sam began to play some music, some awful electronic song that Dean wouldn’t even call music. They went around the circle pointing at each other. As the music began to near the beat, Dean’s heart hammered. He may have found this game stupid and childish, but he definitely did not want to be the one picked for a dare.

Unfortunately, Sam was quick and was able to point to Dean right on the beat. Dean cursed under his breath while his brother laughed. Cas just stayed silent staring at them both. He waited until both the brother had calmed down — Dean from his anger and Sam from his amusement — before he decided to speak. 

“What is Dean’s dare?” Cas asked. Dean watched as a huge, menacing grin formed on Sam’s face.

“Well since I was the one to point to Dean, I get to pick the dare.” He said. “And my dare is that you need to call the person you have a crush on.”

Dean glared at his brother. “Again Sam, what are we? Nine? I’m forty, I don’t have a crush.”

Sam smirked, “You’re lying. Plus you can’t back out of a dare, you know the consequences. So go on call them, or maybe I will have to tell them.”

That’s when Dean realised that Sam knew. He’d known this whole time. And judging from his smug face and the side glances he was giving, he knew his brother wasn’t going to let him leave this car without completing his dare. 

He waited a moment, the cheeseburger he just ate feeling heavy in his stomach. He could feel the intense stares from both Sam and Cas, along with the thick tension that had formed from the silence. With a small huff, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. 

He was quick to find the contact, it was one of his most recents. He selected it and watched as his thumb hovered over the call button. He looked up and sent one last pleading look to Sam, one that sent a clear message: Don’t make me do this. But his brother narrowed his eyes and gave a slight nod of his head. His eyes softened, as if to say: You can do this. 

He swallowed, this throat suddenly dry and quickly, as if he were ripping out stitches, he pressed the call button.

It was silent for a moment. All Dean could hear was his own heart thumping in his ears and the sound of Cas and Sam breathing. 

One. Two. Three. Four -

The shrill sound of a phone ringing pierced the quiet. All of them jumped slightly at the loud, intruding noise. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas’ face morphed, going from a look of anticipation to a look of confusion.

The angel frowned and looked down at his trench coat. He reached in and pulled out his phone from one of the pockets, the one now vibrating and ringing loudly. Dean watched as he took note of the caller ID before meeting Dean’s gaze.

“Dean… what are you doing?” He asked. “You’re calling me? Why are you calling me?”

Dean couldn’t reply, his tongue felt as if it was too big for this mouth. He gripped the phone tightly to his ear, scared to move even the slightest inch. The phone kept ringing for a few moments, until Dean heard the familiar sounds of Cas’ voicemail. 

“This is my voicemail, make your voice a—”

Dean hung up the phone, gulping as he did so. Cas was still staring at him, his focus unwavering. Dean took a deep breath and then another, before the words were finally able to leave his mouth. 

“Yeah…” He said, forcing a small laugh. “So I’m bi.”

[gwenbrightly]

The Gingerbread Caper

Cross-posted from ffnet.

The quiet atmosphere of the monastery was broken by the sound of screaming originating from Kai’s bedroom, waking anyone who still happened to be asleep. Nya groaned in annoyance and covered her face with a pillow. Wu was letting them slack off from Sunrise Exercises and she really didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to take advantage of that.

“GET IT OFF ME!!!” Her brother screamed again, forming coherent words this time. That was it. Obviously, the master of water wasn’t going to be sleeping in today. She threw her pillow aside and climbed out of bed, eyeing her clock resentfully. It was far too early for this. Not that 10 am was particularly early (but still!). She trudged from her room still wrapped in one of her blankets.

“What the heck, Kai?” Nya demanded when she reached Kai’s bedroom just down the hall. The master of fire sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He tossed something at her in disgust. She caught it with minimal effort. A gingerbread man. Or, at least, what was left of one. The poor cookie didn’t have any head.

“This better not have been you, sis.” he stated. Nya rolled her eyes, tempted to return to the comfort of her bed rather than deal with her over dramatic brother.

“Like I’d ever stoop so low. Seriously, you didn’t need to scream like that. It’s just a cookie.”

Kai gaped at her indignantly.

“Would you wanna wake up with some creepy soulless human wannabe in your bed?”

“Now there’s a quote I should send to your lovely girlfriend right away.” Nya laughed. He glared at her for a moment before suddenly shooting up from his bed.

“Skylor!”

“What?” she asked, confused, “I swear I wasn’t actually planning on sending this to her.”

“No, she’s supposed to be coming over today to decorate cookies with us!” he reminded her. Nya face-palmed.

“I can’t believe I forgot about that…”

“Actually, this is perfect. She’ll be totally unbiased about this whole gingerbread man fiasco.” Kai mused, already deep in thought. His sister frowned at him. It was obvious he had something up his sleeve.

“What are you planning?”

“Don’t look so worried, Nya. This is just like one of Ninja Noir’s mysteries! I just gotta follow the trail of evidence and eventually, I’ll be able to eliminate the impossible and find the truth!” Kai told her, quoting his favorite detective series.

“Kai, no.” she said, attempting to prevent the situation from getting totally out of hand. He ignored her, instead opting to head over to his closet to grab something. When he turned to face Nya again, he was wearing a fedora.

“Since when do you own a fedora?” the master of water questioned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“Shhhh,” he cut her off with a wave of his hand, “Just go with it.”

Nya sighed, but followed him to go wait for Skylor to appear.

_________________________________________________________________

“Do I even wanna know what I just walked into?” Skylor wondered when she caught site of the scene playing out in the living room. Her boyfriend stared suspiciously at Lloyd and Jay, who were playing what appeared to be a rather intense game of Fist to Face (Ninja Edition!). It took him a second to register her presence. Nya waved her over, smiling apologetically.

“Someone,” Kai began to explain, holding up the cookie, which he’d gotten back from his sister, “thought it would be funny to put this in my bed and I wanna know who.”

Skylor resigned herself to another of Kai’s chaotic schemes. She already knew he had a problem with gingerbread people (and Christmas elves, and those little expanding bath toys they sold at the dollar store for that matter), though he wouldn’t tell her what it was about the holiday treats that bothered him so much.

“Eh okay. How can I help?”

“Are you sure you wanna do that?” Nya asked at the same time as Kai said, “You can be, like, the insanely hot mystery woman who helps the dashing detective (me) solve the mystery.”

“Real smooth, dork. But sure, why not.” the redhead decided, punching the master of fire’s shoulder lightly to distract from how rosy her cheeks were all of a sudden. He grinned in delight.

“Cool! Oh, and I guess Nya can help too.” Kai added as an afterthought. Nya raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re obviously not a suspect, sis! The gingerbread man couldn’t have been in my bed long or it would have crumbled, and you value sleep way too much to have gotten up early enough to orchestrate this.” he stated confidently. She didn’t look like she was taking this as a compliment.

“So, detective Smith, where do we start our investigation?” Skylor prompted. She had no desire to see the siblings get into a debate over their sleeping habits.

“Oh. Uh… We have to interview our suspects!” announced Kai, dragging Skylor and Nya over to the two video game playing ninja.

“Oh, hey guys. You wanna join our next round?” Jay offered, not taking his eyes off of the screen. He rapidly pressed several buttons on his controller at once.

“Yeah, it’ll be way more fun with more players!” agreed Lloyd. He gave a smirk of triumph as his avatar landed a final hit on his opponent. The master of lightning groaned, disappointed.

“Actually, I think Kai had something he wanted to ask you.” Skylor informed them. Jay and Lloyd set aside their controllers, curious. The sight of Kai in a fedora was unexpected; Lloyd was usually the only one who found them fashionable enough to wear.

“Oh, okay. What’s up?” the green ninja asked, wondering what on earth could be so pressing that Kai had gotten Nya and Skylor involved.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about this?” answered Kai he shoved the cookie under his brother’s nose. Taking note of the gingerbread man, Jay demanded, “Hey – how’d you convince Zane to let you have one of his cookies?”

He’d tried to snag one earlier that morning, only to be thwarted by the master of ice, who insisted they must save the gingerbread cookies for Skylor’s arrival. This was rather unfortunate, as they smelled utterly delicious.

“No, I- you’re telling me that you, the two biggest pranksters around, have no idea how this got in my bed?” Kai stated, skeptical. The two ninja shook their heads. It appeared he was going to have to use a different interrogation method to get answers. He judged his sister. She glared at him. He nodded pointedly at Lloyd and Jay. Not wanting to give in so easily, Nya stared at Kai silently for several minutes before finally relenting.

“If that’s true, then you won’t mind telling us what you’ve been doing all morning.” she said in her best police officer voice (and secretly wishing she had a fake mustache on her).

“Oh, that’s easy. We’ve been having a Fist to Face (Ninja Edition!) tournament for the past couple of hours. Just look at the scoreboard,” Jay told them with a shrug, “I mean, it is kinda embarrassing to see how many times Lloyd’s hooped me already today, but if it gets you to stop looking at me like that…”

Lloyd nodded, the picture of innocence. They took a closer look at the screen. Sure enough, the scores for the past thirty or so rounds, along with the times they were completed scrolled across the pause screen.

“Huh. Well, I guess you’re off the hook. For now, at least.” Kai decided, wondering who he should use his detective skills on next if the most obvious suspects had been ruled out.

“Maybe Zane knows who it was. He’s been in the kitchen all morning.” suggested Lloyd as he set up another round of the video game. Skylor grabbed Kai’s elbow and drug him towards the door, saying, “Good idea. I need to give him the extra sprinkles I brought anyway.”

Nya mouthed I’ll be back later to her boyfriend before following them. Instead of heading directly to the kitchen, Kai insisted on examining every nook and cranny of the hallway. He held a magnifying glass he’d somehow ended up with, though no one could say for sure where it had come from, and was doing his best to mutter what he thought sounded like very professional and insightful comments.

“Ahah! A trail of crumbs. Collect that for evidence, Sky.”

The redhead pretended like she hadn’t heard him, sharing a grossed out look with Nya.

“Oh, hey! Weren’t you missing an earring, Nya?”

Kai held out something sparkly and blue.

“Uh…thanks.” Nya accepted it, a look of utter surprise on her face. She’d been searching for this earring for weeks. Could it be possible that Kai was actually… good at this detective stuff?

“The detective and his sidekicks arrived at the kitchen at approximately 11:05 am., wondering what clues they would uncover inside…” Kai loudly announced, interrupting Nya’s thoughts.

“Hello!” Zane greeted them. Bowls of frosting in an impressively wide range of colors lined the counters along with several different kinds of sprinkles. Pixal was currently adding a few drops of vibrant red food dye to one of the few bowls that remained uncolored.

“Yes, welcome! Did you bring the sprinkles?” she asked. Skylor pulled a jar from her purse.

“Yep, here you go.”

“Thank goodness,” exclaimed Zane, taking them from her, “Dyeing sugar crystals by hand just isn’t effective.”

“Tell me about it. We tried it at the restaurant one time when we were in a pinch and… it didn’t work well.” the redhead recalled. Having grown bored with the conversation the others were having about epic fails with sprinkles, Kai examined the trays of cookies stacked next to the oven. Just as he’d predicted, one row of cookies was missing a gingerbread man.

“Hey, Zane, Pixal? You guys have been in here all morning, right?” he asked, casually. The two nindroids glanced at each other. Zane was the first to reply.

“Well, I stepped out for a few moments to bring Master Wu some oolong tea – he claims to be feeling a bit under the weather today – but, other than that, yes. Why?”

“I’m trying to figure out where this cookie came from. You didn’t happen to, say, give one of these to someone, did you?” Kai showed them the gingerbread man, curious to see their reaction. He was a little disappointed when neither of them did anything incriminating.

“I suppose it’s possible that Cole took it when I wasn’t looking. He came in here while Zane was gone to grab some extra tape.” Pixal said thoughtfully. Ahah! Kai’s eyes lit up.

“So he’s wrapping presents, huh,” he mused, “I wonder if he’s gotten to mine yet…”

“Kai! I thought you were being a detective, not some nosy kid!” his sister hissed disapprovingly. He huffed indignantly.

