#I found the limit to how much crap you can put in a Tag

[simaddix]

Poll - Guide to Acceptable Polycounts for TS3

I'm not entirely sure how to broadcast this, but the polycount issue has blown up my feed spectacularly - and I've found the discussion interesting for a number of reasons.

Mainly that there has been no specific answer on what is expected to be a reasonable polycount and what's not outside of common sense. So I would like to take a poll of sorts to see where everyone's mind is at on the current issue.

So... who's up to take a vote? I think the easiest way would be to comment your answers below so they can be collected in one place. If you decide to reblog it to carry it to a bigger audience, tag me so I can see it and average/correct the numbers after a certain point of time.

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I'm going to attempt to fill this in where I can... please feel free to tell me I'm nuts or way off track and reply your own thoughts. I put the not acceptable/photo-use as extreme cases so they're all higher than the high poly tier.

I am by no means an expert on this matter, I am just trying to collect data. So take that into consideration when you're reading through this.

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CAS -

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 10K ]

Mid/High Poly [# 10K - 20K ]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 30K+ ]

BUILD OBJECTS -

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 2K]

Mid/High Poly [# 2K - 4K]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 6K+ ]

DECOR OBJECTS -

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 2K ]

Mid/High Poly [# 2K - 4K]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 6K+ ]

FUNCTIONAL OBJECTS -

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 3K]

Mid/High Poly [# 3K - 6K ]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 8K+ ]

Rabbitholes - Buildings - Major Landmarks (This may vary considering most major landmarks will only be used a limited number of times - if not once - in a world. In my very limited experience rabbit holes from EA can vary from 10k to 30k depending on how many details the building carries. This also applies to things such as distant terrains, etc).

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 15K]

Mid/High Poly [# 15K - 30K ]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 40K+ ]

Speedtree / Plants (This might be complicated, as SPT files aren't able to be decimated or lowered, as far as I've found it comes down to a ridiculous amount of tweaking and luck. Because a SPT plant can have 3000 leaves or 200 and have the same damn polycount. It makes no sense).

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 2K]

Mid/High Poly [# 2K - 4K]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 6K+ ]

WORLD OBJECTS / Minor Landmarks- (Rocks, Windmills, etc)

Low/Mid poly [# 0 - 3K ]

Mid/High Poly [# 3K - 6K ]

Photo-use Only / Not acceptable for gameplay [# 8K+ ]

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Please let me know your thoughts on this.

One other thing I would add to the creators/convertors to start adding to their creations is to add the polycount/Photo-use-only warning in the description of their packages so you can see it in game, as well as the download itself. Because most of us have so much crap we will never remember once it's in there.

[gaykarstaagforever]

I don't see how you can call ET for Atari the "worst game ever," in a world where trucking and farming simulators are a thing.

Yeah, ET is a boring grind with annoying, finicky gameplay. But that only made it "bad" during the 8 bit years, where everyone expected to hit one button and get 100000 points for touching a red blob the printed paper manual called Dr. Hack-Dor's Mega Energy Apple. We live in a world where entire gaming genres are built around going the posted speed limit and landing an airplane properly and figuring out crafting recipes. Lots of people not only like boring stupid crap in their video games, they LOVE IT. I mean, how many grindy looter-shooter multiplayer games are out there, all of them being literally the same goddamn pointless waste of time and money in slightly different power armor, and people are still paying to play each and everyone one of them? Pixelated ET falling down a hole, if you let go of the one button at the wrong time, is hardly still the worst thing a video game has ever done to humankind.

The worst game ever is no doubt one of the Call of Warfare or Pay For Sportsball games from the last 20 years that even fans of those things played for exactly 6 months and then forgot ever existed. The worst bad of all bads is flatline mediocrity, because at least "terrible bad" is funny and memorable. And there are entire genres of games that still get expensive yearly updates that are 100% unremarkable cromulent nothingness. But those never get nominated for "WORST BAD EVER *FART NOISE*," precisely because no one even remembers they existed.

And isn't being forgotten for not even sucking enough like the worst thing you can possibly be?

Like, do you know how many late PS2-era children's media licensed games there are, that are total nothing garbage? I'm sure you can name a few because of old episodes of Game Grumps, but do you realize there were like a dozen of those EVERY YEAR, for like 10 years? They don't even resell them at the saddest retro game stores, because the price tags they would put on them are worth more than those games. One or many of those are certainly the "worst game ever." But we barely remember the Nickelodeon property many of them were based on, let alone the crap games themselves.

I'm just saying, ET for Atari is a crap Atari game. But it isn't remotely the worst at anything it does.

Also it didn't "destroy Atari." Atari was destroyed the way all failed American tech companies are destroyed, by being mismanaged by the dipshit failsons of the men who founded them. Atari was eating money and crapping out the barest minimum of interactive art, and if Nintendo hadn't taken them to the cleaners, ANYONE ELSE would have. Atari was f*cked regardless of ET. Blaming one blah game for destroying an entire tech company sure seems like something the dipshit failson who mismanaged that company would say. Plenty of companies make bad games and put out bad hardware, and they don't immediately explode. You have to earn that kind of failure. And Atari did, to the point that ET sucking was one of the straws that broke the already-sick camel's back.

The worst things ever are boring, incompetent, and forgettable. Whether they are video games, or the CEOs of failed video game companies. ET for Atari sucked, sure. But it didn't suck that much, and it was at least memorable. That means it is still better than whatever you and your friends are probably paying to play right now, that you won't remember playing, or paying for, in a year.

And the only thing sadder than being remembered as a failure is being a forgotten one.

[alanmcgamer-blog]

Drawing of Waluigi I made in MS Paint, a friend requested me to draw him, so I took a picture of Waluigi and tried to draw that in ms paint, so basically i used reference, I work good with reference.

[uwuwriting]

Kirishima, Deku, Bakugou, Todoroki and Shinsou finding Mineta in your room

Request: Bakugo, todo, kirishima, deku and hitoshi(sorry if you have a character limit I didn’t see anything about tht in ur rules) how would they react if they enter their s/os room looking for them only to find mineta going through their clothes/underwear? I just wanna see mineta suffer😌😌 thank you!! -anonymous

Ha Mineta suffering makes me happy idk why it just does.This grape’s quirk is better than brainwashing? My ASS! Anyways, I hope you enjoy and yay I’m officially back. Tonight is angst time with the Shirakumo sequel. I did something weird with that fic idk if it’s good, oh well I guess we’ll find out. LOVE Y’ALL!!!!💖💖💖

masterlist

rules 

warnings: Mineta getting slapped, some swearing obvi, some fluff. 

Kirishima Eijirou

-Baby shark was coming to grab one of his hoodies because well his closet is empty. 

-He reached your floor and was heading to your door, key in hand when he noticed that it was already open.

- “Huh maybe she forgot to lock it.”

-But then he heard a weird scratching noise coming from inside and something moving. 

-Carefully he opened the door expecting something to jump at him. 

-Boy thought he was about to be attacked by a human sized rat. 

-Not far from the truth but you know. 

-As he stepped inside he was met with a sight he wanted to bleach away. 

-There was Mineta head buried in your underwear drawer his eyes rolling back as he sniffed. 

- *GAG*

-Kirishima might have died for a few seconds as he saw Mineta going through your underwear. 

-He couldn’t understand how someone could be this nasty and perverted. 

-He snapped out of it though and grabbed Mineta from his collar dragging him out your door and into the elevator, down to Aizawa’s office and dropping him on his teacher’s doorstep. 

-Mineta was begging him not to snitch and stuff but my mans was having none of it. 

-When Aizawa opened the door he was met with a really really angry Kirishima pointing at Mineta. 

- “Can I beat him up without getting in trouble?”

- “What did he do?”

- “Something inappropriate to Y/N’s clothes” 

-Baby had a blush on his face as he said that, too embarrassed to go into detail.

-Aizawa just looked at the grape and nodded, turning around and locking his door pretending that this agreement never happened. 

-You had gone out searching for your boyfriend when you realized that he was gone for too long. 

-You found him outside with Mineta, using the grape as a basketball. 

-When he saw you, baby forced Mineta to apologize and dragged you to the mall for some new underwear. 

-He wouldn’t tell you exactly why you needed new undies but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. 

- *GAG*

Midoriya Izuku

-Okay this one pulled a +4 uno card on Mineta because he woke up to him going through your things. 

-He was staying over that night, sneaking in from your balcony and having an impromptu sleep over. 

-He sleeps better when he has you in his arms mainly because he knows that you’re safe and sound. 

-So it’s almost routine. 

-He woke up when he heard a weird whisper in his sleep. 

-You would sleep talk from time to time saying all types of weird crap. 

-He swore that it was the cutest sight in the world. 

-But when he woke up you were just clinging to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck nuzzling into him even further as he pulled away slightly to look around. 

-He thought he saw nothing at first but then he saw the silhouette near your door and he went into full protector mode. 

-After placing you gently on the pillow, he pulled the covers over your shoulder and stepped onto the floor, sneaking his way to your wardrobe. 

-Opening it up, green lightning already springing to life around his eyes he came face to face with...... Mineta.

-Not only that but in his hands was one of your bras. 

-The grape just stared at your boyfriend for a solid minute before giving him your bra. 

-Now I think that Izuku is very protective over his girlfriend so this type of violation of privacy really ticked him off. 

-He grabbed Mineta by the collar and much like Kirishima he dragged him to Aizawa only he just left him there. 

- “If I see you in my girlfriend’s room again I won’t be this calm about it.”

-Aizawa ignored the fact that it was past curfew and Izuku was in your room and focused more on the student who broke into your room. 

-Izuku calmly returned to your room and brought you flush to his chest. 

-You stirred slightly, gripping his sweatshirt as you nuzzled into his neck. 

-Leaving a kiss on your forehead he tried to fall asleep, deciding not to tell you about Mineta just yet. 

Bakugou Katsuki

-Ha ha he finna die.

-Prepare a funeral yall.

-I swear how he is not dead the moment Katsuki sees him in your room idek man. 

-Katsuki is already furious at everything and seeing someone creeping around your stuff made him livid. 

- “What the fuck do you think you are doin???”

-Mineta recognizes his voice immediately and mentally wrote his will.

-This boy hasn’t sprinted out of a room faster in his life. 

-In his escape Katsuki saw what he was looking at and the moment his eyes met with that pretty bra and panties you were wearing the other day his vein popped out of his forehead. 

-The whole campus heard his yelling and all the teachers became on alert. 

-Legit thought that they were under attack. 

-But once they reached the 1-A dorms they saw Bakugou being held down by Kirishima, Deku and Todoroki while you and a bunch of the girls were circled around Mineta. 

-At first they thought you were checking on him but then they saw the furious glares you were throwing his way accompanied by a few quirks being activated and that’s where they stepped in. 

-Prying all of you away from the grape they managed to get the basic story out of him before stepping aside and asking Sero to wrap him up. 

-Katsuki calmed down only when you started talking to him and telling him that everything was alright. 

-Of course when everyone was asleep Katsuki and Kirishima went to Mineta’s room and beat the shit out of him.

-A punishment for this time and a warning for the future. 

-Boy thought he was gonna die. 

-And he will the next time he pulled a stunt like this. 

Todoroki Shouto

-Goes into fucking creepy mode. 

-The temperature drops and almost freezes the right side of your room while the left side starts burning up. 

-At first he didn’t understand what he was doing in YOUR room. 

-Who gave him a key and why was he going through your laundry basket. 

-It hit him when he heard sniffing and oh boy. 

-Oh boy oh boy. 

-He gets that cold ass stare and he nearly growls. 

-His voice is so commanding as he starts threatening the grape. 

-No one and I mean no one fucks with his girl like that. 

-That’s pure harassment, 

-Legit you have never heard Todo curse like this before. 

-Mineta is trembling on the spot, tears streaming down his face as Todo is towering over him.

-It’s the only time he is grateful that he has that menacing aura that his father has. 

-He’s livid. 

-Would have burned him on the spot if you haven’t intervened. 

-Prying Todo from his spot in front of Mineta, you placed him on your bed before going to Mineta who was apologizing WHILE eyeing you up and giving him one hell of a slap and kicking him out of your room. 

- “I guess I’m throwing these out....”

-Todoroki gave you a little kiss before bringing you into a hug. 

- “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones.”

Shinsou HItoshi

-Sleepover time again. 

-He can sleep with you around. 

-So you were in the bathroom doing your skin routine while he was playing on his switch when he heard the door open. 

-At first he thought it was just you getting out of the bathroom but then he heard muttering, something about “a hot little piece” and “what she wears to sleep” and he knew that wasn’t you. 

-Shutting off his switch he sat perfectly still as Mineta walked into your room and straight to your drawers. 

-Opening them, Hitoshi saw the grape’s mouth water as he grabbed a pair of your panties. 

-Now Hitoshi rarely uses his quirk to manipulate someone outside of class but this was a special occasion. 

-Letting out a very ominous chuckle, Mineta turned around slowly letting out a terrified hey which was all Hitoshi needed. 

-Commanding him to walk out of your room, he made him go outside in the cold and lay down on the grass.....naked. 

-Until morning. 

-He told you what he saw of course and you made a mental note to change the lock. 

-The next morning the indeed found Mineta in the front yard butt naked sleeping on the grass. 

-Aizawa was not amused and he knew who made this possible. 

-Now you and Hitoshi have to explain what happened last night and why Hitsohi was in your dorm past curfew. 

-Oh boy. 

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​ @dnarez-mangetsu​ @bemorefiction​

[osakaso5]

IDOLiSH7 6th Anniversary Special Story: Full of Heart...

Chapter 6: Wishing

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Sogo Osaka: Tsunashi-san, thank you for bringing us to this limited edition Rabitty-kun shop.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: It's no trouble at all, really! I never got to play with a Rabitty-kun, myself.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I was planning to come check this place out for the show anyway, so I'm glad you two could tag along.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Thanks for sending us the photo from when you were little, too! Me and So-chan were super hyped about it!

Sogo Osaka: Tamaki-kun..!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ahaha! It's a little embarrassing, considering what a country bumpkin I must've looked like.

Tamaki Yotsuba: You looked cute standing on the beach, almost like a girl.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Huh..!? Nobody's ever told me that before! I've always been tall for my age...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okay, maybe not like a girl, but your arms and body were all skinny and stuff. What do you call that again? Slendy...

Sogo Osaka: Slender.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah, that. You had the same face, but you weren't all buff.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Oh, okay! I didn't know that's how I looked... What did you think, Sogo-kun?

Sogo Osaka: Um... How should I put this...

Sogo Osaka: It... It was more than I could bear.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: .........

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan, you sound like a creepy old man!

Sogo Osaka: No, I didn't mean it in a weird way! I've juat never had a taste of such a different type of Tsunashi-san..!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Taste...

Sogo Osaka: Uh... Maybe "taste" isn't the right word for it, but it was very satisfying to see..!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Satisfying...

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan, you gotta stop it with the big explanations and be more casual! Call it cute, or nice, or something!

Sogo Osaka: Nice! It was nice! Very nice!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ahaha! Thank you!

TV on Shop Window: ...The secret to Rabitty-kun's birth!

TV on Shop Window: Who would've thought our famous mascot had such a story behind him!?

TV on Shop Window: Look forward to our 6th Anniversary Rabitty-kun! Toi toi toi~♪

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ah, here it is.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wow! They've got Rabitty-kuns in all kinds of colors! I wanna go touch them!

Sogo Osaka: Tamaki-kun, you must ask the clerks for permission first...

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: It looks like these are samples. Go ahead and touch them.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I'll go with this one first...

Red Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Hold me!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Whoa! It's so cute!

Orange Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Pet me! 

Hot Pink Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Yawn...  Let’s go to bed! 

Sogo Osaka: You're right... They're really cute.

Grey Rabitty: Ooh ooh! Tyt ty tyt ty ty ♪

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ah, this one seems to be singing something!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wow! Where do you push to make it sing? Is it here?

Turquoise Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! That tickles!

Sogo Osaka: Maybe it's here?

Yellow Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Dum dum dum dee dum ♪

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah, it danced! So-chan, let go of it! It's trying to dance!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I'll make this one dance with it!

Dark Red Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Chaka chaka chan chan ♪

Tamaki Yotsuba: Awesome! This is so much fun!

Sogo Osaka: They're so energetic.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I think you're supposed to feed these carrots to them? Go on, Tamaki-kun, give it a try.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Okay! I'm gonna give one to this guy...

Green Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Nom... nom... nom... Yummy~!

Tamaki Yotsuba: It ate! What about this one?

Rosy Brown Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Chomp, chomp, chomp! I want more!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ahaha! This one eats a lot!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Hmm..? Look, they have a guide to exchanging defective toys.

Sogo Osaka: There were malfunctioning toys mixed in with the ones they released a few years ago. It says they'll exchange those for working ones, free of charge...

Sogo Osaka: Maybe these samples are the defective toys... But how exactly are they malfunctioning..?

Navy Rabitty: Ooh... ooh... Help.. me...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Holy crap!!! Why's this one so creepy..!?

Pink Rabitty: Oh, ooh... Don't... leave me...

Ivory Rabitty: Oh, ooh... You... saw..?

Pale Green Rabitty: Oh, ooh... Ehehehe... Eehehehehe...

Sogo Osaka: These ones are definitely defective..!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: They're awful..! Why would anyone make them like this..? The poor kids who had these must've been terrified...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah, seriously! If I had to sleep with one of these, my mattress would be all soggy the next morning!  

Sogo Osaka: You'd wet the bed?

Tamaki Yotsuba: So what if I would!? And I don't mean right now, I mean if I was still little!

Sogo Osaka: If you were little, then it's not something you could control much, anyway...

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ah, why don't we take a break from these Rabitty-kuns, and go look at those ones instead?

Tamaki Yotsuba: What..? "Face three Rabitty-kuns against each other, and they'll go into gossipy teenage girl mode".

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: "Gossipy teenage girl mode"..?

Lavender Rabitty: Oh. Em. Gee. I think my nail just broke.

Light Blue Rabitty: It's gonna be 36 degrees today. Lame af.

Ocean Blue Rabitty: I'm like, low key freaking out about this test tho.

Sogo Osaka: ......... I guess they don't do the "ooh, ooh" thing in this mode.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan, they've got an "office workers in an elevator" mode, too.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Apparently they have a Showa-era small talk version as an extra rare option, too.

Sogo Osaka: Do children really play with modes like this..?

[Phone rings]

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yukirin's calling me... Hello!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Huh? Seriously!? You guys found the uncle who took my picture already!?

Sogo Osaka: What!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I knew that legendary detective could help..! Okay! Thanks!!!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Guess what! They said they found the guy!

Sogo Osaka: That's great, Tamaki-kun!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: What business did you have with a legendary detective?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I need a photo from when I was little, so I was looking for this uncle who took a family portrait of us.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Oh, I see...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Awesome! Now I get to show off my picture, too!

Sogo Osaka: I'm happy for you.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Let's take another picture you can show off. I want one of the face you're making right now.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Right now?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Yeah. Your smile is so nice, I want us to have something to remember it by. Come on.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ehehe... This is a little embarrassing, but I'm still super happy! Thanks, Ryu-aniki!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Thank you, too!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah... So-chan, wanna be in the pic?

Sogo Osaka: Me?

Tamaki Yotsuba: You found your photo, too. We can both show Ryu-aniki how proud we are. Right, Ryu-aniki?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Of course! I'd love for you to be in the picture too, Sogo-kun.

Sogo Osaka: A-alright.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hurry up!

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Stand next to each other. Laugh on three. One, two, three...

MEZZO": Ahahaha!

[Snap]

- - - -

Sogo Osaka: I'm glad your family photo will be found soon.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Me too.

Sogo Osaka: I'm sure Aya-chan would be happy about it.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah. I'm glad you'll get you and your uncle's photo, too.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Is it gonna make it to the show, though?

Sogo Osaka: It will. I'm flying to pick it up at our nearest yacht harbor tonight.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Tonight? You gonna be okay?

Sogo Osaka: I'll be fine. I have tomorrow off, anyway.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Apparently my pic's coming in the mail. Ah...

[Rainfall]

Tamaki Yotsuba: It's raining.

Sogo Osaka: ...Not to mention the wind is really strong all of a sudden.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Can your plane leave in this weather?

Sogo Osaka: I... I think so. But I should hurry to the airport, and you need to get back to the dorm...

[Thunder]

MEZZO": Ah...

MEZZO": ...A blackout..?

- - - - 

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I'm home. And completely soaked.

Kaoru Anesagi: Here's a towel. Take off your socks, shirt, and pants. There's a hot bath waiting for you.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: You're here too, Anesagi-san?

Gaku Yaotome: There was a power outage until just a minute ago.  Apparently some parts of Tokyo are still dark.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: What!? That sounds bad.

Gaku Yaotome: It's not the only bad thing here. Your bath's a little too hot...

Tenn Kujo: Hot as in, practically boiling. Want to go take a dip?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Thanks.

Tenn Kujo: What is that?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Ah... They're gifts for you and Gaku. I thought the Rabitty-kuns were too cute not to buy any.

Gaku Yaotome: Ahaha! Fair enough!

Tenn Kujo: I'm getting all nostalgic.

Ocean Blue Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Hold me!

Kaoru Anesagi: Gosh, how adorable. I'll take care of you, little one. Come here.

Ocean Blue Rabitty: Ooh, ooh! Rat tat rat tat ♪

Kaoru Anesagi: Heh, it's singing.

Kaoru Anesagi: Hey. Does any one of you know why Rabitty-kun says "ooh, ooh"?

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I don't Is there some bigger reason for it?

Kaoru Anesagi: Apparently it's based on a child's imitation of a famous sweets mascot.

Kaoru Anesagi: Which one was it, again? The one with a crown, a closed mouth, and an overall neutral expression...

Tenn Kujo: A crown..? Doesn't ring a bell.

Kaoru Anesagi: It's right on the tip of my tongue, I swear. It's still around, too, and you see it everywhere. It's also got a ribbon, I think...

Gaku Yaotome: Mascots with ribbons are a dime a dozen.

Kaoru Anesagi: Sometimes flames come out of its back, and it punches things. Sometimes it gets so emotional, it starts spinning fast. Ugh. I can picture it in my mind, but I just can't remember the name.

Kaoru Anesagi: In any case, it's something that originates from before the CEO of Toi Toi Toi was making the kind of profit he is today.

Kaoru Anesagi: He tried to turn his parents' business into a toy shop, but he just couldn't make it succeed.

Kaoru Anesagi: Apparently that's when he saw one of the neighborhood kids mimic the mascot I was talking about.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: And that kid was the basis for Rabitty-kun?

Kaoru Anesagi: Yep.

Kaoru Anesagi: Apparently the kid said something along the lines of "His mouth is closed, so he probably talks like, 'ooh, ooh'!"