“I’m just curious, Nya. And besides, all the best detectives can multi-task.” Kai defended.

“Suuure.”

“Anyway, thank you for the info. We may be back later.” the master of fire stated in a more professional tone, heading out into the hall once more. Zane and Pixal waved as the others left, not sure how else to respond.

En route to Cole’s bedroom, Kai immediately reverted back to carefully examining every small space, carpet snag, and leafy garland in sight. Nothing escaped the lens of his magnifying glass. Not even his sister’s tennis shoes, which kept blocking his view. If he could just find something, anything, that would prove once and for all who was guilty of this delectable crime… Wait. Kai caught a whiff of something cinnamony wafting off of a wreath hung across the hall from the master of earth’s door. He sniffed the gingerbread man. It was the same smell. Reaching into the wreath, he plucked something small and round from inside. Victory! Skylor stared at him in confusion for a few minutes before realizing what he was holding.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Kai held the two pieces of the gingerbread man together.

“Yep. Looks like we might just have an official suspect.”

“You’re so weird…” Nya muttered under her breath. She was pretty sure nothing would possess her to behave like this.

“Hey, it worked pretty well, didn’t it?” Kai pointed out, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She sidestepped quickly, shrugging it off as she went.

“Well…” she started reluctantly, “I guess we’d better get in there and get some answers.” She swung the door open. They could hear the pleasant tune of the Nutcracker soundtrack playing on Cole’s phone as they entered. The ninja in question sat at his desk, surrounded by wrapping paper. He turned around and blocked their view of whatever else was on the desk before quickly asking, “Do… you need something, or are you just here to enjoy the total masterpiece that is the Nutcracker?”

“Uh, yeah. Though, it is definitely a classic.” Nya told him appreciatively. They would have to pull out the recording of Cole’s 6th grade performance of the ballet that Lou had given them one day soon.

“Let’s cut to the chase. We know why you were really in the kitchen, Cole.” Kai cut in impatiently. Cole’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“Aw, man! You’re not gonna tell Zane, are you?” he stammered.

“…What?” the master of fire attempted to ask.

“This is a one-time thing, I swear! His frosting is just too delicious to resist.” Cole continued sheepishly, oblivious to Kai’s question. Kai, Skylor, and Nya froze. This wasn’t at all what they had been expecting him to say.

“Zane’s…. Frosting?” Skylor repeated, wanting to make sure they had heard him right.

“Well yeah. I’ve been snacking in it all morning,” the master of earth admitted, showing them a mostly empty bowl, “It’s so good! Wait - what did you think I was talking about?”

No one replied at first; they were still processing the unexpected turn of events.

“We… may have thought you put a headless gingerbread man in Kai’s bed to mess with him.” Nya ultimately explained. Cole couldn’t help himself. He burst into laughter at this admission.

“Wow, I guess that explains the looks on your faces right about now. But as totally brilliant of an idea as that prank is, I had nothing to do with it. Sorry.”

“Eh, it’s okay. We probably shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions when Pixal told us you’d been in the kitchen. Or when I found the gingerbread man’s head in that wreath. In hindsight it was a pretty weird hiding place.” Kai said apologetically.

“Yeah.” his sister agreed.

“Almost…. Like someone wanted us to find it…” he continued.

“You think whoever did this tried to frame Cole?” Skylor questioned, finishing his thought. It was all coming together now.

“I guess I do…. Oolong tea not licorice…. Hang on a sec, I think I solved this thing!”

Nya gave him a look, as if questioning his sanity. His ramblings made little sense to her.

“No offense, Kai, but you lost me at tea.” she told him with a frown.

“Me too, honestly.” Cole nodded, equally lost, especially since he had missed a majority of the investigative process. Kai rolled his eyes in exasperation and said, “Just make sure everyone meets me in the living room in five minutes, and I’ll explain then, okay?”

“Even Master Wu?” Cole clarified, not wanting to disturb the old man without a good reason.

“Especially Master Wu.” Kai confirmed before dashing out of the room and leaving everyone else to wonder whether or not the master of fire was going to crash and burn.

He paced back and forth across the living room, earning the occasional odd look from Lloyd and Jay, who had moved on to arguing over the existence of a plot hole in the latest Starfarers movie.

“I’m telling you, Jay. They left that part vague so that it can be expanded on in the sequel!” Lloyd insisted. Jay didn’t look like he agreed with this statement, still stuck on his accusations of lazy writing. He was rescued from having to formulate a convincing comeback by the arrival of the rest of the residents of the monastery. Nya and Skylor had returned to the kitchen for the pair of nindroids, leaving Cole to retrieve Master Wu. The room was suddenly filled with noisy conversations as everyone claimed a seat.

“Okay. Let’s get down to business.” Kai practically shouted over the din. One by one, the others stopped talking and looked at him.

“Alright, let’s get this hare-brained scheme of yours over with so we can have lunch, then.” Cole encouraged, speaking for everyone. While they were curious to see if Kai had actually figured out who had pranked him, they had also gotten more than a little tired of being on the receiving end of his investigative tactics.

“Right. As you all know, I woke up this morning to find a decapitated gingerbread man in my bed,” the master of fire began dramatically, making sure everyone could see the cookie, “at first, it seemed like our resident pranksters, Lloyd and Jay, were the obvious suspects. However, they both had a strong alibi… It couldn’t have been them – they were right here in this room playing video games when the crime was committed.” he crossed over to Zane and Pixal, “next, my lovely assistants and I headed to the source of the cookie – the kitchen, in the hopes that someone there would know what had happened. Our ever-watchful ice ninja hadn’t seen anything suspicious. He stepped out for what, 15 minutes tops?”

“That is correct,” Zane nodded.

“He was getting Master Wu some tea because he was sick,” Kai explained, “more on that later. Pixal told us that Cole had come looking for tape while Zane was gone. We figured maybe he could give us some answers, so we headed for his room, and you know what we found in the wreath across the hall from his door?”

“That’s right,” Nya jumped in, though she still wasn’t sure how relevant it was, “The missing head!”

“Exactly. So obviously that must mean that Cole’s the culprit, right?” Jay and Lloyd looked at each other. Were they supposed to agree?

“Wrong! If he’d taken the cookie, he would’ve eaten the head right away, not hidden it. The only thing Cole was guilty of was stealing a bowl of frosting for a mid-morning snack. And that’s when it hit me. What kind of tea does Master Wu always drink when he’s sick?”

“Licorice?” Lloyd offered. Kai smiled triumphantly.

“Bingo. But when he asked Zane to bring him some tea, he asked for Oolong tea, which he never drinks when he’s sick because it tastes nasty with honey in it. Master Wu, you’re not really sick, are you?”

The elderly spinjitzu master smiled weakly at him, but did not deny the accusation.

“Here’s what happened: Master Wu asked Zane to bring him some tea because he knew it would distract him long enough for the real gingerbread prankster to put their plan into action. Knowing she only had a short amount of time, Pixal grabbed a cookie and snuck into my bedroom to plant it on me. She also hid the gingerbread man’s head in that wreath in case someone came looking for it later. She only barely made it back to the kitchen before Cole arrived.”

Skylor snapped her fingers, excitedly jumping in.

“I get it! When we showed up in the kitchen to ask Zane about the cookies, she told us about Cole because she knew we’d find the head and think it was him.”

“Exactly! And it would’ve worked, too, if the tea hadn’t made me suspicious. The only thing I haven’t figured out is why….” Kai paused, staring at them, “Why did you do this, guys?”

Wu stood and walked over to him.

“To put it simply, we wanted to help you overcome your phobia of gingerbread people. It gets in the way of you spending time with your family and friends every year. I know it wasn’t a very kind thing to do, but I honestly felt it would be worth it in the end to see you enjoy the holidays a bit more.” he admitted, placing a hand on Kai’s shoulder.

“And I do believe it worked!” Pixal added, “although you were certainly annoyed, you didn’t seem frightened at any point this morning.”

Kai made a funny face as he thought about everything that had happened. However misguided Pixal and Wu’s plan had been… he didn’t feel the disgust and terror he was used to when he looked at the gingerbread man in his hand anymore.

“You know, I think you’re right… don’t get me wrong, I’m still kinda irritated that you thought this was a good idea. But… thanks.” he told them. Out of all the holiday adventures Kai had had, he was pretty sure this was the strangest. Later that day, after they had finally eaten lunch (much to Cole’s relief), he had to smile when Zane didn’t hesitate to hand him a gingerbread man to decorate. He set to work carefully frosting it so they it resembled a detective with a trench coat and fedora, proudly displaying it with the rest when he was finished. It was nice to see that gingerbread people weren’t so bad after all. Ninja Noir would be proud.

Hopefully this ridiculous story made someone smile today :) it was literally so fun to come up with hehe

[scaffoldheld-a]

MUSE AESTHETICS :  SLEEPING AT LAST  —  ATLAS

bold what always applies to your muse. italicize what applies to your muse conditionally.

DARKNESS

the mind was made to illuminate the heart.  /  we carve our names on the surface of history.  /  all our strength came out of the woodwork.  /  we only know this light as darkness crashes against it.  /  it’s a cruel trick how we find ourselves when we lose everything else. /  our mistakes they were bound to be made.  /  the smell of the falling and burning leaves. /  the bitterness of winter.  /  the sweetness of spring.  /  there was bad blood in us.  /  the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  /  firewood burning bright in the dead of winter.  / were we broken right from the start?  /  forgiveness is a lesson he cursed you to learn.  /  just live what little life your broken heart can. /  just live what little life your mended heart can.  /  darkness exists to make life truly count.

SPACE ONE

space and time takes violent things, angry things, and makes them kind.  /  we are infinite as the universe we hold inside.  /  we may fall in love every time we open up our eyes.  /  i am desperate, if nothing else.  /  no one can unring this bell, unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new. /  i am dissonance waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune.  / somehow i’ve fallen in love with this middle ground at the cost of my soul.  / all of this mess is just my attempt to know the worth of my life.  /  the night sky once ruled my imagination.  /  let my change of heart occur.  / fault lines tremble underneath my glass house.  /  there was an avalanche of change. /  we laid our names to rest along the dotted line.  /  we were amateurs at war, strangers to suffering.  /  another lie from the front lines.  /  our backs against the wall, we’re surrounded and afraid.  /  though time is ruthless, it showed us kindness in the end.  /  a second chance to make amends.  /  losing track of what we’re fighting for.

SPACE TWO

a secret under lock and key.  /  while collecting the stars, i connected the dots.  /  i don’t know who i am, but now i know who i’m not.  /  make my messes matter, make this chaos count.  /  you taught me the courage of stars before you left.  /  how rare and beautiful it is to even exist.  /  a stained glass variation of the truth.  / stitch by stitch i tore apart.  / if brokenness is a form of art i muse be a poster child prodigy.  /  an open book with a torn out page.  /  a model citizen of doubt.  /  i’m pinned under the weight of what i believed would keep me safe.  /  show me where my armor ends, show me where my skin begins.  /  the heaviness that i hold in my heart is crushing me.

LAND

a little broken, a little new.  /  the impact and the glue.  /  some truths are sharper than knives. /  truth’s got its sight set on you.  /  if truth is north, then i am true south.  /  i set out to rule the world with only a paper shield and a wooden sword.  /  i bear little resemblance to the king i once was.  /  i bear little resemblance to the king i could become.  /  half your heart has yet to come home.

LIFE

all we held dear was on the line.  / my heart reconciled all the darkness and light inside my chest. /  i saw the future unfold in silver and gold.  /  you are grace, you are light.  /  i can’t keep my head from spinning out of control.  /  is this what being vulnerable feels like?  /  i’m only steady on my knees.  /  i’ll run the risk of being intimate with brokenness.  /  a thousand fingerprints on the surface of who i am.  /  let the scaffolding inside of me be strong enough to hold this tired body up.  /  i was given a gift of hope.  /  

SENSES

fall in love in a single touch, and fall apart when it hurts too much.  /  all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed.  /  pain is a well-intentioned weatherman.  /  god, i want to feel again.  /  i am aware of what light tastes like.  /  like fists unravelling, like glass unshattering.  /  i’m well aware of the shadows within my heart.  /  i want to be astonished.  /  nothing less than a work in progress.  /  sacred text on post it notes.  /  the light goes out, my heart goes still.