Kaoru Anesagi: Then the kid would start dancing while singing "ooh, ooh", and that was the blueprint for Rabitty-kun.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Wow..! I think it's really nice that Rabitty-kun was technically born out of a child's idea.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: I'm sure the CEO must really like kids, too.

Kaoru Anesagi: From what I heard, he's had a rough life. He was separated from his sibling, and when they reunited, he had to fight the reason for their separation...

Gaku Yaotome: Fight..? I can't even imagine what that might entail.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Everyone has something going on.

Tenn Kujo: How did he and his sibling reunite?

Kaoru Anesagi: Their parents were photographers, and they both just so happened to have a photo that proved their relation.

Gaku Yaotome: Maybe they kept each other's faces in a locket or something.

Tenn Kujo: There's no way it'd be something that cliché.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Still, I'm sure they were happy to see each other again.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: Those two should be happily walking home right about now, too.  

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan, wait up!

Sogo Osaka: I need to hurry to the airport. If the weather gets any worse than this, all flights might be cancelled.

Tamaki Yotsuba: There's a blackout, and you're soaking wet! What if you can't get home, and you catch a cold!?

Sogo Osaka: You can go home if you want...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Why are you always like this!? I swear, you haven't changed at all!

Sogo Osaka: .........

Tamaki Yotsuba: You seriously can't even ask me to come with you!? Grow a backbone already!

Sogo Osaka: ......... That's not why.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Then what is it!?

Sogo Osaka: It's not that I'm afraid of causing you trouble. I want to prove something to you.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Prove what..?

Sogo Osaka: We may not have had the best lives, but we haven't done much bad, either.

Sogo Osaka: So... This isn't a punishment. 

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...So-chan...

Sogo Osaka: I'll go, Tamaki-kun. And once I'm back, I'll show off my picture, and you'll get to see what my uncle looked like.

Sogo Osaka: I'm... I'm going to treat this as an adventure. And I'm going to ward off any disasters.

Sogo Osaka: Because I learned that from you.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ......... But...

[Toot toot!]

Tamaki Yotsuba: .......!? Someone got out of that car...

Mysterious Man: .........

Sogo Osaka: A masked man..!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: W-what do you want!? Stay away..! Ah..!

Sogo Osaka: Tamaki-kun..! ...Don't you dare do anything to him..!

Mysterious Man: ........!

Sogo Osaka: .........!? You're...

[Tap tap tap]

Sogo Osaka: Ah..! Wait, please..!

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan!

[Wroom...]

Sogo Osaka: ...Are you alright, Tamaki-kun!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: That guy gave me this.

Sogo Osaka: A parcel... Did you see how he looked when he gave you this?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Dunno. He was wearing a mask and sunglasses, so I didn't really see anything.

Sogo Osaka: I see...

Tamaki Yotsuba: But, for some reason... I kinda didn't get a bad vibe from him.

Sogo Osaka: ......... Neither did I. He felt familiar, somehow...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...What do you think this is?

Sogo Osaka: I don't know... Let's open it.

Tamaki Yotsuba: What if it's a bomb?

Sogo Osaka: ...I hear no ticking, but we should still be careful. Hand it over, I'll open it.

Sogo Osaka: There's no people around, probably due to the rain. You should stand back, too...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ........

Sogo Osaka: ...Or don't.

Tamaki Yotsuba: You sure?

Sogo Osaka: Yeah. We'll open it together. I'm sure we'll be fine, because of the rain.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...You sure it won't explode?

Sogo Osaka: It probably won't... In this kind of rain, any spark should  fizzle out instantly. Though we can't be 100% sure.

Sogo Osaka: Besides, you're a good kid. If there's a higher power, then I'm sure the'd want to reward you, not punish you.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...I don't wanna have nay more regrets. Are you sure this isn't stupid?

Sogo Osaka: I don't want any regrets, either. Which is why I refuse to act like a coward.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Fine. Let's open it, So-chan.

Sogo Osaka: Yeah... Here I go.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Maybe there's a fuse hidden in the paper..?

Sogo Osaka: ...This is oil paper, so it doesn't get wet in the rain... Ah...

Tamaki Yotsuba: It doesn't look like a bomb... What's that rectangular thing?

Sogo Osaka: ...It's a photo, and a card...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Card? What's it say?

Sogo Osaka: "Dear customer. Here are the pictures you ordered."

Sogo Osaka: "I can't thank you enough for the help you once gave my brother, so I've included your friend's photo, as well."

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wait... Could it be..?

MEZZO": The legendary detective..!?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Is that how the guy knew where we were!? He wasn't a shady guy, he was a private eye!

Tamaki Yotsuba: But what does his brother have to do with me? And I dunno who the friend he's talking about is, either...

Sogo Osaka: ...Tamaki-kun, look...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Huh..?

Sogo Osaka: My uncle... This is the picture of my uncle and I. Look, here he is.

Tamaki Yotsuba: And a mini So-chan...

Sogo Osaka: ...Uncle... It's because I had him that I'm making music now.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...So-chan... Look at my photo, too.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ta-dah! That's Mom, that's little Aya. And that's me...

Sogo Osaka: It's a tiny Tamaki-kun...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah. So what do you think? You can stop staring at your uncle, already.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hey. Say something.

Sogo Osaka: I think it's a wonderful picture. Your mother looks gentle, beautiful, and...

Sogo Osaka: ...I've finally had the chance to see her...

Tamaki Yotsuba: .........

Sogo Osaka: Tamaki-kun... It must've been so hard for you. But you're fine now.

Sogo Osaka: It's going to be fine...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Yeah...

Tamaki Yotsuba: You look like you had a rough time, too... Being in this stuffy place, wearing stuffy clothes. ...But at least you could still smile.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hey, little guy. Believe it or not, but you're gonna be making music in a couple years. And I'm gonna sing your songs with you.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So, it's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.

Sogo Osaka: Yeah...

Sogo Osaka: Thank you, Tamaki-kun. 

- - - -

Tsumugi's Thoughts: And that...

Tsumugi's Thoughts: ...Is how all 16 idols got their pictures, safe and sound.

- - - -

Mister Shimooka: Well then, it's about time we got Welcome to Kids' Room started!

Re:vale: OK!

TRIGGER: Alright.

IDOLiSH7: Yaaaay! Let's gooo!

ŹOOĻ: Yeah!

Mister Shimooka: It’s the moment of truth! We'll be taking a look at these idols' childhood pictures!

Mister Shimooka: But before that, it's time for our special guests!

Mister Shimooka: Please welcome the CEO of Toi Toi Toi, Jiro Ito!

Mister Shimooka: As well as the man who gave a loan to Toi Toi Toi when it was on the verge of bankruptcy, Taro Ito!

Sogo Osaka: Huh?

Torao Mido: Hmm?

Mister Shimooka: Let's give both of the  men who made Rabitty-kun what he is an  equally warm welcome!

Mister Shimooka: Here they come!

All: Ooh, ooh!

???: Hello. I'm the CEO of Toi Toi Toi, Jiro Ito.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah..!

Tamaki Yotsuba: That's the uncle who took our picture..! 

The End.

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 3 | practice

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Fake dating Shouto Todoroki was an absolute whirlwind, but it certainly came with its benefits.

As weeks passed, you found yourself with a compliant test subject and plenty of data for the work you were doing on his support item. You’d confirmed that you could use this work as your submission for your senior project -- developing a support item without any input, direction, or critique from a professor -- and you’d set to the task with enthusiasm after that.

Shouto caved easily enough to the tests you’d put to him on your first “date” and you’d had way too much fun getting him to freeze and heat things for you, strapping him up in all the nodules and wires as you’d promised. Over the course of a few weeks, you’d analyzed the absolute crap out of the cryogenic structure of his ice crystals and tested the limits of his temperature control to your heart’s content, pleased that the amount of time you were spending together also played into your cover story.

It turned out his quirk worked as you’d suspected, which was incredible. Shouto’s power allowed his body to work like a heat pump, directing thermal energy against the current in which it naturally flowed at will. He used the energy from one side of his body to alternately push energy into or draw energy from the other side of his body, in order to create a temperature gradient strong enough to induce ice or flames.

He was basically like a really good looking, high-powered air conditioner.

The discovery was overwhelming and gave you limitless possibilities as to what kind of support item you could build for him.

The problem was, there were maybe too many options.

“You can watch my quirk training, if you need more direction,” Shouto had suggested one night when you were tucked up doing homework together. He’d really taken to the role of doting boyfriend and put in appearances often, taking you out on a series of other mind-bendingly good dates and showing up to your dorm on school nights with homework and small, thoughtful gifts like bottles of tea.

Through his efforts, he’d become something like a close friend.

You’d discovered over the course of your time together that Shouto wasn’t as quiet and serious as you’d initially suspected him to be, and you quite liked the sides of himself that he chose to unveil. He had a tendency to be blunt and was strangely oblivious given how observant he could be, and he had a little bit of a short fuse when the match was properly lit. He was still kind and thoughtful for the most part, but as he grew more comfortable with you it was like a flip sometimes switched and out crawled an inner gremlin, eager to tease and fluster you.

To your eternal mortification, he’d most definitely caught on to the fact that kissing you was the fastest way to fluster you, though in your defense, being kissed by a man who had no romantic interest in you was certainly a mind-boggling concept in and of itself. He’d thankfully only kissed you a few other times--once, weirdly, when you’d been almost sure no one else was around--though he sometimes watched you with a look in his eye like he was scheming up ways to make it happen again.

He was a very convincing fake boyfriend.

You had agreed to follow him to quirk training the following evening, and showed up to take your place on the sidelines of beta field that afternoon in a thick coat with a thermos of warm tea. Deep in your bag, you’d embarrassingly stowed an extra for Shouto, a habit formed by all of your time spent together.

He was there when you got there, clearly having come straight from class, and huge walls of ice already dotted the field, one or two twisted into melting spires. Slick trails of water ran down their sides where he’d blasted them with his fire, pooling into the cracks of the earth at their bases, and singe marks scored the grass around them.

Shouto seemed to brighten when he caught sight of you, and he came padding over to where you were making yourself comfortable on the cold ground.

“Anything in particular you want me to test out?” he asked, but you shook your head, unearthing a notebook and a pen from your bag.

“No, just do your thing,” you said, uncapping your pen. “I’m just looking to observe how you usually move around and channel your quirk. I rewatched all the sports festival footage from the last couple years but your style changes wildly between them, so I want to get a feel for how you currently do things.”

He looked somewhat embarrassed. “You watched those?”

You let a teasing smile flit across your lips, curious to see what kind of mood he was in today. “Oh yeah. Loved the one where you got totally stomped by Bakugou.”

To your amusement, his eyebrow twitched. “I let him win.”

Men and their fragile egos. You suppressed a smirk and stretched leisurely like a cat in the sun, tipping your face back to look up at him. “Sure you did.”

A look of annoyance passed over his handsome features, and he huffed, taking a threatening step closer to you. Something glinted in his eye, and that was all the warning you had before he leaned down and pressed his mouth over yours.

You instantly dropped your pen, fisting a hand in the jacket of his uniform to pull him closer. It briefly crossed your mind that no one was around to observe the two of you, and that this kiss was perhaps wasted effort on his part, but then he did that thing with his tongue you liked and all rational thought fled from your brain.

Shouto kissed all the sass straight out of your mouth before drawing back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“I’ll thank you to keep quiet,” he said, and you could only stare at him dumbly as he smirked and made his way back onto the field.

Confusion eventually washed over you as he set about practicing with his quirk, and you could only pay half a mind to what he was doing.

What had that been about? You checked your periphery to confirm that no one else was around to have witnessed his assault on your good sense, confusion only mounting when there was no one in sight. You knew he wasn’t actually interested in you, but that kiss had felt like something a real boyfriend would do to shut a mouthy girlfriend up. Was he getting so used to your little charade that he hardly minded? Did it affect him so little that it hardly troubled him at all?

You pushed your thoughts down for examination at a later time, forcing yourself to keep your mind on Shouto’s quirk training.

You took careful note of the graceful way he moved, the raw power with which he released both sides of his quirk. He was faster than almost anything, able to maneuver around the field with deadly precision, unbelievable power called to his fingertips within seconds and wielded with brutal efficiency. He was, much like his quirk, two halves of some contradictory whole, combining incredible strength with unexpected elegance to create a combat style that had quite likely never been seen before.

You sketched out several notes on his movements and jotted down a couple vague ideas for support items that came to mind as you watched him.

After a while, Shouto seemed to come to the conclusion that you’d had enough time to observe him and started messing around instead, creating enormous ice waves to slide down for your amusement, looking like a very strange surfer on some still mass of ocean. You laughed as he shot down a slope faster than he’d clearly expected, throwing up another hill of ice to slow his descent.

He came sliding over to you, huffing a little after hours of exertion. “You’re acting like you’ve seen better.”

You smiled. “You just looked funny.”

That wry twist at the corner of his mouth was back. “You do it, then.”

You stared at him. “What?”

He held out a hand, wiggling his long fingers. “You’ve had your fun judging me from over here. You do it if you’ve got opinions.”

A stab of panic shot through you. “Absolutely not.”

Something like a challenge glinted in his eye and he surged forward, scooping you up into his arms easily. You panicked, instantly trying to twist out of his hold and get him to drop you, but he just walked back onto the training field, one arm barred across yours in a steely hold. You tried to get a foot against his hip but his grip was too tight to allow you movement enough to do it.

“Shouto, you had better drop me or I will straight up murder you,” you grit out, gripping his sleeve in terror as a crackling noise started where his feet met the ground.

“You had better hope I don’t,” he tossed back as a platform of ice formed under his boots, carrying you up to the top of one icy wave. Your rise was horrifyingly quick, and you were torn between being absolutely terrified and impressed that this is how he maneuvered around all the time. You gripped him in horror.

“I will never forgive you if you do this,” you threatened, staring down the steep drop hundreds of feet to the ground. “Nothing you could ever do will make up for a betrayal like this.”

“I have some ideas,” he said. Then he took a step off the top.

You became aware of a piercing scream and realized it was coming from you. You wanted to press your face into Shouto’s chest and close your eyes but you were too terrified to even look away from what was happening as the two of you slid down the ice at hundreds of feet per second, hurtling at the ground like a rocket. You couldn’t believe you had laughed at him if this is what it felt like to do what he did.

You felt Shouto tense underneath you, and the arm under your legs flashed notably colder, before another layer of ice formed, evening out the wave into a less precipitous curve, slowing your slide and carrying you easily to the field. Gravity seemed to catch up to you again and you slid down a little in his arms. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest and your hands clenched in the fabric of his costume, even as you slid to a stop, soft grass rustling underneath his boots as he stepped off the ice.

“You’re a dead man, Shouto Todoroki,” you promised, hands still fisted at his sleeve. And he was, just as soon as you could let go of him.

Another smirk crossed his infuriatingly handsome features and you found yourself a little mesmerized by the sight of him.

He hefted you higher in his arms. “But if I was dead, how would I do this?” he asked, then pressed his mouth to yours again.

Well, he certainly had your number. Your plans for murder were instantly wiped from your brain like notes from a whiteboard, and you moved a hand to his collar to pull him down to you. His mouth was hot and he was excruciatingly gentle, working you over thoroughly, until you could hardly remember your words, never mind a flawless plot for murder.

Shouto shifted carefully and you became aware of grass under your back. Then he was moving over you, pressing you into the field with the solid weight of his body. His mouth left yours to pepper a trail of kisses in a slow line down your neck, and those long fingers tugged down the zipper of your jacket, coming up to pull down the collar of your sweater to allow him better access.

You squirmed mindlessly under him, letting out surprised little gasps whenever he found a spot that you particularly liked. The chill of the evening washed over you and you pressed yourself into him for warmth, sighing when his left side flared hotly. He bit down carefully over your pulse where it beat wildly in your throat.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and a vague thought came to you like this was somehow strange for the two of you to be doing, some reason why you shouldn’t be. You couldn’t remember why. “Tell me if I should stop.”

He pressed his mouth back to yours again, a calloused hand making its way up the side of your sweater and disconnecting your thoughts again. This felt too good to be wrong, why shouldn’t you do this? A thumb brushed under the fabric of your bra, catching a nipple, and you jerked under him, letting out an embarrassing noise. He made a noise low in his throat and did it again, tensing when you shuddered under him again.

He let out a harsh breath, then your sweater was torn upwards and your bra quickly followed, a warm mouth closing over one nipple. You swore, the heat of his mouth so unbelievably good against the cold air, arching into him as he swirled his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you managed, fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You hooked a leg over his hip, anchoring him against you harder. Your own hips raised without any input from your brain, and you swore again when one of his thighs pressed tightly to your core.

He moved to your other breast, laving over the hardened peak, two toned eyes watching your face with undisguised interest.

“Shouto,” you gasped out, drawing him back up to you to kiss him. His chest pressed into yours, the strong line of his body pinning you down everywhere, and the weight of him was unbelievably wonderful over you. Why had you ever thought you shouldn’t do this?

A blinding light suddenly flickered on over you, searing even through your eyelids where they’d fluttered closed. You jerked apart in shock. Blinking blearily, you realized it had grown dark and the field lighting system had just kicked in.

Shouto sighed and crawled off of you, leaning back on his knees to stare down at you. You blushed, the implications of what you’d just done pressing down on you, realizing your entire chest was exposed to him in the harsh light. You yanked your sweater back over you, struggling a little bit to get the band of your bra back down. Shouto placed a hand on your hip.

“Uh,” he said, something like a flush rising to his own cheeks, “That’s what you get for laughing.”

You choked out a shocked laugh, staring up at him. “That’s what I get for laughing?”

He smiled again, climbing to his feet and pulling you up with him. “I imagined my girlfriend would be more supportive.”

You gathered up your bag, hardly daring to look at him. “You picked the wrong one then, I think.”

His smile turned soft, something almost private. “I think I did okay.”

Warmth flashed through you again and you had to push down the well of thoughts that bubbled up inside you like a spring. You tried to ignore the niggling at the back of your brain as bid your goodnights and went separate ways to your dorm buildings. One thought refused to be pushed aside, however, following you as you made your way to your room, lingering as you readied for bed and turned out the light. You couldn't sleep for a long time as you tried to dredge up an answer.

What the hell had that been?

[shelby-love]

KELLY SEVERIDE

Skeletons and Whatnot.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I feel like this is rubbish, but I also feel like it’s not. 50/50 (1.6K words - might come back to edit it tomorrow)

Also you can see how tired I am (it's 4:30AM) I mean what is this title??? GOOD NIGHT.

~

"That's not possible. Check again."

"But I already did! Like a million times!"

"Adam, I swear to God-"

"Alright, alright…" Your colleague mumbled, turning on his chair to run the data yet again.

While he sat on the chair, looking through files he didn't have a clue about, you were leaning against the wall and shaking in your boots. Your heart hammered and your palms felt clammy.

Not possible. I killed him.

"No look it says right there," Adam declared; proud of himself for being able to gather information like this on his own. "Some girl named Lucy Riggs pawned a gun she got off some guy named Jon Prescott.

You squinted your eyes at the information that made no sense. "Get to the point."

Adam visibly swallowed, "Turns out the guy's name isn't Jon. Shocker. It's actually Parker Torres."

Your blood ran cold at his words. A million thoughts raced through your head. You wondered where he was, what he was doing… The questions that evaded your mind are usually normal, but here, when you thought about the dark man of your past, the questions seemed to be anything but normal.

"What about the gun?"

Adam clicked away until a picture of a metallic gun popped out. "Smith & Wesson Model 64 revolver."

Next thing you knew, a chain of vulgar profanities escaped your mouth, and you couldn't stop them. Ruzek's eyes widened ever so slightly at your lack of composure. "Mind telling me what this all about?"

You took a deep breath. "My skeleton escaped the closet."

***

The lack of information you found within the last couple of days was mind blowing. The only lead you had was the gun that wasn't even in your possession, having gotten lost in a misfit of undocumented sales.

Lucy wasn't of help either. The poor girl just wanted to get rid of her husband's gun, saying everything but useful information along the way. "If he wants a gun, then he better get a good one… A new one too! I don't want that piece of garbage in my house. God only knows who used that gun!" Lucy told you, just 48 hours ago. Those exact same words.

She was right about one thing.

That dammed gun went through so many hands and took double more lives.

And you didn't even have a lead.

"You look like crap," Kevin Atwater teased, handing you a steaming cup of coffee.

You didn't even manage to smile, looking at him through your shades that were, so far, doing a great job at concealing the bags under your eyes from the world.

"Rough night?"

"Mhmm."

Kevin didn't know that you no longer lived with Kelly. The temporary solution to your problems turned out to be moving back to your own place. Putting Kelly in harm's way, no matter how much he thought otherwise, was something you didn't want to do. The comfort of his bed and body were replaced by a thin blanked and an uncomfortable dining chair.

Dozens of glass decorations were laid out all over your apartment. On every window still, next to every door… On every surface, really. You slept on the dining chair 5 yards from your front door with a pistol strapped to your back, a shotgun under the chair and a rifle wrapped around your two arms, acting as a teddy bear for every time you dozed off.

Friends from Interpol would call here and there, with nothing more than sad news.

Hank Voight was pulling out every contact from his little notebook, but not even they could solve your years long case.

You wanted to throw up.

"Hey Kev."

"What's up?"

"You still friends with that FBI agent?"

***

"Second floor clear," The grip on your radio loosened after the second you needed to inform your team about your situation had passed and you moved on upstairs. You could hear them respond in the same matter as you held your gun with both hands and carefully climbed up the stairs.

You didn't let a sound slip your lips as you trekked the stairs up to the very last floor, save for the attic. For a drug house, everything was eerily quiet. It didn't feel like someone left in a hasty hurry.

It felt like as though there was no one there in the first place.

Your need to report that to your Sergeant faded away quickly once you saw smoke. It seized your full attention within a few seconds.

Smoke grenade was your first guess. Nasty things but nothing new.

That was, until you took several steps closer and the smell of the source journeyed through your nostrils. It clicked in your head immediately. Three years of being a squad lieutenant's girlfriend can do that to you. The scent of fire is nauseating and sweet, putrid and steaky, or something like leather being tanned over a flame. The smell  of it can be so thick and rich that it's almost a taste. Kelly's words rung in your head, and  you pulled your radio to your mouth.

"Call CFD! There's a fire on the third floor!" You informed, shielding your eyes. "Stand down! I repeat –"

Things went black after those words.

***

"We have a detective trapped on the third floor," Voight informed the first responders. "That's where the fire started."

Wallace nodded, "Squad 3, take the third floor."

Unlike Wallace, who had found his source of information in Voight, Kelly Severide had found it in Jay, who stood on the street visibly stressed. "Jay where's Y/N?"

Jay frowned, "She went to scope ahead. She was on the third floor when the whole place just blew up…"

"She could be unconscious right now," Kelly muttered. "Squad 3 let's go!"

Kelly Severide was already in the burning building when Chief Boden found out just who was trapped upstairs. "Dammit."