EMOTIONS

the calm water in the middle of an anxious sea.  /  the starting line of an adventure.  /  the faint outline of the divine.  /  losing my balance again and again.  / each brave step forward, i take three steps behind.  /  its mind over matter.  /  a single lose thread and it all comes undone.  /  in our great sorrow, we learn what joy means.  /  with a broken heart, transformation begins.  /  i feel the pressure building until i can’t breathe. /  reckless but honest words leave my mouth.  /  it’s fight or flight.  /  a last minute man of faith.  /  kerosene on a flame of doubt.  /  it’s too late for holy water now.

tagged by  –  no one i made the thing and tagged myself tagging  –  @troubldtwn​ (any muse), @winebleeds​, @riskembraced​, @armyhoned​, @asporcelain​, @troublekilled​ + anyone who wants to!

[jjmakesgames]

JJ’s Thoughts: August 5th, 2020

TL,DR: We learned about how designing gameplay affects the overall design of the game, as well as the seeds of gameplay. In the workshop, we worked on our prototypes for another hour, evacuated the building, and playtested each other’s games.

the lecture

This week’s focus was on gameplay. From how I understood the lecture, gameplay was all about the player experience. It wasn’t necessarily achieving goals and progression between events, but moreso about the moments in between the game’s key moments. The “stretches of time” between them, to quote the lecture slides.

Essentially, gameplay was about the fun and fluff of the game. Being the filler that the player experiences before the next cutscene or before levelling up. It was what made the game fun at its core.

We were introduced to the “seeds” and “elements” of gameplay, and there was an emphasis on the difference between them. Seeds were usually three things: the game’s emotional palette, the role or fantasy it fulfils, or a core mechanic that it highlights. What would the player feel while playing it, what role would they be playing, how they would implement the game’s mechanics to grant them a unique experience to their own individual gameplay. Things like that.

The elements of gameplay were a broader subject, and it covered the following:

Interlocking and complementary roles in multiplayer games

Tension and release

Risk vs reward

Rewarding what the player enjoys/what they find fun

Emphasis on high moments

A balanced mix of certainty vs surprise

A lot of these were very straight forward and things I had experienced and thought about while playing games (the key tune that plays in Zelda games when you unlock a door, or risking a stealth run during a tale in Ghost of Tsushima). The mix of certainty and surprise was something I hadn’t thought about before but something I realised I was doing subconsciously when playing games and analysing the ones I didn’t enjoy. Knowing what will happen next led to a boring game and outright unpredictability led to a game i wouldn’t pick up again for a while.

the workshop

We were really just vibing in the workshop this week, working on our own individual projects for the first hour and getting a stable enough prototype ready for playtesting later on. There isn’t much to reflect on for this workshop other than the building being evacuated and taking up class time. I don’t think we ever got the full hour to work on our games before the alarm went off in the room.

We waited for a while before we were allowed back inside the building, and by that time we had about 20 minutes or less to playtest each other’s games. I didn’t get to play much of anyone else’s, since most of the class left during the evacuation, but I got some good feedback for Molly Malware.

the playtest

Overall, player feedback was very positive (more than I expected, honestly).

For context, the prototype I presented to them was an update of the last build and a working tutorial level layout. This level was presented through a screenshot of the Notepad app used as the game’s background, with hidden platforms where objects like text, folders and windows would be.

For a first version prototype, I thought this would be enough, I was aiming to playtest initial player responses to the concept and gameplay after all.

I had three playtesters for this session--two in class and one over Discord--and the general consensus was that they enjoyed the game, really liked the concept and looked forward to how other levels would be laid out. From my own playtesting notes, I had noticed that players weren’t entirely sure of where to go at first, until they landed on the Notepad window. For context, Molly begins this level on top of a folder, and players are (or were supposed to be) directed to jump across three folders before landing on the Notepad window. They all figured it out eventually, but I realised I needed to provide a subtle directive.

Other critiques I got from the session was that there should be a way to restart the level. I hadn’t clearly defined the boundaries of the game outside the screenshot (where the camera was bound to), and players would often fall through the screen and not be able to come back. They would’ve had to close the game entirely and reopen it just to restart the level. In addition to this, a death boundary was suggested, where a fall from a certain height would trigger the scene to reset to the beginning, allowing for a second chance. Players also suggested zooming out the camera a little bit, as it felt somewhat claustrophobic.

further development

Following the playtest session in the workshop, I used some extra time to work on updating the level design of the tutorial level, this time implementing Sticky Notes instead of Notepad. I found that Sticky Notes would provide a more spread out and erratic or sort of level structure rather than the very linear platforms and dropping off of text that Notepad had. The game’s story concept had also been given a more subtle feeling, with the Sticky Notes showing the situation rather than explicitly telling the player who Molly is.

I again placed platforms where boundaries would ideally be and hid it in GDevelop.

The events largely remained the same, but I had been playing around with implementing new controls in addition to the general left/right to move and spacebar to jump. I had originally tried to add a run mechanic, but there was a bug where Molly would clip under a platform upon input. After struggling with this for a few minutes, I decided to scrap the run mechanic, since it added no real value to gameplay. Instead, I thought I would use the bug to my advantage and make it a proper mechanic, what I call glitching.

With the glitch mechanic, Molly would be able to phase through platforms with ease, granting the players new ways to approach a level. For now, glitching is can be done with the down button, in which Molly will glitch through the floor and land on a platform below her. Glitching will also be done through her jump mechanic, where she will be able to dash a couple more steps forward than her usual jump. As of now, I’m still working out how to do the aerial jumping properly, but glitching down works just as I expected.

As I said before, the layout for the tutorial level has changed significantly since the first prototype build. Instead of Notepad, Sticky Notes will be populating the desktop for the tutorial level, easing players into the feel of the game and acquainting them with Molly. In addition to this, some background into the life of the computer user is given to the player, giving hints to future levels of the game.

Three weeks in and I’m enjoying this course and developing this game so far.

Thanks again to my playtesters today: Radu, Sienna and Rhys. I’m glad you all enjoyed the game so far.

talk soon

jj

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Fifty Four

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

November 1st, 2019

Logan was thinking. About everything that had happened last night, and earlier today. He was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, because he had no idea how to process his feelings for Jack. Surely, it had to be a stress response, he thought. But what stress response resonated that strongly with two boys who had only been dating for two months? It didn’t make any sense!

Logan resolved to keep the revelation that he loved Jack under wraps for now. Two months was much too soon to be super serious about each other. But still, whenever he thought about Jack, his stomach warmed and his heart rate slowed, rather than skipping a beat. He was completely content to be around Jack, and while it should have terrified him, he was more terrified of Jack finding out and not reciprocating than anything else he had ever been terrified of before.

September 9th, 2020

It was a stupid little game that had started it all. Logan’s senior year had just started, Roman and his buddies sat across the way by the theatre entrance, and Logan and Roman were occasionally lobbing witty comebacks at each other. Eventually, Jack had gotten tired of it, asking the rest of their friends if they were okay expanding their lunch circle. Everyone had said yes, and Roman and his new friends joined Logan’s group. Roman and Logan sat next to each other, still occasionally arguing, especially when Roman would dramatically drape himself over Logan’s shoulder.

“You definitely have freshman energy,” Tristan said with a good-natured laugh. “You’ll grow out of it, but it’ll take time. You might cringe afterward.”

Roman shrugged. “Eh, it’s just something that will be part of me, you know? I cringe at things I said when I was younger now, it’s not gonna be a new feeling.”

“Yeah, everyone looks back at their past every once in a while and cringes,” Chad piped up. “Like, high school relationships, by and large, will be something most of us will cringe at in the future.”

“I disagree,” Logan said, bristling. “Relationships may have messy feelings attached to them, but I don’t think they’re something to cringe at, because at the time you were with that person, you had genuine affections for them.”

“Aw, I’m flattered, Logan,” Jack said, smirking. “You have affections for me, how cute.”

Something sat wrong in Logan’s stomach. His brows furrowed and he frowned. “I don’t...think it’s cute?” Logan said. “It’s not like a schoolyard crush in elementary school. It’s important to me. Is it not...important to you?”

“Of course it’s important to me,” Jack said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you just called me saying ‘I love you’ cute,” Logan said.

Jack blinked. “You said...you love me?”

Logan frowned deeper. “That’s what affections means?”

“Wait...” Jack said, holding up a hand. “You’ve said ‘I love you’ in the infatuation sense and the honeymoon stage before. Are you saying this...as part of that? Or...is it something else?”

Logan blinked several times, and his ears grew hot. “I’m...I’m not certain what you mean?”

“Do you love me back, Lo?” Jack asked.

“I...” Logan was speechless. He had entertained the idea of a life with Jack before, but it never fully hit him that he would love Jack like that, and that deeply, before today.

Jack watched him as Logan processed this, but Logan couldn’t get words to leave his mouth even after he realized this, and Jack slowly deflated, and his hurt grew. Logan felt tears coming to his own eyes, because he didn’t want Jack to be hurt, just because Logan had lost his ability to speak in full sentences. He looked at his hands, and he was having a hard time even allowing his hands to move to say what he wanted. He had never been this nonverbal before.

But Jack was leaning away, his mouth opening to no doubt say something along the lines of, “Just forget about it,” and Logan didn’t know what to do. He leaned forward, grabbing Jack’s hand desperately trying to keep him here, in the circle. Everyone was staring between the two of them, like the situation might explode at any moment.

Jack glanced at Logan, the hurt evident in his eyes. Logan could feel his tears starting to fall, “Jack...” he croaked out. “Please...I don’t...I don’t know how to say it.”

“If you don’t love me, Logan, it’s okay,” Jack said, freeing his hand. “But I’d like to know now, rather than have you string me along for months on end.”

Logan moved forward before he could think, and he had his arms wrapped around Jack in a hug, his chest heaving as much as it could with his chest binder on. “Please,” he murmured. “Please don’t leave.”

Jack slowly extricated himself from Logan’s death grip and fixed his clothes. “Lo, it’s okay. Just say it.”

Logan was sobbing at this point. “Jack, please. I don’t know how!”

Jack shook his head. “It’s easy, Lo. ‘I don’t love you that way.’”

Logan’s hands shook as he backed up to where he had been sitting before, making sure everyone could see him. With his hands still shaking, his sign language might come across a little more difficult to read, but he hoped that he could still get the point across. “I love you more than I love being called, ‘sir,’” he started. “I love you more than all the stars in the sky. I love you to the moon and back. I’ve loved you since the beginning. I’ve loved you since you almost died. I’ve loved you enough to think about a life together. And it makes me giddy enough to do that rocking thing you’ve pointed out to me. I love you more than words can say. I love you, I love you so much and I don’t know how to say it. It’s not the tacked-on thought at the end of a phone call. It’s not the honeymoon phase’s infatuation. It’s not a small thing. I love you, Jack. I just don’t know how to say it.”

Jack was staring at Logan with wide eyes, searching him for any shred of deception. Logan knew that was just what Jack did, and he didn’t feel any offense for not being believed at first, especially because Logan had such a hard time saying it and Jack had an overwhelming fear of rejection. But in an instant, Jack was moving forward, cupping Logan’s cheek as he brought Logan forward slightly for a tender kiss. It barely lasted a second, and Jack rested his forehead against Logan’s when it was over. “I’m sorry, Lo,” he breathed. “I should have remembered you sometimes have problems with words.”

Logan grabbed Jack’s hands with his own. “It’s...” he cleared his throat. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I...I should have thought through what I was going to say more, instead of just dropping that bombshell on you.”

“I have one more bombshell for you, Sherlock,” Jack said, pulling back.

“Oh?” Logan asked.

“I said ‘back’ in my question,” Jack pointed out.

Logan made a choked noise as his thought process short-circuited.