***

"Y/N?!"

Kelly's patience was thinning by the second. Knowing that his time is limited and that the place could blow in a stronger matter at any moment, he paced toward your unconscious body expeditiously.

Noticing the angry streak of blood that came from your nose had his heart in his throat. You were twisted in a way not normal for a human body to be in, catching him off guard the moment he laid his eyes on you.

Despite all that, Kelly still swooped in to grasp your limp body in his arms.

The stress of the last few days he went through didn't come close to a match with this very moment. "I'm coming down chief!"

For a moment Wallace wanted to bark back, but he bit his tongue. Love makes people do crazy things.

He knew that better than anyone.

"Get the hoses ready!" Boden announced and turned to the Intelligence.

"She'll be okay."

***

You were okay.

Maybe even better than you thought possible.

"Kelly wake up."

You smiled cheekily at doctor Mannig, who stood by your hospital bed, waiting for Kelly to wake up with the same thin line of patience as you.

You woke him up with a slap to his shoulder.

Natalie was beaming, her eyes sparkled despite the fact that she was the doctor to the most heavily guarded patient in the whole city of Chicago. "I think congratulations are in order."

"What do you mean?"

She winked before handing you the tablet, "You're 11 weeks along Y/N. Congratulations you two."

You shook your head wildly and pressed a palm to your mouth, acting out what your defense mechanism wanted you to do. "Oh God…"

"Really?" Kelly asked next to you. He had already grabbed your hand and gripped it tightly, holding you to the ground of your new reality. "Are you for real?"

She nodded, "The tests don't lie. I'm so happy for you two."

Natalie hugged you both closely before disappearing back into the crowded ER.

"Hey," Kelly murmured, grasping your chin with his index finger and thumb. "What's wrong? You're not happy? I thought…"

You shook your head immediately, stopping him from saying something that was untrue. "No, Kelly… I'm really happy."

Two heartbeats within one body. Your body.

A child that was going to take after you and the man you loved most in this world…

You felt so incredibly lucky at that moment.

Yet so guilty.

"Our baby could've died today…"

Fresh onset of tears attacked your eyes, pushing through until the moisture was dripping down your face, and you tried to muffle the hiccups with your hands. Everything started to make sense.

"Baby you didn't know…" He tried to calm you.

You shook your head violently, dropping his attempts into the water. "I should've known better. We didn't use protection... Then I felt so sick last week."

"Y/N-"

"But I was so obsessed with Parker Torres that-" You couldn't even finish the sentence because the guilt turned into anger. "God I'm so stupid!"

"Babe, look at me," Kelly's voice hardened yet the hands with which he cupped your face were gentle and comforting. "You didn't know, so none of this is your fault. If you knowingly went in there that's when it would have been your fault."

He kissed your tears away and gave you the softest smile ever. "Do you want to have this baby with me? Because if you don't, we can…"

You stopped him with a kiss.

You were venerable in the moment of the kiss, yet you never felt more at home. In this kiss is the promise of years of love and the sweetness of life. No one mattered at that moment. Not Parker… Not anyone. Only you two and the vow you just shared.

The next few weeks will be hard, that much you knew. You were introduced to a new reality and priorities shifted. The hunt for your skeleton will continue in the hands of the people you trust most and as months go by the light will greet the darkness of your tunnel.

But the next few years, you see nothing but light and happiness.

No skeletons to torture your life, but a baby and a soulmate to make it better.

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MASTERLIST

[alovesongshewrote]

For the requests, can you do Douxie x reader where the reader gets a job at the bookshop and conveniently forgets their sweater at work so Douxie has to lend them his hoodie 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Sweater | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  haha, sweater go brrrrrrrrr

Word Count: 1,946

Warnings:  Folding chairs and spiders

A/N:   Idk what this is, but i hope you enjoy it

Tag List: @furblrwurblr

You had always wanted to work at a bookstore.

Ever since you were an angsty twelve-year-old who only found solace in books, it had been your dream to work amongst the written word.  Too bad Chapters had shitty hours.

That didn’t matter now, though.  GDT Arcane Books had excellent hours, a positive work environment, and the nicest couches to ever exist.  They also had a painting of Guillermo del Toro.  You weren’t sure why, but you loved it anyway.  There was only one thing about the small bookstore that you loved more than the Del Toro painting, which is saying a lot, that painting was amazing.

Your coworker, Hisirdoux Casperan, was very quickly becoming your favourite human being in the entire world.  He was sweet, selfless, and he cared about other people.  He made you laugh more than anyone else, and he was there for you when you were stressed or anxious.  Also, he had a cat.  I don’t even need to tell you that cats are amazing.

The bookstore was the perfect place, and it only got better as the seasons changed.  Fall in Arcadia was beautiful, fall in Arcadia in a bookstore was even better.  GDT began to feel like a second home to you, so much, in fact, that you developed the habit of leaving things at work.  It wasn’t your fault, things like this happen sometimes, and that’s okay.  As long as you don’t forget anything too important, you should survive.

And then you forgot something important.  

It wasn’t anything major like your wallet, but it was necessary to keep you warm in the cool weather, especially at night.

And it was night.  And it was cold.  And your favourite sweater was still in the bookstore.  And you hadn’t realized until Douxie had locked the doors and you’d both gone your separate ways.

In short, you were a little bit screwed.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering slightly.  This was fine.  Totally fine.  As fine as a dog drinking coffee in a burning room.  The wind blew, shaking the branches on the trees and raising goosebumps on your skin.  Lovely.

You braced yourself against the breeze, trudging forward, determined to make it home and have a hot cup of tea.  

And then you heard a trash can fall over.  Extra lovely.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with a Goblin or Shadow Mephit or something.  You walked faster.  There was another, louder crash behind you.  You sped up again.  You were not dealing with this tonight.

There was more noise from behind you, the universe clearly disregarding your wishes for a calm night.  At this point, you were running.  There was a limit to how much crap you could put up with, and it was a limit you were fast approaching.  

Then Douxie flew into your side, bringing both of you to the ground.

“Douxie!?”

“(Y/N)!?”  

Whatever had thrown Douxie at you roared from the alley.  You couldn’t see it, but you could tell that it wasn’t anything good.

“You have to run,”  your coworker said, getting to his feet and offering you a hand up.

“What?  No, I’m not leaving you-”

“I’ll be okay, (Y/N), but you need to get out of here!”

Even if you wanted to, you didn’t have time to get out of there.  What appeared to be a large stone spider emerged from the space between buildings.  How this thing didn’t wake up the whole neighbourhood, you had no idea, and you couldn’t stop to think of one because the arachnid was now attacking.  Douxie stood in front of you, shielding you with his body, and some kind of blue forcefield.  

“(Y/N), GO!”

You ran, but you didn’t go home.  Instead, you searched for something to fight with.  

Monsters and magic were not a new concept to you, not when you lived in Arcadia.  You’d gone through whatever the hell that troll-thing was, an alien attack, and several other crap-tastic world-ending events.  This was just one monster, and you had Douxie, who was apparently a wizard on your side.  This was not the problem you were expecting or even a problem you wanted, but it was one you could handle.

It took a minute of searching, but eventually, you found the perfect weapon.  Someone had left a folding chair outside.  It may not be an enchanted sword, or a serrator, or a gun, but folding chairs had done wonders for you during the troll-hell, and you figured it would work for you now.

You grabbed the chair and rejoined the fray.

Douxie was not pleased to see this.  He really liked you.  You were sweet, snarky and charming, and he really liked all of your quirks.  He enjoyed your company and wanted to spend more time with you.  He knew you were a strong person, and that you could take care of yourself, but he was really hoping that you wouldn’t have to deal with this.  He knew it would kill him if anything bad happened to you.

But you lived in Arcadia, where bad things always happened, and you knew how to deal with this.

“EAT CHAIR, PUNK!”  you yelled, bringing the chair down on whatever part of the spider you could reach.  This didn’t make the spider happy, but you were able to avoid any and all attacks while repeatedly bashing the thing with your folding chair.

The wizard was at a loss for words.  

While he wanted you to run home, he knew there was a high chance that you would stay, and a higher chance that you would stay and try to help him.  The chair, however, had not been a part of these calculations, so all he could do was stare and watch as you kicked this thing’s ass.  No one could blame him, it was very impressive and very attractive.

And kick-ass you did.  You dodged attacks and landed hits, your folding chair proving to be as useful as ever.  Eventually, you managed to wedge your weapon between the pincers of the arachnid, distracting it momentarily.

“Douxie!  Now!”

Douxie snapped from his haze at the sound of your voice.  He sent a wave of magic at the thing before opening the gate to limbo underneath it.  You and Douxie were left staring at the ground where the thing had fallen through.

“Nice one,”

“Thanks,”  the situation set in for both of you.

“Hey, wait a minute, what was that?”

“Oh, fuzzbuckets, are you okay?”

The two of you hesitated for a moment, held at a stalemate.  You wanted answers, he wanted to know if you were alright.

You took this time to take in details you hadn’t noticed while beating up the stone spider.  Douxie had some kind of band or cuff on his wrist.  You had never seen that before despite working with him for a few months now.  It was new.  And it was pretty cool if you were telling the truth.

While you examined the cuff from where you stood, Douxie noticed that you were unharmed, but shivering slightly.  You didn’t have your sweater on.

“Aren’t you cold?”

The question knocked you out of your thoughts, but fortunately, you were focused enough to answer, “Oh, uh, yeah, I forgot my sweater back at the bookstore,”

“Oh,”

Without another word, Douxie took off his hoodie, walked over to you and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“There you go, that should warm you up,”

You gingerly grabbed the edges of the hoodie, wrapping it tightly around your shaking frame.  He was right, it did warm you up, but as your eyes ran over the tattoos on Douxie’s shoulders, you thought of a few more ways he could help you achieve that goal.

“Thank you,”

“Of course, love,”

The wind blew by again.  It wasn’t so bad this time.

Then you realized how late it was.

“Oh, god, I should be getting home, I-”

“Let me walk you,”

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), I know you can defend yourself,”  he cast a cautious glance towards the discarded folding chair, “But it would make me feel a lot better to know you got home safe,”

Your cheeks warmed at the sentiment.  It was nice to be cared about.

“Ok.  Come on, I’m this way,”

The walk started off in silence.

Douxie’s hoodie was soft.  His tattoos were really nice.  It was still kinda cold, but Douxie showed no signs of feeling the temperature.  

But it was too quiet.  You needed to talk about this.

“Hey, Doux?  You mind telling me what that thing was?”

The wizard sucked in a deep breath, “To be honest, I don’t know yet.  I’m still figuring that one out,”

“Huh,”  you supposed that was a valid answer, “Let me know when you do,”

Douxie smiled for a moment.  He told you that you’d be the first to know.  Then his face fell.  He almost looked scared, but there was nothing around you to be scared of.  You were a bit confused, but your attention stayed on Douxie.

“(Y/N), until this is all sorted out, could you avoid going out after dark?  I don’t want you getting hurt,”

That was a bit of an understatement.  If you got hurt at all, it would kill him.  If you got hurt by something he could have protected you from, it would destroy him.

“I’ll do my best, but you know I get off from work late,”

“Then I’ll walk you home,”

“I’d like that,”

You were a bit surprised by how determined he was to keep you safe.  It was really nice to have someone watching out for you for a change.  It made you feel warm on the inside.  

After that, the conversation turned to normal things.  Music, books, anything other than stone monsters with no name.  Douxie did ask where you learned to wield a folding chair, but some things are best left to the imagination.

You were actually sad when your house came into view, something you never thought possible.  You’d been enjoying your time with Douxie so much, you didn’t want it to end.  Unfortunately, you did not control the universe.

“Well, this is me,” you took off the hoodie, which was also a sad event.  You held it out for Douxie to take, “Here-”

“Hang onto it,” the wizard said, taking your hands under the hoodie for a moment, “At least until you get your sweater back,”

You both pulled away, blushing, 100%.

“Thank you,”

“It’s no problem, really,”

There was another moment of silence.  You both had so much to say, but no idea how to say it.  

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,”

Douxie watched as you opened the door to your home, and stepped through the door.  A surge of energy ran through him.  He had to say something, anything, or he would regret it.

“(Y/N)?”

You spun around to face him faster than either of you thought possible, “Yes?”

Douxie paused.  He didn’t think he’d get that far, to be honest.  But you were watching him with anticipation, waiting for him to speak.

“Just… stay safe, okay?”  it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but it was close enough.

“I will if you do,”

The smile on your face was the best thing he’d seen all day.

He was so distracted by the curve of your lips that he didn’t even notice that you had moved to stand in front of him.

“Thanks again, Douxie,”  and with that, you left a small kiss on his cheek and entered your apartment, leaving Douxie a blushing mess on your doorstep.

“Douxie?  Are you alright?”

“I’m much better than alright, Arch,”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Knick Knack Paddy Whack (BAON)

Summary:  As far as Stretch is concerned, there's only one solution when you're addicted to thrift stores. Selling all the crap you bought so you can buy more!

Notes:  Stepping outside of the main storyline for a moment, we'll get back to the aftermath we're all expecting in a moment. 😁

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ���by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Stretch was a bonafide thrift-a-holic, he honestly was, and he knew it. It was an important thing to know about yourself, really, because certain problems arose from bad case of oooh-shiny-itis.

Sure, one ceramic zombie hand thrusting up from the dresser to hold his rings and change was an awesome thing to behold, but an entire collection of zombie hands was a tough sell to the person you were living with, especially if that person was Edge. Not that he’d managed to find a collection of zombie hands and if he had, that thrift store would have been on the weekly check list, for sure. But the same premise applied to ‘zombie hand plus an entire horde of other bizarre ceramics surrounding it’.

Stretch wasn’t bitter about the limitations when it came to his collection, nah, he got it. There were certain things you couldn’t ask for from the person you love, and a house filled up with weird tchotchkes that looked like they belonged to the grandmother of the chainsaw massacre family was a step too far. Plus, asking Edge for more space would be unfair. He’d either agree because he didn’t want to tell Stretch no, or he’d say no and feel bad about it. Nah, the set of porcelain dragons playing instruments in a rock band he’d found wasn’t that important, not if it gave Edge a case of the guilts.

Problem was, Stretch really couldn’t resist sometimes. How was he supposed to turn away a wedding painting of Yoda and Kermit the frog? Or a coffee mug with a penguin orgy on it? He couldn’t, that’s how, but his allotted space was filling up in the house proper and soon he’d started to amass quite the collection in his lab, too. It was when the overflow expanded enough to start infringing on his erlenmeyer flasks that he decided he needed a new strategy. Science waited for no one and definitely not anything with the word ‘taxidermy’ included.

That’s when Stretch came up with the plan. Okay, it wasn’t a plan, exactly, more like a flash in the pants of brief inspiration, but hell, he’d been flying by on those his entire life, why stop now?

One of the places he frequented was an antique mall, which was a fancy way of saying one rung on the ladder above actual thrift store, except they rented stalls for people to sell their stuff, so maybe it was more like a glorified garage sale. People carted in their junk for other people to buy and the cashier up front handled all the transactions. Minimal time, minimal effort, that was exactly what he and his kitsch needed, so Stretch went ahead and rented a stall of his own.

The not-exactly-a-plan worked out pretty well. He could buy something at the thrift shop and proudly display it for a while around the house, and then when it came time to replace it with a new find, he’d add it to his stall and whatever money came from it, he donated to the local kid’s charity that the Antique Mall supported. That meant he got in his kicks and joy without looking like a prequel to a Hoarders episode and Edge only had to deal with the octopus tentacle ashtray for a few weeks.

Seriously, it was a win-win all the way around.

A few things did take up permanent residence, of course; he couldn’t give up his zombie hand. But so long as it wasn’t a clown, (clowns were disposed of by Edge immediately and with great prejudice), he was allowed things like his nested Matryoshka dolls of Nicolas Cages for a time.

About once a week he went down to add new things to his stall, mostly during the weekday hours when the buses were on the empty side and he could take up an extra seat with his box of additions. It wasn’t exactly a secret, Andy came along a few times to help, but he never really mentioned it to Edge. Not until today when Stretch realized he’d let things go a little too long and he had some extra boxes to haul down.

Better to take care of it while he was thinking about it, otherwise it tended to turn into an endless cycle of ‘oh, I should do that today’ and him forgetting, but aside from the extra lugging required, it was also Saturday and the bus would be loaded. Hitching a ride would be required, plus a little extra muscle, and his husband was his favorite source for both.

He found Edge in the kitchen, sitting at their temporary table with his laptop and yeah, it was Saturday, time to drag him away from whatever bullshit work he was doing. Stretch put on his best wheedling face and asked, “babe? can you give me a lift today?”

“Of course.” Edge didn’t look up, what a total waste of Stretch’s beguiling charms. His gloved fingertips were soft against the keyboard as he finished whatever he was typing before glancing up at Stretch, and maybe his schmoozing wasn’t entirely wasted; the way Edge closed the lid on his laptop spoke of a guilty conscious for working on his day off. “Where are we going?”

“downtown,” Stretch tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “i need to hit up my junk and disorderly shop.”

That got him a pause, “Your what?”

“heh, you’ll see.” Stretch curled a finger at Edge in a ‘come hither’ motion that his husband didn’t follow, only watched suspiciously. “c’mon, i need you to help me carry some stuff.”

“This ride is starting to sound less like transport and more like a chore.” But Edge followed him to the basement for the boxes, and, surprise surprise, his willingness to help went up a few notches from wary to eager when he figured out what Stretch was doing. Eh, couldn’t blame him. At the top of the pile was a plush frog with the top hat that played ‘hello my baby’ whenever you pushed on its foot, something Red did every single time he walked past it, plus anytime he’d felt like shortcutting in for a quick press. Time to let it damage the sanity of another family.

The boxes were tossed into the trunk of Edge’s car, frog and all, and soon they were on the road, heading downtown. Truth be told, Stretch wasn’t sure what Edge would make of the place. He tolerated thrift stores well enough, but the antique mall was a different kind of beast. An entire building of obscure collections cluttered together into eclectic displays that others were trying to barter and sell.

There were stalls filled with milk crates of old records, shelves and shelves of antique glassware and dishes. Some stalls had vintage clothing, feathery boas mixed in with disco pants and ruffled aprons. Old instruments, rusty farm equipment, strange kitchen gadgets that looked more dangerous than useful, this place had everything and then some.

Plus, the mall had a certain sort of smell, a musty, dusty scent verging on decay that settled into the sinuses and hung around for a while. Stretch thought it was the smell of a life well-lived and he kinda liked it; after years of thrifting, he associated it with finding treasures, but who knew if Edge felt the same. His tastes in smells (heh) ran more to clean and green, not old-timey funk. Could be it reminded him of shower mildew.

Whatever his opinion of the odors, Edge kept it to himself. He helped with the box carrying and checked out Stretch’s stall curiously but didn’t say much. Probably recognized the stuff on the shelves as having once been on a table or Stretch’s nightstand, until the glee wore off and it ended up gathering dust in the basement. He wandered off at some point, heading into the depths of the mall, and left Stretch to restock his meagre wares.

It took longer than he’d expected. Since he’d opened up his stall, not everything Stretch found thrifting found its way into the house proper anymore. Some of it he bought as a straight-to-video option and he was getting pretty good at finding interesting doodads at the thrifty places that might sell better here, location, location, location, that was the ticket.

Stretch always priced his junk reasonably, usually not much more than he’d paid for it. Wasn’t like he needed the money, and besides, Stretch knew himself pretty damn well, therapy did that to a guy. At the end of the day, he knew what this was really about; all an elaborate scheme to satisfy the inner packrat in his soul that struggled sometimes with giving things away.

Bartering had been built in him before he could say the word; in the Underground, he’d gotten damn good at getting deals for what he could scrounge at the dump. This was the same thing, really, just with slightly different stakes. Dinner wasn’t riding on his latest stash of dvds anymore, always a plus, and these days he could simply look at the empty shelves, content in the knowledge that his Smeagol cardboard cutout had found a new home.

Hey, therapy wasn’t the only way to work out a few kinks in your internal lines.

When the last box was emptied, Stretch wandered up to the front desk to give the lady who ran the front register his new inventory list. That was when he heard it.

There was an old piano up front with a sign on it that said, ‘Do not ‘play’ if you cannot play’. Most of the time it sat silently but someone up there was giving it a good try today. The notes were slower, with obvious hesitations as the player searched for the correct keys, but the song was one Stretch knew. Gently melancholy, a match to the cautious playing.

His curiosity piqued, Stretch wandered over to watch and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Edge sitting on the piano bench, his attention on his hands as he slowly played. It was a tough choice between watching him play and simply listening to the song and Stretch found himself trying to do both. The uncertain skill in hands he knew so well as they coaxed the music free.

When the last note faded, a faint smattering of applause came from the different stalls around them. Stretch waited for it to end before sitting on the bench next to Edge.

Quietly, Stretch said, “i didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t,” Edge said. He smoothed a hand over the keys, not pressing down, simply touching them. “Not really. I can’t read music, but I know a song or two by rote. A friend of mine pushed me to memorize them.”

Welp, Stretch didn’t have to ask what friend, now did he. An old friend back in another world, and people weren’t replaceable even if they wore the same face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to; Stretch understood in a way only a few people could, and he settled a hand on Edge’s leg, squeezing his knee gently.

“that was really good,” Stretch offered, “you have a good memory, babe.”

“Some of my memories are better than others,” Edge said. The words were more contemplative than sorrowful, and he didn’t look at Stretch, only touched the back of his hand briefly with his gloved fingertips. “You tend to feature in the best ones, love.”

He reached for the keys again and started to play. The song was more confident this time, bright and cheery, with only the occasional missed note. A handful of other people drifted over, some pausing to watch and some moving on, going about their day with a song to carry them along.

Stretch only tapped his toes and listened as Edge played, more than willing to let him go on until he was ready to stop. If Edge wanted to take a brief dive into the past, then the antique mall was a place for it, where memories and times past mingled with the present.

Besides, a new memory to take home was better than any knickknack.

-fin

Note:  The first song Edge was playing was 'Clair de Lune' by Debussy and the second was 'The Entertainer' by Scott Joplin. In case you were wondering. 😁

[bigskydreaming]

In a mood and I’m trying not to be, but oof. Not easy at the moment. Real life stresses are kicking my butt and I’m decidedly limited in resources for addressing that at the moment, so might as well get this off my chest, lol. Already lost the usual fifty followers or so I lose every single time I post about stuff the way I did the other day, so what’s some more, y’know?

So earlier today I tried to get my mind off things with some fic, and happened across one I hadn’t read before that promised Jason and Dick talking things out and bonding. Halfway through I sighed and went oh, this is familiar, and skipped to the bottom to check the end notes and comments to see if there was any mention of this next part, but nope. The reason for the sigh was it took me about halfway into the fic to realize that it was blatantly inspired by my post about what if Jason was missing some memories from his death/resurrection and the Pit, like specifically the ski trip they took, stuff like that. Now I’m not so egotistical as to think nobody but me has certain ideas, but its fairly easy for me to recognize when someone is basing something off a post of mine because of specific turns of phrases that I use and like, they hit ten or so bullet points from my post without missing a one. Like, there’s parallel evolution and similar ideas, and then there’s going down a check list, y’know?