“I know that doesn’t make the admission any easier,” Jack said with a laugh. “But you really need to improve your active listening.”

“Shut up!” Logan laughed. “My active listening is fine!”

“I don’t know...” Jack teased. “You seem to short-circuit whenever a certain cute boy talks to you.”

“Okay, first of all: you are a man. Big difference. I would go so far as to say a gentleman. Second of all: I’m queer! What do you expect from me?!” Logan exclaimed.

Everyone in the circle laughed, and just like that, all the tension previously in the circle eased. Logan and Jack wound up positioned in such a way that Logan was leaning back into Jack’s chest, both of them sitting more or less on top of each other. Logan was eating the last of his cookies, and Jack was scrolling through his phone when the bell rang for class. Everyone started to get up, say their goodbyes until after school when all of them would return to the theatre for the play auditions.

Logan was about to leave when Jack caught his hand. Logan turned and Jack kissed him softly. “Hey, I love you,” Jack murmured.

“I love you too,” Logan said, feeling his heart melt a little. “No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” Jack parroted with a relieved smile. “I’ll see you in ASL?”

“Yup,” Logan confirmed.

When they walked away, Roman jogged to catch up with Logan. “My next class is this way,” he said at Logan’s look. “And for what it’s worth...I think you and Jack will be one of the few who stay together after high school. I don’t know how long it’ll last, and I don’t want to jinx anything...but I feel like you two could wind up being that stereotype of ‘high school sweethearts.’”

Logan smiled softly. “Yeah...” he murmured. “Provided he wants to stay with me, I want to stay with him.”

Roman offered Logan a grin. “Then it’s no worries!” he said. “Because Jack definitely loves you. Maybe more than to the moon and back.”

“Shut up,” Logan muttered half-heartedly.

“Nah,” Roman said. “I like flustering you more than I value my continued existence.”

“What?” Logan asked, alarmed.

“It’s a joke, Logan. Mostly. I will occasionally push boundaries for a joke, but I wouldn’t want you to kill me over one. And here’s my class. I’ll see you after school!” Roman exclaimed, dashing through the doorway.

Logan shook his head and continued on to his classes. He and Jack hung out in ASL a lot more, both of them almost holding a fluent conversation, save for a few misinterpreted signs from Jack. They continued to joke around the rest of the class, and walked to the theatre together. “I’m so glad I convinced you to become a tech sophomore year,” Jack said. “Because this is so much more fun with you around.”

“I’m glad you convinced me to join then too,” Logan said. “Because I have a lot more friends now, thanks to you.”

Jack grinned and the two made their way into the wings of the stage, Logan messing with the lights to make sure all of them were functional, and Jack heading to the sound booth so that everyone could hear when the kids came up to audition for the play. They occasionally caught glances at each other and would share smiles. Nothing about it was super special, but maybe that’s what made it stand out for Logan. They were still their normal selves, even after a confession of love.

As the kids started to audition, Logan spied Roman looking nervously at his lines. Logan walked over and leaned against the wall behind Roman, saying, “You’ll do fine, prep. No one is expected to memorize their lines in the span of two days. That’s why they give you pieces of the script.”

Roman bit his lip. “Are you sure? All the other kids are really good and—”

“So are you,” Logan said firmly. “No question about it. Most of the freshman know about your Remus performance last year at the middle school. A couple of older kids know about it too. Even if you don’t get the lead for the main show, you could get a significant part in the second cast. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Roman smiled thankfully at Logan, right before the head of the drama club called his name. “I guess that’s my cue,” he said, smile slipping away.

“Knock ‘em dead, prep, you’ll do fine,” Logan assured.

Roman nodded at him and Logan went over to the sound booth, since he didn’t need to adjust the lights for a while. Jack was leaning in a chair back there, suitably impressed. “Your baby bro has some serious talent,” he said.

“I know. He also has one of the worst cases of stage fright I’ve ever seen,” Logan said.

“Ouch,” Jack said, grimacing. “Real shame. If he decides this isn’t for him? We could lose having him as the lead his senior year.”

“No one wants that,” Logan muttered. “Dad and Ami would probably encourage him to keep going, if he starts to get too doubtful. But he has some time to think about that anyway. Right now, he just has to audition.”

“True,” Jack said. “Also, for the record, I’m really touched that you love me.”

Logan turned red around the ears again as he muttered, “I admittedly have fallen deeper than I expected to. But it’s a wonderful accident.”

Jack laughed and kissed Logan, and Logan kissed back.

“Excellent audition, Mister Picani. And if the other Mister Picani and Mister Harkness could stop snogging in the sound booth that would be great!” the drama instructor called.

Logan jumped away, completely as red as a tomato. Jack wasn’t much better. Roman was still on stage, cackling away from the mic but still audible all the same. Jack and Logan shared a look and a giggle between them. “Go help with the lights,” Jack suggested. “I’ll be here afterward.”

“I look forward to it,” Logan said with a little wink.

“Of course you do!” Jack called.

Logan turned and stuck his tongue out at Jack as he walked away.

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages Drabbles: 19

Just Feel...

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC 

Summary: Drabbles following Delicate Stages. Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana.

Warnings: Language. Feels. Fluff if you squint. Violence. Angst.

Words: 3,026

A/N: (I accidentally deleted the first posted because tumblr is mean) Hi. So. Here it is….the beginning of the end…game….(Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

Wakanda is a beautiful country; filled with stunning sunsets, hidden hot springs, open fields and a general peacefulness over its people. It shouldn’t be colored with the violence that is currently happening below Ana as she stands in front of the window. From the top floor of the Lab, the fighting looks morbidly comically, just little specks running around the landscape.

Tremors of chaotic energy have singed through every fiber of Ana’s body for the past hour. Her bottom lip is raw from how often her teeth has been gnawing on it. The heaviness of anxiety is nearly palpable throughout the room, although it’s overtaken with her own feelings of distress.

Her husband is out there, armed with just a few knives and a semi-automatic rifle, and every piece of her heart. Bucky is putting his life on the line for the fate of the universe, despite how tired he is of war. Ana isn’t. Instead, she’s attempting to ignore how her skin prickles ominously, faint tendrils of charged power.

Ana has no way of communicating with Bucky. She wasn’t given a COM and she highly suspects Bucky requested it. The lingering warmth of his energy is all the connection she has with him. It’s not enough to settle her nerves. She glances over her shoulder at Shuri and Vision; the 3D hologram of the Mind Stone intricately worked on. The young girl’s expression is stoic as she concentrates, deft fingers moving rapidly. Vision is perfectly still, watching her work with curious eyes. Wanda idles nearby, picking at her nails. She’s been mostly silence, adding to the stress of the time sensitive issue.

Fleeting, Ana wonders if she should reach out her empathic healing to at least settle some of Wanda’s anxiety. But Ana is barely holding her own together as it is. She presses her left hand to chest, feeling the cool metal of her wedding band against what’s exposed of her skin above her shirt. Stabs of panic shoots through her heart, makes nausea curl hotly in her stomach.

Wincing, she moves her hand over her navel, squeezing her eyes shut and grinding her teeth. She tries taking slow, deep breaths to calm herself. Bucky is all she can think about. What is happening? Is he in trouble? Is he hurt? Does he need help? Is he-

A quiet gasp snaps Ana out of her thoughts. She glances at Wanda, her eyes wide and staring out the window. Following her gaze, Ana’s spine goes rigid. Several giant alien ships, with wheels that looks like a rotating saws, are attempting to break through the barrier. Twenty seconds later, the barrier fails. Ana quickly meets Wanda’s eyes.

There’s a split second where they just stare at each other, then Wanda shoots a regretful look over her shoulder at Vision. When she looks at Ana again, they nod at the same time, and newfound determination settles between them.

Ana twists her rings on.

*

They are surrounded. It’s been like that since a section of the barrier was opened; one right after one, after ten. A non-stop on slaughter of the six limb Space Dogs, as that trigger-happy talking Raccoon called them. Bucky keeps his eye on him ever since he picked him up and used him as valued support, showering bullets and lasers alike. He figures he’d keep him close by in case he needs help again. No matter how many times the little guy continues to barter for his gun...and his arm. Honestly, Bucky would probably just give his arm to him after this is all over for free. That might be met with violent protests; especially from his wife.

 Bucky has just fired a string of bullets into the next wave of terrifying, ugly aliens, and for a split moment he takes a breath. It’s short lived when one of the creatures ambushes him, or attempts to, dashing out from the thick of the forest. He shoots it down but doesn’t account for the next two. They come at him incredibly fast, snarling and snapping their long sharp teeth, but even quicker they fall to the ground, dead. Bewildered, Bucky peers down at them to see two long knifes lodged through their necks.

 Turning, he expects to see Natasha, or the little Raccoon. What he’s met with instead makes his heart swell, then seize in terror. His wife is casually leaning against a tree, twirling another knife expertly between her fingers. Ana looks like she’s at a practicing range instead of a violent battle field.

 “Glad to see my skills are up to par,” She smirks mischievously, her pretty brown and gold eyes glittering in the sunlight. It warms his heart.

 There’s a pale golden shimmer dancing along her entire body. Bucky doesn’t allow himself to feel relieved that she’s at least protected by the rings. He surveys their surroundings first, then marches over to her, pointing his gun down toward the sky.

 “What the hell are you doing here!?” Bucky hisses at her. He has an urge to touch her, his fingers twitching, but if he does, the force field will knock him back and drain a good amount of his life energy.

 “Helping you.” Ana states defiantly, as she twists the rings off and the glow vanishes. “We couldn’t stay in the Lab, Bucky. Not after those ships broke through.” Her lips tilt down. “The minute Wanda left they attacked, went after Vision. Either way I would have fought.”

 Bucky nods, now able to pull her behind a tree to shield them from sight. He wraps his metal arm around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her eyebrow, and reveling in the comforting scent of her. Still doesn’t stop his heart from racing.

 “Why am I not surprised,” He mumbles against her skin. His eyes are continuously scanning the area behind her. “I just need you to be safe.”

 “Bucky, I can fight, and right now I don’t think there is a safe place. Anywhere.”

 Her voice shakes a little at the end. It makes him set down his rifle against a tree before bringing her in close with both arms. Bucky can’t risk this. He can’t risk everything Ana holds for him; his life, his happiness, his future. He exhales heavily, sliding his hands down her arms to her waist. He presses his thumbs on either side of her hipbones, just over the beginning of her scars. He kisses her furiously, prying her lips open and tasting every ounce of emotions, of Ana.

 She sinks her hand into his tangled sweat damp hair, pulling him closer and sighing softly. He swallows it, wants to distract her enough to bring her home. To make sure she’s out of the line of fire, out of the fight entirely. He’ll never tell her how close he was to having dozens of razor-sharp teeth ripping out his throat. It’s too dangerous, but he knows his defeat when it comes to his wife. Self-preservation is something Ana has always lacked, but he loves every single part of her.

 “Stay hidden,” He commands quietly, after breaking their kiss. He presses his forehead to hers. “Fight in the shadows. I can’t lose you.” He rubs soothing circles into her stomach with his thumbs; he felt the strange wave of nausea earlier too.

 “You won’t. I’ll be careful,” Ana whispers, holding his face between her hands. A gentle warmth seeps throughout his bones, a promise. “I love you. I’ll watch your back.”

 Ignoring all the warning signs screaming that this is a horrible idea, Bucky kisses her once more. “I love you, too, Annie Doll.”

 Then he’s releasing her, picking his gun back up. He pulls another knife from his thigh holster, handing it to her. She nods, winks, then quickly moves into a thick patch of bushes. Bucky tampers down his fear, then returns to the fight.

 *

 The air is thick with kinetic energy. Ana inhales deeply, pulling it out of the air, gathering the force of energy between her hands. She feels the charge of it hot against her palms, hears the animalistic sounds of those hideous aliens. She waits with anticipation, until the creatures are right where she wants them. Then she shoves her hands against a loose boulder, sending it flying with the kinetic energy. It smacks right into the three aliens, crushing them against a larger wall of rock.

More wet, snapping sounds alert Ana to the aliens behind her. Spinning, she pulls out the glock she found in the Lab, firing a perfect shot straight through the creature’s eye. It drops to the ground. Another follows immediately, Ana firing, but misses as the alien dodges the bullets. Instead, she’s quick to grab the knife Bucky handed her, jerking her hand forward. The blade slices perfectly through its neck, the alien falling dead next to its kind.

A figure shifts out of the corner of her eye, Ana throwing several smaller knives at three other aliens. She ends the last four of them by thrusting her hands out. One barely touches her palms before a bright, burning light engulfs its body. She feels the foreign life force of the alien before it falls, dead. Pulling back her arms, she shoves them forward once more. A force of burning energy releases from her palms, piercing through the aliens bodies.

Blinking, Ana straightens, feeling a little out of breath, but otherwise perfectly fine. She surveys the ground, realizing she’s standing in the middle of a morbid circle, lifeless ugly alien bodies on the ground.

“Gross,” She grimaces to herself as she pulls Bucky’s knife out of a jugular.

She hurriedly goes about collecting the other small knives, cleaning them on her black pants. She ignores what she is exactly cleaning off and makes a mental note to not tell Bucky how close she had to be to drain the alien’s life. It’s that split second distraction that nearly costs her own.

That horrible alien noise comes from behind her. She’s too slow as she raises her hands, the alien within two feet of her before there’s a bright blue light over her left shoulder. It abruptly crumbles to the ground. Startled with confusion, Ana turns to see who just saved her.

Surprisingly her savior isn’t Bucky, or Steve, not even Wanda who has disappeared elsewhere. Instead, a smaller body holding what looks like a laser gun, is standing there with a satisfied smirk. Ana doesn’t even question why there seems to be a raccoon with a gun half its size in Wakanda.

“Thanks,” Ana nods in appreciation, sticking the last of the smaller knives into her belt. She surveys the area quickly before meeting the his gaze again. She pushes aside strays hairs loose from her braid. “Cool gun.”

“Neat trick you got there,” He tells her, with a voice deeper than Ana imagined. “What is it, some kind of plasma energy force?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure. Let’s go with, yes.”

A frustrated yelp that sounds suspiciously like Bucky pulls her attention away. Ana hurriedly climbs on a fallen tree branch, enough of a height boost to see Bucky through a clearing. He’s just finished yanking his left fist back from under an alien’s chin, knife clutch in his hand, the blade bloody. Ana pulls her gun back out, aiming for a moment, then squeezes the trigger, the bullet penetrating through the oddly shaped head of the creature.

Bucky looks over, raising his knife and has the audacity to smirk. “Thanks, my darling spouse!”

Exasperated, she rolls her eyes. “Told you I got your back! Gotta work on your rusty skills, Snowflake. ”

“Not all of my skills are rusty, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, then takes off running towards more trees.

“I swear, always in the mist of a fight and he still flirts,” Ana grumbles, but she can’t keep the smile of her face as she comes down from the rock.

“Huh,” The raccoon speaks up, his dark eyes glittering with interest as he appraises her. “Think your husband will sell his gun to me?”

“Most likely not.”

“How about his arm?”

Ana pauses, flashing a coy smile at him. “Possibly, but I love it way too much.” She winks before she takes off to find more coverage to stay hidden.

“I like her!” The raccoon’s amused voice echoes behind her.

*

There’s a small window of rest, the waves of aliens having ceased since Thor continued to use his new weapon. Flexing her fingers from the feeling of his leftover powers, Ana uses what she can to morph the air around her. She may be able to convey an encouraging force to everyone within 100 yards. She catches Sam’s eye from the distance, who nods and salutes her in gratitude. Then, she decides to find Bucky.

The sounds of his gunfire stopped echoing through the forest several minutes ago and she hasn’t seen him since. Ana opens her mouth to call out to him- then instantly chokes, clutching her chest with vice fingers. It feels like a freight train pierced through her chest, her heart constricting for a few terrifying moments.

Ana’s breath sticks in her throat as she looks to her right. Nothing is there, but it’s coming, she can feel it. Backing and stumbling away from a spot ten feet in front of her, she quickly retreats behind a tree, leaning on it for support. Whatever energy that is gathering is making it difficult to breathe.

The air shifts, the leaves fluttering chaotically in the wind that just picked up. There’s nothing but the rustle of the trees, the stirring of the dirt. Eerily quiet; like an eye of a hurricane.

Wind suddenly pulls towards an invisible vortex of gray clouds in one spot. A bright blue light appears, electric currents racing through black fog. It makes the hairs on Ana’s arms stand on end; makes her blood sing with an incredible surge of power.

Then, he appears, emerging from the blue gray smoke. Thanos.

“Cap,” Bruce speaks up in the short distance, his voice low and determined. “That’s him.”

Ana barely hears what Steve says in return, the rushing of blood in her ears too loud. She’s too busy attempting to regulate her breathing, to keep herself from being crippled by the immense amount of power. She needs…she needs Bucky. Bucky can help her. She needs…her rings. She had only turned them off again to help Natasha up after a brutal scuffle with an alien. Shakily, Ana twists her rings on, the immediate relief of energy around her stabilizing.

She straightens up, finally able to breath properly. She peaks around the trunk of the tree, just in time to witness the action in front of her. Banner in the Hulk-Bluster suit sprints towards the intimidating Titan. The giant man clenches his fist with the golden glove, blue light emitting from a stone. Ana gaps as Bruce phases right through him, rolling on the ground. Thanos traps him against a boulder, fusing the rocks over the suit.

Appearing out of nowhere, Steve attacks, proving futile. With one swipe of his hand, he sends Steve flipping through the air, landing heavily on the ground. T’Challa ambushes an attack, jumping to gain higher ground. Thanos grabs him by the jugular before punching him hard in the face, knocking him to the dirt despite the Black Panther suit absorbing blow. Sam tries swooping in, firing his guns, but it’s useless. Thanos swats him out of the air like a fly.

Ana raises her hands, ready to attack from behind, when other wave of power hits her once more. Distracted, she moves around the tree, watching as Wanda begins to destroy the Mind Stone in Vision’s forehead. It’s too much.

It’s all too much. The rings barely feel like they’re working; she can feel everything. The unprecedented energies from each separate stone. From Thanos wielding that energy. To the residue from the earlier fighting. Wanda’s powers and her emotional turmoil; heartbreaking anguish.

Colonel Rhodes follows behind Sam, coming in hot. He too, is tossed to the side like a speck of dust. The mad Titan has barely touched anyone. Through the mist of everything, Ana closes her eyes, focusing everything into her center. Once she’s got most of it tamed, her eyes snap open, looking for a way to surprise the purple prick.

 His glove. The gauntlet. Remove the gauntlet from his hand. If she angles herself just right, she may be able to blast the damn thing off with an energy beam. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get a chance.

Horror constricts her heart as she watches Bucky sprint full sped at Thanos, firing his gun with precision at him. Ana nearly screams his name, ready to aid her husband. Then the titan clenches his fist, a bright purple light emitting from the glove. It hits Bucky in the chest, slamming him hard into the ground. He lands close to Ana, who soundlessly rushes to him, dropping to her knees as she quickly turns the rings off.

“Bucky!? Bucky? Oh god, please be okay,” She pleads, fear making her fingers tremble as she grips his arms. He groans, slow to get up, but turns to face to her. Relief floods through her veins.

“Goddamnit!” He growls, fingers digging in the dirt. His blue eyes are full of anger, melting away the moment he meets her gaze. He offers her the tiniest quirk of a smile, pushing himself to his knees with her help. There’s a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth that she wipes away with her thumb, then on her pants.

“M’fine, Ana,” Bucky breathes, lifting his dirty hand to push the stray hairs away from her face. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

Ana is about to furiously protest, absolutely refuse to leave her husband, her friends, as they get thrown around effortlessly like crumpled paper. But then she catches sight of Steve, running at Thanos as he advances towards Wanda and Vision. He slides underneath his arm, stands, landing a few punches. He loses his new shields in the process.

Bucky turns with confusion, until his shoulders tense, his body growing rigid. They both watch as Thanos thrusts his gloved hand towards Steve. He catches it with is bare hands. Ana has a horrible feeling this isn’t going to end well. And she knows with a heavy dreading thought, that she can officially end it. Not just blasting the glove off, no. She can end Thanos.

Taking advantage of Bucky’s distraction, Ana stands with a final resolve. She turns the rings on once more, clenching her fists. All her energy, every once of energy she had been collecting, positive, negative, charged, kinetic, surges through her. She gathers what she can take from the sheer presence of the stones, hot and heavy from the air for more amped power. Ana sprints pass Bucky, just as Steve is punched solidly in the head, knocked out cold.

She ignores Bucky’s cries of desperation, begging her to stop. Instead, she takes a page from Steve’s book, and slides. She skids under and between Thanos’ legs, popping up and twisting forward. It’s a clear element of surprise to the Titan, surprise on his grimacing face that gives her the split moment she needs.

Wasting no time, Ana thrusts both hands at his chest, shooting her powers into him. Inhaling, she pulls internally, attempting to at least drain some of his energy. She feels it burning through her veins, wonders if her skin is on fire, the white-hot searing of his energy boiling beneath her palms. Ana grits her teeth, vaguely aware she’s growling in exertion. Thanos stumbles forward, but she holds her ground, locking her knees and continues to concentrate on taking his life force.

“Impressive, child.”

Ana barely registers the taunting deep voice, opening her eyes just in time to see Thanos raise his gloved fist. As quick as the flashing of light around them, Ana switches her target. She catches his hand in hers. She changes gears, beginning to pull from the stones themselves.

That’s the real issue here. The power of the Stones. Her right hand slips slightly, her fingers grazing over the stone embedded in the last knuckle of the glove. She yelps, either from pain or the new surge of power coursing through her. The once golden light surrounding them, slowly morphs to orange around her body.

Thanos sneers. He clenches the gauntlet, closing his fist and yanking his hand back. Abruptly, the connection breaks, stealing the air from Ana’s lungs with it. She can’t catch her breath now, despite Thanos stumbling and heaving. She doesn’t hesitate, throwing her arms forward, attempting to send out an energy blast.

Suddenly, Ana’s feet are whipped up from the ground. An invisible force wraps around her body before she’s thrown to the side, heading straight towards a wall of rock. Her back slams into the boulder, a deafening crack echoing behind her.

She doesn’t feel the blow of the impact, just feels the soft ground as dropped on, disorientated on her hands and knees. The rings shield must’ve protected her, absorbed most of the force. Still, Ana feels utterly winded, exhaustion threatening to weigh down her bones. At least the rings saved her from serious injuries…possibly even her life.

Ana attempts to get up but she’s breathless, her energy making her waver and she kneels to the ground, trying to press her hands to her chest. She feels like her blood is singing with power, a new power. A strange, unknown power that’s keeping her rooted to the spot.

Weakly, she lifts her head to see Thanos advancing towards Wanda. She moves one arm behind her, blasting her power at full force to hold Thanos back. It seems to be working, Wanda using her powers to her full ability.

All Ana can do is watch from the sideline, willing herself to just move already. An invading thought, a cold chilling terror overcomes her for a moment, but before she can panic and check for a major injury, a heavy thud lands next to her.

“Annie! Fuck, are you okay!? Are you hurt!?” Bucky frantically questions, hands hovering over her shimmering body. “Darling, answer me, please.”

His voice, weighed with concern, fear, warmth, refills her lungs. She gasps, as if whatever was choking her vanished with her husband’s presence. She feels a flood of relief wash over her heart, from Bucky. Regulating her breathing, focusing on the air entering and exiting her lungs, Ana finally gathers her strength back. Enough to twist off the rings. Immediately, Bucky’s comforting hands are on her back, running along the length of her body, checking for injuries.

“What the fuck were you thinking, baby?” He murmurs. Ana catches the tremor in his voice.

Before she can even open her mouth to answer him, there’s a sudden shout, a blinding light, and an explosion of power. The strong blast knocks Ana and Bucky back, landing a good distance away from each other. Disorientated once more, Ana groans as she sits up.