And don’t get me wrong....I don’t mind people basing stuff of my posts, being inspired by them, etc. I WANT that. I’m GLAD to have that happen.

The part I mind is the way this all ties back into my interaction with fandom as a whole....and this fandom’s interaction with me. Which I don’t tend to hear NEARLY as much about as I tend to have people giving me shit about my impact on fandom....but ONLY the negative impact.

In the four years or so that I’ve been active in this fandom, I can think of only three people who have given me some kinda shout out for being the basis of one of their fics. Three people. And in that time I’ve come across literal dozens of fics that I am almost certain can trace their way back to popular posts of mine. There’s the post about Jason’s memories and the ski trip for one - this fic isn’t an isolated occurrence, I’ve found a good half a dozen or so I feel fall into the same pattern. There’s fics based off my posts about how fucked up the blame Dick got for Spyral was, with my certainty based on the fact that I know I’m the only fucking person who ever brought up various key phrases like “Bruce not having an extraction plan for Dick’s highly dangerous undercover op, leaving him stranded when Bruce got/(chose) amnesia.” I made a big deal about that in a few posts because of the fact I NEVER saw that particular element raised in any fics, and a couple months after I started including that bit regularly, I was seeing the words ‘without an extraction plan’ in every other new post Spyral fic. That’s not a coincidence.

There’s been stuff that included bits and phrasings from my post about Dick and Jason being partners who focused on helping kids who had been abused specifically....oh wait, no, my bad. The two fics I’m thinking of there lifted straight up entire lines from that post but just made it about Jason and TIM doing that instead, despite like.....the entire basis of that headcanon stemming from Dick’s juvie origin but whatever. There’s been stuff based on juvie posts of mine, stuff based on posts I’ve made about Mirage, there’s been stuff based on the post about Jason looking into why Dick was undercover as a mob enforcer and then Renegade, there’s been stuff clearly inspired by my headcanons about Jason calling Dick for advice after the Garzonas case. I could go on. There’s a fucking LOT.

I don’t try to give myself too much credit but I’m not unaware of being a loud voice in this fandom and that having an impact. And like I said, I’m not adverse to inspiring people to make their own stuff based off an idea they initially saw me present. That’s fine. People should feel free to do that. My problem is that none of this exists in a vacuum. It exists in a fandom where I regularly get people lecturing me on my presentation, people hyping up how negative I make fandom, my condescension, my anger, my hostility, etc, etc. 

But the thing I never see is any awareness whatsoever that like....dudes, I’m literally just a guy on the internet. And that goes two ways. Yeah, I have an impact on people, but they have one on me too. And I’m tired and frustrated by it being acted like this is a one way street and everyone is just helpless victims of my bullying, while meanwhile SOME OF THE EXACT SAME PEOPLE GIVING ME CRAP FOR MY NEGATIVITY are ACTIVELY adding to their own fics with stuff that I JUST posted about.

And like, I see people vagueblogging about the negativity on their dashes and its impact on fandom right after I have a Dick Grayson rant blow up and get a few hundred notes......but its acted like I DID that to fandom, that’s my negativity and mine alone when its like....y’know, if you’re not following me yourself, and this stuff is still on your dash, you uh....have to be following people who reblog my negative posts for some reason or another. And given that there are obviously reasons you follow THOSE people, maybe instead of worrying about what I’M doing all the time, you can spare a thought or two for the fact that I don’t have any power to make people reblog anything, and for whatever reason, something about my oh so negative post resonated with those people reblogging it onto your dash, which also kinda suggests it wasn’t negative in THEIR eyes, but was actually a kind of validation of thoughts or feelings they already had?

Trust me, there’s no mind control ray at work here. This mood is also brought to you by the cricket sounds that come every time I fucking BEG people to reblog and signal boost posts I make about rape/abuse fandom trends and depictions from my POV as a survivor, specifically. Like I mentioned, I LOSE followers every time I bring that stuff up. It doesn’t benefit me in any way whatsoever, in fact my notes tend to go comparatively radio silent for a good couple weeks after I go off on one of those jaunts, because idk, people don’t want THEIR mutuals and followers to think they agree with some of my oh so controversial stances?

Actually, I say idk, but I do know is the thing, because people actually go on anon and tell me they appreciate me posting stuff like this, and its like.....that....doesn’t actually make me feel good? Because I never expect any single person in particular to reblog me, but when I say crickets after I post on those topics, I mean CRICKETS. I’m lucky if I can get five reblogs on those posts in total, and those are usually all from the same people. It actually kinda sucks knowing that people agree with me and what I have to say there, but they won’t put it on their own blogs because this fandom is so fucking STEEPED in its views, they don’t want to risk their friendships or back-and-forths with certain popular fandom authors by rocking the boat.

Because meanwhile I’m making myself target practice for the people who really would like me to shut up on certain topics but are too cowardly to ever confront me directly about why they dislike what I have to say there, in the vain hope that other people might finally even just START to pass some of that on even for consideration....because I can make waves by myself just by being loud and consistent, but I can’t do shit to actually make CHANGE without other people agreeing in PUBLIC so that fandom is forced to confront the fact that no, certain opinions aren’t just one loud asshole being annoying, there’s an actual viewpoint here that people actually have in greater numbers than we realized and we DON’T have as much of a monopoly on this topic as we thought.

I have anons who give me shit accusing me of driving off certain authors by making this fandom not fun for them anymore, when like, I never even fucking INTERACTED with the authors in question. Some of the names I’m accused of driving off I don’t even KNOW. I’m called an ‘abusive survivor shaming cunt’ with zero irony or self-awareness that they’re literally doing the exact same thing because they don’t like the stance *I* take as a survivor posting about how ‘some survivors use dark fic/rape fantasy to cope’ shouldn’t be treated as a monolithic defense of such things if it leads directly into the same kind of survivor shaming other people view criticism of such fic as being in the first place.

I’ve had to unfollow mutuals because I post about how reblogging posts about purity culture is a direct fucking slap into the face to people like me whose stances on fandom culture are directly based on our own personal experiences and the intersection those have with various popular fandom takes.....like you don’t have to agree with all my takes obviously, but if you can’t see how framing a naive pursuit of ideological purity as the only possible reason people object to certain fandom trends when I’m literally standing right here saying no actually, the way these fandom trends impact me is the reason for me saying the things I say when I say “here’s how this fandom trend impacts me”.....like.....c’mon. 

And I’ve had mutuals unfollow me because despite following me because they liked my takes on social justice issues THEY care about, I just ‘post too much about what’s really just a personal issue’ and has no larger social relevance whatsoever, obviously. LOL. (Oh and this of course has nothing to do with them getting friendly with various popular authors on discord, who happen to be vocal about ‘disapproving’ of any fic criticism whatsoever. Just FYI, there’s a reason I haven’t followed anyone new or made any new mutuals in like....a year. I have my reasons for being....not quick about that).

I get condescended to constantly about not minding the tags, and then radio silence when I list literal examples of ways in which people haven’t tagged things correctly, tagged things at all, or literally used the tags in an attempt TO trigger people they just don’t like. 

And meanwhile, allllllll of this keeps happening while the general narrative is I’m this loud asshole guy with zero concern about anything but his own personal likes or dislikes and who makes fandom a negative place that’s unwelcoming in general. And with basically zero mention of all the ways in which I’ve contributed to this fandom, the amount of content I’ve made that has DIRECTLY inspired people, and the productive conversations I’ve started which have resulted in people actually changing the way they approach various characters or dynamics in fics.

Its THAT part that bugs me, specifically.

Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now.....I’m not anyone’s victim. Negative fandom interactions are negative fandom interactions. All this complaining I’m doing here - lol, that’s all it is. I’m venting. I’m pissed off and I think its relevant to a greater fandom dynamic or tendencies a lot of people unknowingly or consciously reinforce, and so I’m just fucking SAYING it because while its not something I EXPECT this post will do much to change, if at all, I would still like it to change so any effort towards that end is still better than no effort at all...hence, my posting this rather than bottling it up so at least people have it to consider. 

If you don’t agree with it, if you don’t like that it exists at all, if it ruins your day to have to consider whether or not you or people you know or even like are active participants in what someone else is describing as y’know....fairly day-ruining in its own way? Hit that unfollow, that block, that make new text post button of your own and have your own rant about what a douchebag I am.

Literally all I’m trying to express is like.....fa*ndom’s got a lot to say about the stuff I have to say about fandom, but like....this is a two way interaction. A lot of people make a big deal about MY impact (again, JUST the negative though, lol) but I don’t ever see anyone ever addressing anyone else about hey maybe you could spare a thought or two about YOUR impact for a change as well.

I mean, what if....just maybe...what if.....a lot of my behavior or attitude has a lot to do with how people approach or talk about me BEFORE that display of attitude or certain behavior? Weirdly....I feel like maybe something that could then have a transformative effect on the kind of behavior or attitude people dislike from me....is.....them acknowledging or addressing things they might have done to prompt certain responses from me?

I don’t actually like being whiny or negative or down in general, just to be clear? If I see something I have a problem with or think could use change or improvement, I say so - but I pretty much always put an effort into expressing both WHY and HOW I think possible change could look - because I’m not generally interested in being negative for the sake of just being negative. I just....want things to be better. That’s not an obsession with purity or perfection, btw, I will NEVER understand how people think that survivors of rape and abuse (which include a lot more ‘antis’ than anyone else seems to want to acknowledge) and the like EVER expects perfection or thinks that the world will ever produce that - lol no I’m actually pretty clear that things being perfect is pointless, I’m just interested in BETTER.

But I mean, I like being goofy and silly and also analytical and contemplative and also creative and spontaneous. I like lots of things. I like lots of moods. I like producing, creating, generating, interacting, engaging, I like a million things more than I like THIS kind of mood, THIS kind of post.

But I’m just not someone who is content to sit and stew in that sort of thing when I know full well that the problem does not actually stem from something broken or flawed inside of me, because I’m also someone who does believe very strongly in periodic bouts of self-reflection and honest self-assessment.....so that I can change things about myself when and where I feel necessary. But this also has the effect of me also being VERY aware of when the problem is not internal, but actually just me having a perfectly valid reaction or emotional response to outside stimulus. Aka fandom’s interaction with me, every bit as much as my interaction with fandom.

So....posts like this. I’ll do my usual rituals, get myself back onto my preferred trains of thought soon enough on my own, because ultimately that is all I can control and just because I make posts like this doesn’t mean I ever EXPECT any specific result - or a result at all - to come from it. 

But, y’know, sue me for being hopeful.

I know. What an ass am I?

[universitypenguin]

What happened to u? U okay?

Hello!

First off, thank you for your concern. I appreciate it and I needed it after the past two days. To answer your question - I'm doing great.

I don’t have a lot of context about your question, but I’m guessing your concern is due to my recent blocking spree. A day ago, I went through my followers list and found some minors. I’ve previously seen smut fanfic writers concerned by underage people interacting with their posts. Until I had to block a few of them, I wasn’t aware how uncomfortable it would make me feel.

Since the blocking spree, I've had a lot of thoughts. I'm about to spew them everywhere. You might regret asking me if I was okay. Sorry about that. No one needs to read this whole manifesto about my rollercoaster of emotions the past few days. But in the interest of transparency, I'm posting this very long note.