 “No.”

A horrified whisper makes Ana lift her eyes. She landed close to Steve, who just seems to be getting up from that blow he took from Thanos. His eyes are locked on the scene in front of him, causing Ana to follow his line of sight. Her panic is silent as she watches Thanos use the green stone to reverse what Wanda just did. He brings back Vision.

It all happens so fast. The mind Stone is ripped away as he careless drops Vision’s lifeless body. It’s placed on the last and final space on the glove. The strongest surge of power overtakes the titan, now equipped with all six Infinity Stones. Right then, the air crackles with lightning. A blinding stream of light, then, Thor is shoving his ax through Thano’s chest.

For a moment, for one short, beautiful moment, Ana thinks it’s all over. That they won. Thor pushing the blade of his ax further into that psycho’s chest. The moment is gone when Thanos raises his gloved hand, and snaps. Thor shouts. Bright light flashes, temporary blinding everyone.

The light fades. The smell of burning metallic taints the air. A moment passes.

“What did you do!?” Thor demands furiously. “What did you do!?”

Using the power of a stone, Thanos disappears.

-

Everything is silent afterwards. Eerily so. It’s as if all the oxygen has left Wakanda. Ana stands shakily. The universe feels tilted, off. Her spine goes rigid. It’s like ice is seeping throughout her bones, chilling her to the core. Energy on a giant scale seems to drain from her body, as if someone just pulled a plug.

She stares at her hands for a moment, wondering where it is coming from. Something is wrong. Her left hand has gone numb. A foreign tingling sensation begins to burn at her fingertips. She feels utter bemusement through her chest.

A sharp gasp is ripped from her throat. It felt like an invisible fist just punched through her heart. Her hands fly to her chest. She doesn’t understand, can’t figure out what that was. She just suddenly feels like half of her life energy is leaving her.

“Steve?”

Ana knows that voice from miles away; Bucky. There is perplexity in his tone, an underlining of fear. She turns, spotting him walking towards them, his gun pointing in the air. 

“Annie?”

Frowning, she takes a step forward as Bucky looks down at his left hand. His fingers abruptly morph into a murky color. All breath ceases in Ana’s throat as her body grows cold. Her eyes widen in terror.

Bucky’s metal fingers crumble right before their very eyes. Ashy dark pieces begin to break apart his legs. His entire left arm starts to fade away, the gun falling from his right hand as he tries taking a staggering step towards them. His gray-blue, panic-stricken eyes snap to Ana.

“No.” She whispers, horrified.

Ana swears her heart halts in her chest as she reaches out towards him. She shuffles forward, one foot after the other, willing herself to move quicker. She breaks into a jog. Bucky’s entire body is fading into gray, disintegrating right before her very eyes.

 If she can get to him, if she can catch him, maybe just maybe, if she can touch him, she can save him, keep him together. Just as Ana dives on her knees, Bucky collapses, his body crumbling into a cloud of dust, her fingers grasping at fading particles.

No.

 Her heart disintegrates.

 “B-Bucky?” She breathes, voice trembling.

 Her hands shake violently as she stares at them covered in what looks like ashes. She can’t- she doesn’t- she lowers her hand onto the pile on the ground, fingerings digging into the soil. She doesn’t even register Steve kneeling next to her, his bruised, bloody hand grazing the spot between them.

 Bucky. Where did Bucky go?

 “I,I,I can’t- feel,” Ana stutters inaudible. “I can’t f-feel you. Bucky...I c-can’t feel…I can’t feel you.”

 The air around her vanishes, conceding with her chest. She briefly glances up, just to see that walking and talking tree creature reach out towards the talking raccoon. The tree fades away into the air. Wanda clutching a lifeless Vision in her arms quietly vanishes.

 No.

 Startled cries begin to taint the air. Worried, scared voices calling out names. Ana hears nothing but the shattering of her soul. Her eyes snap back to her hands sinking into the earth where Bucky should be. Bucky should be in front of her. Ana suddenly doesn’t know where she is anymore. She’s clutching the earth, gripping, pulling, praying, begging. Begging to feel him, to feel his energy.

 She can’t feel Bucky.

“I can’t feel you,” She whimpers in shock. “I can’t feel you.”

This can’t be real. She squeezes her eyes shut, bringing her left up to claw at her chest as the other remains in the dirt. This can’t be real. Her throat feels like it’s on fire, blood is rushing to her ears, her body curls in on itself. Her veins feel cold. Her breath is gone and her heart....she can’t feel her heart. Her chest is an empty void.

 This can’t be real.

“Oh God,” Steve exhales in horrified distress.

“You are all now at the mercy of the great Thanos,” The blue skinned alien, who had injured Vision just before Ana arrived on the field, speaks up, emerging between the trees. The last of the mad Titan’s goons. “You should be grateful for his-“

The words die in his throat. She doesn’t know when or how she stood up, Ana just knows her hand is now over the alien’s ugly face, as if she’s in a trance. A wet, gargling noise disturbs the eerie air, the alien’s limbs jerking sporadically as his face begins to glow a bright blue. The light engulfs his entire body before turning white, his skin burning beneath her palm. A short blast flashes, followed by a heavy thump. The light fades, the air once again swirling with particles.

Ana pants, finally tearing her eyes away from the spot Bucky should be. The alien’s lifeless body stares back at her, thick streams of blue blood oozes out of every orifice on his face. His skin is marred, the smell of burnt flesh her stinging her nose.

Her knees buckle, falling to the ground. Her body trembles violently. Everything is empty. There’s a hallow ache between her ribs. A darkness pressing all around her. Suffocating her. Taking her. She wants it to take her.

Ana can’t feel Bucky.

She begs for it to take her.

A vice grip wraps around her body. Hot air hisses over her ear. A sharp twisting sting pinches her skin, finally breaking through the deafening rush of waves in her head. She’s screaming, or sobbing, or hyperventilating. She doesn’t know. She just can’t feel Bucky.

Breathe. Just breath.

The words finally register with Ana. The voice is gentle, laced with tremors and fear as they’re repeated over again. Gradually, her senses come back to her. Heavy, muscular arms hold her together, too tight, too painful; it’s grounding. It’s constricting her, she shifts in panic, the arms loosening their hold.

Her vision clears as Ana stares into blue eyes. Different blue eyes. Different eyes without the crinkles in the corners, without the glitter mirth and admiration. Blue eyes with green flecks laced into the fibers. Steve.

Not her life. Not her heart. Not Bucky

Ana inhales shortly. She comes back to herself, abruptly aware of everything. She doesn’t know how much time has passed. She slowly takes in his appearance. His face is covered in sweat and dirt, his lip cut open and bleeding. He’s roughed up, he’s exhausted, he’s grounding her. His expression is broken as he helps her. It’s his eyes though that bring her back. The utter look of torment in them snaps her aware to their surroundings, reality setting in.

“Breathe,” Is all he says. As if he’s telling himself to do so as well.

Oh god, he lost Bucky too. Bucky.

Ana breaks eye contact, a thought crashing through the blankness in her mind. She looks down at her body, shimmering waves encase her. The rings aren’t activated. The glow is her own power source, her own energy shield. Protecting. Protection. Protection for herself. Protection to keep her safe. Protection for-

“Steve,” Ana exhales as her body begins to tremble all over. Her fists clutching at the dirt where her husband vanished before her eyes.

Her vision blurs, her head swimming. Her chest is utterly empty. She meets his gaze, a complex of emotions storming in his eyes. Ana wraps her arms around her middle. Protecting. Like she tried to do with…Bucky. Like he tried to do with her. Protecting her. Protecting them.

“I’m pregnant.”

****************************************

Drabbles: Eighteen   Drabbles: Twenty

***seriously, tumblr wigged out and it deleted -.- I’m sorry for putting you through this pain again...whoops

@thecreatiivecorner​ @kat-lives​ @stressedasalways​ @watchoutforfrostbite​ @justreadingfics​ @keldachick​ @fics-i-read​ @eurynome827​

[xoruffitup]

I Once Had This Top-Quality Adam Dream...

(I just made one long-ass text post but now I’m going to make a second one, oh no....)

So I just made a post reflecting on visiting London, and then I saw a couple Sackler posts on my dash, and the two combined made me realize I really need to write out this incredibly detailed, epic dream saga I once had where I lived in a London townhouse and Adam was the landlord (literally don’t know whether to call him Driver or Sackler because he had major characteristics of both). This was like some full reader-insert fan fic shit all in one single dream, but it was SO detailed and amazing I really need to get it all out:

True to life, I was in London for grad school and looking for a place to live. I heard from classmates about a nice but affordable house in the outskirts of town where students from past year classes had stayed.

I go out to the house and meet Adam, who lives there but rents rooms in the huge place out to students. He’s dressed in scuffed jeans with messy hair and doesn’t look rich enough to own a house like this in London. When I ask, he dodgily says his parents left it to him before they stopped talking. 

I move in a couple weeks before the normal semester starts, so it’s just me and Adam in the house. I live in a basement room, and his bedroom is on the first floor, right next to the kitchen. I see him coming in and out when I’m cooking. He doesn’t seem to have an office 9-5, he just does odd repair, painting, or carpentry jobs. Now and then he comes back totally grime or oil-streaked, like he’s been working under a car all day. 

I’m super curious, so the first time we’re eating at the same time in the kitchen I ask him what his deal is. By now we’ve talked enough that he knows a fair bit about me, so he finally opens up that his parents worked for the US military as contractors designing navigation and other tech systems for military planes. Growing up on military bases, he learned all their specialized knowledge about both designing tech and fixing the mechanical nuts and bolts of planes, helicopters, or even ground vehicles. But as he got older, he realized a military life was the last thing he wanted. At 18, he’d come with them to an assignment at a British base, when he decided he wanted no part of it anymore. His parents had left him the house to try to stay in his good graces and perhaps someday lure him back, even though he’d barely spoken with them in years. He doesn’t outright say it, but it’s implied he learned not-so-savory secrets of their work with the military, and for moral reasons broke off from them; Leaving him as a drifter with a big, empty house in the London suburbs.

Before we really know each other, we sleep together. It’s just us in the house. He looks hot when I see him come in all dirty from some handy man job; I’m apparently a bit more level-headed and less annoying than the undergrads he usually rents to; we’re both single so why the hell not? It’s a really, really good habit for a few weeks.

The semester starts and a few other students move into the house. We’re not official or anything and Adam doesn’t seem to want the others to know he’d been fucking a tenant so the sex mostly stops. But we like being around each other, so instead of sex we end up spending a lot of time just talking in the kitchen or watching random movies together in the living room. Sometimes I tell him about my long-term career anxieties, sometimes he tells me about his unresolved feelings towards his family and his lack of direction. There’s still an occasional makeout on the couch or quickie when the house is empty, but the quiet times when we’re just talking start to become even nicer. I also casually mention my age at some point (I was 22 in grad school) and this seems to trouble him a bit. He’s only 27, but I get a sneaking suspicion that the gap makes him a bit uncomfortable when it comes to sex.

The other girl sharing the basement with me is none other than Maisie Williams. (Yes, totally weird and random but I’m not complaining.) Sadly, the three other people in the house are all annoying and/or assholes. Two of them are girls who not-so-subtly have their eyes on Adam; Seeing that he’s young, apparently single, and cohabiting with them. I almost choke on laughter a few times witnessing them flirting with him, only for him to be either completely oblivious, or disinterestedly shut them down. (He is almost a total grump 90% of the time to the other residents; When they even see him.) They do notice there’s there’s ~something between me and Adam, and they annoy me for details, but there’s nothing I would want to divulge. There’s nothing official between us, but at the same time, there is something tangible and real - Something these girls could never understand; Something of a lot more value than just casual (even if really good) sex.

The other guy living in the house is the worst. He hardly talks to anyone, until the time he intrudes into the living room late one night while I’m watching TV. Having no clue he was interested in me, he kisses me out of nowhere. He pins me when I try to pull away, and my attempts to yell are loud enough for Adam to hear from his room. When Adam appears, he pulls the guy off and socks him in the mouth, furious. “Gather your shit and get the fuck out of my house.” It’s late and the guy won’t be gone until morning, so Adam asks gently if I want to sleep in his room. I do, and for the first time we sleep together in his bed - Just sleeping. 

From here on, the relationship takes a turn almost towards wholesome big brother/little sister. We spend more time than ever together and I trust him completely, even while nothing sexual happens for a while. 

One night, I’m out at a club in central London when a girl I’m with had something put in her drink that makes her so sick we have to take her to the hospital. I’m really shook up; my two friends and I waiting to make sure she’ll be okay. It’s 2 AM when the doctors say we should go home while she stays the night. I can’t even think clearly about how to get home - I’m so tired and upset and worried, so I call Adam.  “She drank something really bad. We’re at the hospital and the doctors say we should go home, but I-I don’t know what to do...” “Do you want me to come there?” “Yes, yes I do. Please.” When he gets there, I break down a little in relief to see him and he just holds me for a minute. After we talk with the doctors one more time, Adam puts an arm around me and says I should come home. The friends with me are as upset as I am, so Adam takes us all outside, asks for their addresses, and puts them all in cabs home. Then he holds my hand on the tube ride back to the house.  Without talking about it, I come to his bedroom when we get back. In his bed, I whisper, “It could have just as easily been me that drank it.” “No, it couldn’t. Because you’re not fucking stupid enough to drink something that was out of your sight.” I look at him - His words are harsh, but true. They’re what I needed to hear. Finally, I relax and sleep, with him close. 

It’s getting towards the end of the school year. I’m working on my dissertation, and I’m stressed to the max. Adam listens to me bitch a lot about it. Rather than getting bored, he tosses ideas back and forth with me and helps me develop my arguments. He even reads some of an early draft when I ask him to. He gets annoyed once, when I ask for his opinion on a day when my confidence is low and I’m talking about abandoning the whole thing. He says: “What the fuck are you even asking me for? You go to the fucking fancy grad school. What do I know?” “You know me.” We’re both quiet for a long moment - It’s the first charged moment there’s been between us in a while, since we stopped sleeping together. He takes my laptop and goes back to reading my draft.

As the end of the year nears, some of the students move out - Leaving only me, Adam, and Maisie. (Yup, she’s still there.) Adam bursts into the kitchen in a panic one day, saying he forgot there would be some kind of inspection the next day to keep his house in the renter’s market. The house is definitely not in the tidiest shape, so the three of us bust into a major cleaning spree together. It’s hot and there’s a lot of dust, so Adam starts cleaning shirtless. “Well fuck that, we’re hot and dirty too,” Maisie says, and that’s how the three of us end up cleaning the whole house without any shirts on. 

The date is set when I’m going to move out and go back home to the US. I text Adam the date, and then I don’t see him in the house all week. It’s the day before I’m going to leave, he’s still nowhere to be found, and I’m getting a little pissed with him. Then one of his friends drops by the house. “Adam’s been on a job the last couple days, but he asked me to bring this by for you, and he said you can keep it.” It’s Adam’s fancy high-powered laptop - The one you both gamed or watched movies on together some late nights; The one I kept longingly saying I could make such good use of, instead of my years-old, decrepit one. When I go on the laptop (yes, I know his passwords) the first file I stumble on is an anxiety self-help document. I doubt he meant for me to see it, but it reminds me why he might be avoiding me on purpose. Why it might be too hard for him to say goodbye. I’m not mad at him anymore. 

Just as I’m getting ready to leave, he shows up in the kitchen. He’s out of breath, like he decided at the last minute to try to catch me. “So, today’s the day,” is all he says. I nod, find myself tearing up a little, and rush to hug him. I hold onto him for a long time, savoring how tightly he’s holding me too and resolve not to cry. It won’t help anything. He finally kisses me long and purposefully, then we untangle and he carries my bags outside for me. 

A few years pass. Even though I think of him a lot, we only text occasionally. We’d always been like that - Even though we spent so much time together and came to know each other so deeply, the relationship had never been one that translated to digital expression. I only date casually, always finding myself wondering whether he’s met anyone; Whether he ended up going back to work with his parents. 

Three years later, he texts me out of the blue that he’ll be visiting Washington DC, where I live. He doesn’t give any more details, just asks if I might want to meet up. I respond within minutes: Of course. 

He looks exactly as I remembered (just add a bit of a beard), and the sight of him slams me so strongly I practically jump on him when I hug him. It’s awkward just at the beginning: “Hi.” “Hi!” “You look gr-..” “You look wonderf...” “I didn’t want to get in your way if you..”  “Just tell me if you’re too busy to...” Until I ask him why he’s in town, and he says it’s for job interviews. He’s still not willing to work directly for the military or the Department of Defense, but he’s been contacted by some private companies that want to use military-grade navigation systems for other uses; Systems Adam knows how to build. And then I ask him about his parents, about the house back in London, he asks me about my work, and then it all starts flowing right away again. 

He doesn’t have a place yet in DC. Although he booked a hotel, I bug him until he cancels the reservation and comes to stay with me. I might have thought of him a lot over the past few years, lying in this bedroom, and I can’t be denied the chance to have him here. He keeps making gruff comments about not wanting to bother me or be a nuisance, but something about seeing my place and being there with me makes his protests stop.  “I’ll just take the couch...” “No, no, you’ll stay in the bed with me.” He goes still and looks at me evenly for a long moment, then his voice is soft when he agrees. The way he’s looking at me seems different than how I remember. It’s not bad - There’s still every bit of familiarity and fondness that I remember, but there also seems to be some newly kindled spark. It’s been 3 years and I’ve grown up a bit. 

When the lights go out in the bedroom, the bed seems to automatically tilt me towards him. Once I reach out first and he feels my hand brush his arm, he lets out a rush of breath and closes the space immediately. Both of us had yearned for this familiar intimacy, but at the same time the years that have passed have added an edge of novelty, wonder, and hunger. “Are you sure?” he asks in a whisper while we’re kissing. I’d missed this about him - The way he relapses into revealing how very unassuming he is beneath his shell. “Completely. It’s been years and I haven’t stopped-.... Yes.” We have sex twice. 

After his interviews, he goes back home to London. He tells me the next week that he received a good offer he’s thinking of taking - A job in DC. My heart’s speeding so much, at first I don’t even know what to say on the phone to him. He’s talking some nonsense -  “Of course, even if I take it, I wouldn’t assume that means anything for us... You have your own life and I don’t want to get in the way. You have so much going for you and I...” “Shut up, you idiot. Do you want the job - Not thinking about where it is?” “...Yes, I think so.” “Okay. Then you should take it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. And when you get here, we should look for a place together.” “..... I don’t know if that would be best...” “Ugh, would you stop with this annoying thing where you act like you know what’s best for me better than I do?” “That’s not what I’m doing. I just don’t want to drop back into your life and-... I just... don’t want to get in your way or hold you back...” “Adam. I thought about you all the time during the years we were apart. Yes, I dated, but I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you. I never will. The only reason I didn’t talk to you that much while we were apart was because I know you hate texting, and you hate writing about your feelings even more.” (He makes a snorting sound on the line.) “But don’t make any mistake - I want to be with you. I know it, and I’m dead sure of it. I’ve had three years to think about it.” “...You always were determined, when you knew what you wanted.” “And you’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what you want. Can’t you let me help you find it?” Adam’s quiet for a long moment, until: “You think I don’t know what I want? That I haven’t known this whole time? I’ll admit, when it comes to work, in that regard you’re right... But four years ago, a certain girl moved in here, and ever since then the rest of my life’s become very clear.”

And just before that assumedly happy ending is where the dream ended. :’) Thank you very much, my weird, wonderful dream-brain. I’ve been wanting to write this all out for ages - Hope one or two people enjoyed sharing it!

[wishingforatypewriter]

May I request something? I wondered about that matter since Chapter 9 of "On Casual Commitments", since it was brought up there. I was too shy to ask earlier, but I'd really like to know what happened between Yuki and Marui when they met at Polar Star to help Fumio-san moving out. So yes, may I ask for that? I am still enchanted by the two other One Shots you wrote about them and thought I could ask. Have a good day or night :)

Sure! I hope you enjoy it!

Yoshino Yuki woke up in her luxury suite at the Totsuki Imperial hotel. Ah, let’s just take a moment to let that sink in. After her first class, nonstop flight from New York City to Tokyo, Yoshino Yuki—the lifetime lover of all things decadent—had checked in to a room on the top floor of of a five star hotel and did not have to worry about the price!

Sometimes when she missed home or got tired of filming or woke Ryoko at 4 o’clock in the morning because she forgot about the time difference, Yuki wondered whether the cosmopolitan lifestyle she had chased so tirelessly was really worth it. But now with the silk sheets beneath her and the city streets below her and a remote control that could turn day to night in her room, she was sure that she had chosen correctly.

With a click of a button the sunlight was absorbed by dark curtains. That was nice. She stretched and rolled over in bed, hoping to fight the jetlag with a couple more hours of sleep. Her plans were promptly foiled all of fifteen minutes later when her cell phone started ringing.

Yuki groaned, rubbing at her eyes. If it was her producer again she swore she was going throttle him. What part of ‘vacation day’ was so difficult to grasp? “You’ve reached Yoshino Yuki,” she said, trying her best to put on her TV voice despite the ungodly hour.

“Good morning, Yoshino-san. I’m a few minutes away from your hotel, so you can come downstairs.”

Fuuuuuuck. She had completely forgotten that Marui offered to drive her up to campus. She’d gotten so accustomed to taking taxis everywhere. “Ah…um…about that…” She hopped out of bed and started rifling through her luggage for something to wear while simultaneously unpinning her hair rollers. “I’m not quite ready yet, but I should be down in ten minutes.”

“Yoshino-san,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Okay, twenty minutes,” she conceded, sighing. “A half hour tops. I just overslept so—”

“Figured as much,” he said, and she could almost see him smugly adjusting his spectacles. “Truthfully, I haven’t left my house yet. Do you think you’ll be ready in an hour?”

“Damn it, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Yuki huffed, hands resting on her hips. “That’s so mean of you, Marui.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You’re always running late, ever since we were in school.”

“Whatever.” Yuki rolled her eyes, annoyed that she had fallen for it. “An hour should be fine, though.”

“I’ll see you then.”

When she finally made it downstairs, wearing oversized sunglasses and a navy jumpsuit from Neiman Marcus, Marui Zenji was waiting for her. She smiled a bit when she saw him in his tweed suit jacket and slacks; he looked more and more like a professor every time they met.

“What are you doing dressing like that to pack boxes?” she asked.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, gesturing at her designer diggs.

“I have an interview later with this really cool magazine,” she explained, blushing a bit. She remembered the first time he’d looked at her like that, when she had gone to a school dance in that silly cherry dress.

“And I have a review session to run,” he said.

Yuki nodded. They were both still busy—the same kind of busy that had broken them up close to a decade ago. “That’s exciting!” She beamed at him. “You’re almost like someone reliable now.”

“What do you mean ‘almost?’”

The drive went by relatively quickly; they chatted amicably about the ambitions that had come between them and the precious godchild they shared.

By the time they made it to the Polar Star, they had fallen into a synthetic version of their old rhythm―her giving him flack and him flipping it back on her. But a sense of hesitation coated their interactions; after all, it would be too easy to fall back into old habits. And that would hardly be appropriate given that he was engaged to be married.

“There you kids are,” Fumio-san said as she ambled out into the hallway.  “You’re late. I’m already halfway done.” And, of course, by halfway done she meant that all the boxes were open, but had nothing in them.

“Fumio-san!” Yuki dashed to hug the old dorm mother, who she hadn’t seen in two years.

“There’s the Hollywood star,” she said. “You know the only reason I kept paying that damn cable bill was to watch your shows.”

“C’mon, that’s not true,” Yuki replied. “You’ve been watching those soap operas since we were in middle school. Right Marui?”

“I can’t remember. Don’t bring me into this.”

Yuki crossed her arms. “That’s so half-assed of you. A man with glasses should be more assertive.”

“Why do you insist on attributing so many characteristics to the fact that I wear glasses?”

“Because it’s true,” she quipped.

He sighed. “On what basis does…” And then they were back to their banter.

Fumio watched them go at it for a few minutes, smiling as she leaned heavily against her cane. “Hey now,” she said finally. “Did you come here to stand around and bicker all day? Start packing up the bookshelf while I make lunch.”

The bookshelf was a wealth of knowledge. Over the years, generations of Polar Star residents had left behind textbooks, recipe books, travel guides, and a host of manga volumes for new cohorts of students. All of these, Fumio-san would be leaving at the dorm. The only thing she would take with her was the yearbooks—one for every class she had nurtured until graduation.

Because they were only human, they stopped to peer into the lives of the famous generations—the Polar Star’s golden age, Shinomiya Koujirou’s class, and naturally their own jewel generation.

“Look at the Elite Ten page,” Marui said after Yuki flipped to it. They were all lined up in front of Totsuki’s Parliament for a group photo, smiling in front of the fresh blossoms.

“They’re all paired up now,” Yuki noted. “Megumi and Takumi, Alice and Kurokiba, Hayama and Hishoko-chi, Yukihira and Erina-chi. It’s so cute.”

“And a little frightening,” Marui replied. “I can only imagine the next generation.”

“Well, that’s your problem now, prof.” Yuki laughed a little bit of the thought of him having to contend with their crazy classmates’ offspring. Then she turned the page to reveal the students’ individual photos. Yuki groaned when she saw her picture. “I was so plain back then.”

“That’s not true,” Marui told her.

“How?” Yuki pointed to yearbook again. “Look at me and then look at Erina-chi, Alice-chi, Nikumi. Compared to them I practically faded into the background.”

“You were always vibrant,” he said. “Even when the people you mentioned were present, it was you that lit up the room every time.”

Yuki smiled a little bit. “Well, you were biased back then.”

Later, she gestured to another page as he was about to turn it, their fingers brushing in the process. “It’s the pregame before senior formal. How did that make it into the yearbook?”

“The better question is how did the pregame make it into my room?” he asked, scowling at the memory.

“I think we convinced you somehow,” Yuki said, grinning as the memories came back to her. “Besides, I helped you clean that time.”

“Literally only because your room was overrun with baby animals and you wanted to crash in there.”

“Details, details.” She waved the comment off. “Anyway, I don’t remember you being upset about my presence there back then.” Now that she thought about it, that night had been special in more ways than one. She turned the page again, trying to change the subject in her own mind. “Remember senior ditch day?”

“I remember carrying you back from the beach because you fell asleep,” he noted.

“Well I remember running up and down the beach to look for your stupid glasses.” In the end, Yuki had narrowly saved them from being pounded with a baseball bat—that watermelon game had always done more harm than good.

They remembered, and they remembered. And the more they remembered the more they forgot how they had ever been able to manage without one another.

They finally reached the photos from the alumni banquet—the event that had changed everything for the 92nd generation. “It’s almost a little bittersweet when you think about it,” she said as she read through the initial career choices of all their classmates. “Hayama and Hishoko-chi were over by the end of the night.”

“Ibusaki and Sakaki found an apartment together by the next day,” he added.

“And Megumi turned down her best offers to follow Yukihira to New York,” Yuki recalled. “Not that she ever told him that.”

“In the end, that’s probably what doomed their relationship,” Marui said somberly. “A sacrifice like that…” He shrugged. It was unimaginable for most people.

“I don’t know,” Yuki said. “From where I’m standing, I still wouldn’t call it a mistake to value a relationship that much. I mean, if I could do everything over…” She trailed off. No. She couldn’t take it there.

Marui suddenly spoke up. “I’d follow you,” he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “If I could do it again, I would follow you to Munich, to Prague, wherever.”

“I would stay.”

They let the truth hang between them for a moment, and then neither mentioned it again for the remainder of the visit.

After they finished helping Fumio-san move, Marui dropped her back at her hotel, and they hugged goodbye for a second too long.

“Get home safe, Yoshino-san,” he said. “Text me when your plane lands.”

“Yeah. I will.”

That night the silk beneath her felt distant, cold, and she longed for the cotton quilts of days past.

[livehealthynewsusa]

What’s behind ben Simmons epic playoff meltdown?

It’s a defining moment in a close Game 7, but instead of throwing it off, Simmons fits in with teammate Matisse Thybulle in traffic.

Thybulle is fouled and goes to the line, taking only one free throw instead of the almost certain two points and one that would have come if Simmons had been fouled.

A collective moan echoes through the Wells Fargo Center. Sixers’ center Joel Embiid lowers his shoulders in frustration. The moment becomes an instant meme. The Sixers lose momentum and ultimately the game and the series. Simmons becomes a persona non grata in Philadelphia. His name is now directly on the trading block. There are reports that he won’t play for the Boomers in the Olympics.

The moment provides a snapshot of Simmons’ four year run in Philly where his failure to develop his offensive play and lack of chemistry on the court with teammate Embiid have been a constant source of frustration for fans and led to constant speculation that one the two ‘trial’ stars have to get away. After the meltdown on Monday, the calls for the dispatch of Simmons have reached fever. The problem for the Sixers is that from his chaotic performance on this series, his value may have fallen so far that they will find it difficult to make a decent return.

After the game it got ugly. Embiid tossed his teammate under the bus and found that Simmons had given up the open dunk the moment the game was lost, despite having made eight turnovers himself – to be fair, Embiid was playing on a partially torn meniscus. Coach Doc Rivers, who had defended Simmons all season, joined in, saying he didn’t know if Simmons had what it takes to be point guard on a championship team. Experts like Shaquille O’Neal, Charles Barkley and Magic Johnson piled up, all stressing the fact that the Sixers are paralyzed because they have a star with a $ 217 million contract who is out of the game due to his lack of shooting skills Can play crunch time. O’Neal even went so far as to say that if he were Simmons’ teammate he would have “knocked out his butt”.

Yes, it could be called a rough week for Australia’s biggest basketball star.

I interviewed Simmons for a cover story in Philadelphia in 2018 and have followed his career closely ever since. As a fan, Simmons’ mental breakdown and the subsequent media and internet gathering was brutal. But I have to say I share the frustrations. Simmons is the kind of enigmatic star who teases you with glimpses of his otherworldly talent in one game, only to vanish completely the next. It’s annoying, which only makes Simmons’ cool demeanor and disapproval of criticism worse.

When we showed Simmons on our cover from May 2018, he was very popular. As the next LeBron touted James, his rookie stats were gaudy – 16, 8, and 8. The problem is, Simmons has been offensive since then. That season, he logged 14, 7, and 7. To his credit, he has made himself an elite defender, joining the All-NBA Defensive First Team for the second year in a row, and second this year to Utah’s Rudy Gobert took place in the choice of Defensive Player of the Year.

I have a theory that Simmons deliberately worked on this side of his game to divert attention from his offensive stagnation. He remains an electrifying force in flux, with an amazing court vision that enables him to find teammates for open looks. It works well enough in the regular season, but in play-off time when the game slows down to a half-field chess game decided by “knights” like Devin Booker, Kawhi Leonard and Kevin Durant who take their own shot can create, Simmons becomes a burden, giving up the ball like a hot potato and lurking aimlessly in the spot of the dark. It forces Embiid to come off the post and play an open game if he should dominate on the block. It basically means the Sixers are a man on the offensive.

Simmons’ refusal to take outside shots was now compounded by his refusal to go into the basket for fear of being fouled. First the Wizards and then the Hawks employed a successful “hack-a-Simmons” strategy that took him to a record low of 34 percent in this year’s play-offs – even worse than Shaq!

Theories about Simmons’ struggles are online all over the place right now, and I’ve developed a few myself. Back when Simmons headed our cover, everyone expected his offensive play to develop, assuming he eventually started shooting threesomes. At the time, Simmons told me he was working on his jump shot and if it got better, watch out. “The thing about the shooting is that once I get it where I want it, nobody can stop me,” he said. And so we waited. Every year during the off-season, Simmons posted videos filming from the outside in training, which raised the hopes of Sixers fans only to be dashed once the season started and he was stuck. Teammates talked about how he shot the ball free in practice, hoping it would start shooting in games, but it never happened. Instead, it may have created a dichotomy between exercise and play that has become a gaping mental chasm that Simmons cannot cross.

That’s when he actually does the work. Simmons’ lack of progress on the offensive has led many to speculate (and point to his Instagram account as evidence) that he cares more about his flashy cars, dogs, and game than going to the gym and busting his Repair sweater.

ESPN’s Stephen A Smith said this week he received a text message through Simmons from someone close to the Philadelphia situation:Quote, he doesn’t work, he doesn’t listen, and everyone around him is a family and he is becoming babies all the time. “

Smith then added on SportsCenter: “They asked him for four years to improve his jump shot. He ignored coaches, he ignored assistant coaches, he ignored teammates, he ignored his agent, he ignored family members because he loved being in LA, in South Beach likes to say he went to the gym to play instead of the gym to go to work on my game. And it came back to bite him – because the only thing you can say about Ben Simmons is that he can’t shoot. “

Who knows if that’s true, but it seems likely that it was always a little too easy for Simmons. He grew up a supernaturally gifted player with absurd abilities for someone six feet tall and is the best player on any team he has ever played on. He never really had to fight, which resulted in complacency about his game and possibly a shaky work ethic. Compare him to Hawks’ point guard Trae Young, who is similarly gifted but only 6’1 inches tall. Young was told he was too small since he was a child. He had to fight every step of the way. As a result, as he showed first against the Knicks, then against the Sixers and now in Game 1 of the European Championship final against the Bucks, he is an ice-cold killer on the pitch.

Sometimes Simmons seemed a little too pleased with his game. During our interview he was defensive about his shooting and cited his stats as evidence that his game was in good shape. He seemed to be saying there was no need for improvement. “I don’t worry that much because my average is 17, 8 and 8,” he said at the time. “Boys haven’t done this in their entire careers, so if I do that in 50 games I think I’ll play well.”

But while the mental side of Simmons’ game seems to be in free fall at the moment, it’s possible that the ultimate source of his struggles lies in a mechanical problem that has evolved into a psychological problem over time. One theory popularized by The Ringer’s Kevin O’Connor is that Simmons shoots with the wrong hand. The statistics prove it: Simmons dropped the ball 67 shots with his right hand this postseason, compared to just nine shots with his left hand. That rate coincides with his career rate using his right hand, which dates back to his time at LSU, writes O’Connor.

Simmons told The New York Daily News in 2016 that his father encouraged him to photograph left-handed as an adult. “I think I should be right. But now everything is natural ”. I asked Simmons about it right away. He scoffed, then sighed in annoyance as if I’d asked him if the world was flat. “People like to make up shit,” he said. “Maybe I’m writing with the wrong hand?” There are reports that the Sixers are finally trying to address this and get Simmons to shoot with his right hand. They can do that too, because it can hardly get worse.

It is also reported there that he will use the off-season to work on “skill development” instead of representing the Boomers at the Olympics. It reminded me of what Simmons told me in 2018 when I asked him about his goals. He replied that you should win a championship, win a gold medal in the Olympics and be “the greatest player of all time”. “You have to set the bar high,” he said. Back then, those goals seemed lofty; today, they seem like pipe dreams.

The problem is, when it comes to his offensive play, I think Simmons may have set the bar too high. So high that he was afraid he would fail. Whatever your sport, once that particular seed takes root in your head, you are in mental quicksand. Simmons fired a total of four shots in Game 7 against the Hawks. You have to shoot to score. You have to take risks to progress and sometimes you have to fail to build the chip on your shoulder and the mental resilience you need to succeed. Now that he has failed on the biggest stage of all, we hope that Simmons is finally ready to overcome his physical and mental blockages. He may be in a bad position right now, but the chances are that after falling this deep, Simmons is right where he needs to be: a player with nothing to lose.

source https://livehealthynews.com/whats-behind-ben-simmons-epic-playoff-meltdown/