What I want my readers to know is the following:

Tumblr is both a place for fanfiction and a social media site.

When I interact with followers and write explicit content, I have to be careful about what I'm saying and who I'm saying it to.

I don't intend to block or purge my followers in the future.

As long as I appropriately tag and put warnings on my work, that is adequate protection for my blog. Everything I write containing explicit content is tagged.

However, I won't interact with users who don't have an age stated in their bio.

There have to be boundaries, given the content of my writing. But I've also come around to the realization that I'm not capable of policing every interaction. Tumblr is a public forum. Minors following me makes me uncomfortable. But by the same token, my work is clearly labeled at 18+ and so is my blog.

There's a lot of explicit content out there for minors if you really think about it. In my high school freshman English class we talked about the book "The Color Purple." Believe me, that was explicit and we were only 14. Any minor with a library card and a Google browser can access a lot more intense content than what I write. I hope they're all being safe, but I can't have a melt down blocking spree again.

I'm not a cop, I'm not a parent, and what minors consume is down to them and the adult responsible for them. If I know someone is a minor I'll block them, should I notice they're trying to interact with me. Otherwise, I'm not purging my followers ever again. It's too much drama. I'd rather leave Tumblr than do that twice. I'm tired and I'm starting to work on my post graduate classes, I work full time in a demanding job, I'm in the process of editing my novel, and trying to keep up with my personal life. Quite literally, I don't have time to block. Writing fanfic is supposed to be my fun time. Let's keep it that way.

Due to the fact that some people I blocked were later unblocked after I took a closer look at their blogs, I'm posting a full explanation below. A quick summary is this:

After only writing for three months, I'd amassed 500 followers. On Monday I blocked almost 200 of them. Then I reviewed my block list and editing down some people who were prematurely blocked. [I assume the anon is one of the unblocked who had me disappear from their dash. Sorry!] This blocking thing isn't sustainable. In the future I'll run my blog differently as far as interaction goes in an effort to be responsible.

Continue reading for the saga of:

The Great Blocking Spree and Existential Crisis of an Erotic Fanfic Writer.

The Blocking Spree:

On Monday I realized a thirteen year old was following me and interacting with my work. This creeped me out.

*Commence blocking spree*

Then I realized how daunting my followers list was. I had 500 followers prior to Monday. That day I blocked about 200 people (some of them prematurely - more on that later.) So after the daunting task of trying to assume, to check bios for ages, to review blog content and determine the user's age, I was tired. Today, I even took a moment to reconsider if I wanted to use Tumblr. Because if all this is my responsibility, maybe I don't have the time or dedication to manage it. When I can be chill, I try to be. This attitude also affected by blocking. It contributed to me unblocking people. When I was doing the blocking spree, I'd give people with no age in their bio a fair shot by reviewing their posts.

I blocked some bot accounts, then a bunch of blank blogs, some ambiguous people who very well could be of age. For the first 100 followers I was pretty aggressive. Then my attention span dropped off and I was a bit more ambivalent. I realized I was doing a crappy job of moderating and wondered what the point was.

The point was that the thirteen year old interacting with my work freaked me out. When I found two sixteen year old followers, it pushed me to continue the purge.

So on I go, blocking. I'm so responsible for doing this, right? But my methodology is crap. What is context for being an adult? Someone had posted about budgeting advice. I thought the budgeting advice was too good for it not to have come from an adult. But my father's a financial advisor and to be honest, I could have given that level of advice at fifteen just from osmosis. Someone had pictures of themselves entering their marijuana plants in the Oregon State Fair. Okay, you've got to be over 18. I didn't block them. Someone else complained about their stats professor and I didn't block them. But in retrospect, one of my high school friends got permission to take college level math courses when we were seniors. She was seventeen when she had a stats professor. The thought circles back - what am I accomplishing here? Next, I went back and unblocked someone who ranted about her Tinder matches being 60 year old men. I wondered if their post was even real. I've lied on the internet before. Nonetheless, I persisted and worked through all 500 followers. When I was done I had 312 followers left.

Post Blocking Spree Existential Crisis:

I know that all the blocking in the world can't stop a teenager who wants to read smut fanfic. I'm not much for posting on social media and I'm not used to a lot of anonymous interaction online. Honestly, I got rid of my SM accounts during college when I felt it was wasting my time. This is the first time I've really use a social media site to post content since college. My twitter account is unused, my Instagram is for close personal friends only, and my TikTok is for mindless consumption of cat videos. (I've trained the algorithm to feed me only cat videos, it's great and I highly recommend it.) I don't post on TikTok, so I don't consider it full use, just lurking.

Okay, Alice, get back to the point....

Right, being anonymous on social media. My blocks are a fence and it's based on self identification from the blogs that follow me. I have little faith in underage consumers to out themselves. I have even less faith in their honesty or respect for an adult's boundaries. They're at a stage in life where they want to push the boundaries. Telling them no is all but inviting them in. I did my blocking spree because I was worried about backlash from someone's parents. But what reasonable judge would come after a fanfic writer? Come on. Logical thoughts but me emotional distress was still brewing.

Why I am the one responsible for who clicks the follow button on my blog? I've always clearly identified what I write and tagged my work as smut.

That thought snapped me out of my whirlwind of anxious thoughts. So I started looking into the laws. My regular work involves medicine, not the legal profession, so I was lost. I found some state level laws that made me glad I'd gone on a blocking spree. California and Florida have specific language in their laws about 'providing minors with explicit content.' But what exactly is that? What I researched applied to the following activities: co-writing smut fanfic with other people, sexting, roleplaying and online messaging.

I run a fanfic blog with limited interaction. I've never done an ask. I don't roleplay on here and I don't want to.

The blocks weren't personal. They were partly based on the awareness that Tumblr is an interactive site and a place that's had a problem with child pornography in the past. But I'm not the smut police. I suck at blocking, and I doubt I did a good job of purging my followers list. This is when it hit me that boundaries are only what I can enforce. They've never been about how other people relate to me, only how I relate to them. (Wow. I've never sounded more like my mother in my life...) After this thought, I started considering what actions I ought to take if I wanted to keep posting fanfic on Tumblr.

My Post Blocking Spree Clarity...

It's up to me who I interact with. I don't have to reply to every comment and re-blog, but I'd like to. I'm stuck between wanting to write for everyone and handling interactions on a social media site that's mostly anonymous.

The fact remains: I can't be the smut police because I suck at it.

What I've decided is that I'll make it very clear on my blog that this is an 18+ space where I publish erotic fanfiction. Smut will always be appropriately marked. I'm not going to interact with reviews, re-blogs, and messages from accounts who don't have their age in their profile. I won't include them in my tag list either. The internet is a public forum. Just as with publishing erotica, once it's out there online for download, it's done. As a ghost writer and an author, I don't control who buys my original fiction, which is just as spicy as my fanfiction. (Trust me, it's explicit. I once had a romance editor tell me I should dial it back on the smutty parts of a novel because "it's a lot of sex for a non-erotica market.") The key difference on Tumblr is about interaction. And that's something I can control. I can decide when I reply to other users. What brought me around to this was the realization that even after the blocking spree, I can't review every single like I get. That's an amount of time and mental energy that's beyond me. Just the past two days have been exhausting and sapped my will to write. Which sucks because I need to go write the next chapter of "Restitution" before tomorrow.

I think the reasons I went on the blocking spree are nuanced. The thirteen year old freaked me out. So did the other underaged people who had ages in their bios. But it also relates to my work. In my job I've seen some nasty child abuse cases. Early on in my career, when I was a 23 year old new hire, I was working on an autopsy for a child abuse victim who'd been murdered by their parent. It was so terrible and graphic, I had to ask one of my older colleagues to take the case. This colleague didn't like me. But she took one look at my face and took the file. She closed out the review without a question and never brought it up again to anyone. I was very grateful. Where I used to work (and where this incident took place) was a major city that holds the unfortunate title of being the human trafficking capital of the US. And something I learned working there was that most human trafficking victims go with their captors willingly. In two years at that job, I never saw one who'd been kidnapped from a dark alley like you see on TV. They were all groomed on social media and thought they were escaping their families (who were often overbearing, toxic, or dysfunctional) for a get away with friends. It was a fun adventure with their internet buddies, until it wasn't.

In retrospect, the underage interaction I found on my blog made me react because of what I've been through. The autopsy case kept coming back to me today while I was at work and I've finally untangled my emotions enough to figure out what caused my melt down. When I was blocking, I was feeling an anxious motivation that I know can only stem from the stress I deal with at my job. Don't feel sorry for me about this - I know my work in medicine helps a lot of people and it's a tremendously satisfying career.

Our Saga's Resolution & How I'm Going to Deal With This In The Future...

- - - - -

In post block clarity, I offer this conclusion:

I'm writing on a public forum. My work is appropriately tagged as smut. In the future, I will also use the tag #no minors to help with filtering. I've always asked underage people not to interact. And on a public forum, what more can I reasonably do? Going forward I will only interact with those who have their age posted in their bio. But blocking sprees and policing every interaction isn't feasible.

I'll review how I'm going to run my tag lists as well. I need to think it over and let my followers know my decision as to if I'll continue using them. Because tagging is definitely interaction and my current tag list was not screened at all. *face palm*

Finally, to my readers who have blank blogs or don't have an age listed. I respect your right to privacy and I'm careful with my personal information as well. But I've also had an uncomfortable two days. If you've lasted through this venting session until now, you must understand that I'm upset by underage interaction. I'm setting my own boundaries and going forward, I'll own my side of the internet. No interaction from me, unless I know your age. Full stop - no exceptions. I think it is reasonable for me to suggest that you leave something on your blog that signifies you are not a minor, whatever that may be. Someone who I didn't block that stands out in my memory had a bio that said "90s baby." It was simple, direct, and left no doubt they were over 18. No age reveal and not even a name. If you put something like this on your blog it'll help explicit content creators feel more comfortable about their interactions.

I went on a spree this Monday and I admit to being heavy handed and aggressive about pruning followers. I had an emotional reaction due to work stress and I didn't think things through logically. I'm relieved for the chance explain myself and set new boundaries that I'm capable of sticking to in the future. But remember - the block button is on my side of the screen. At the end of the day, you might be unhappy with me for the block, but it's my button, it's my blog, and I'll use it as I see fit.

Thank you for reading.

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Part 18 

Pairing: Spencer x Reader 

Warnings: Rape, degrading language, mention of abuse and the selling of other people (not necessarily slavery, but kinda), talk of impregnation.  

A/N: So, I didn’t get around to the 4 thousand words. If I’m honest, I also needed the extra day to get ready to write this part. I’ve included a little warning and area that you can skip to to avoid the rape part. And don’t worry about missing anything, I remention something Peter mentions when I go into Spencer’s POV. So feel free to skip. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  4 days, 8 hours, and 53 minutes you'd been here. Not that you were counting. And you hadn't seen Peter in three. He had dropped off your food, but then neglected to feed you for two days when he discovered you'd been feeding Derek as well. Sharing with him was apparently off-limits.  

You felt the gentle but painful rumble of your stomach announce itself as you tried to curl up on the floor. Peter had already tried to come onto you, but you had put up a hell of a fight enough that he couldn't even get your pants off. Maybe that was also why he hadn't dropped off food for three days. He had left plenty of water though, at least he knew how to keep the two of you alive.  

You coughed softly and shivered. You assumed you'd gained a fever, but then again there was no way to be sure. But the way you felt miserable, even more-so than you had been the first day you were in this cellar, seemed to count for something.   

Derek was still asleep against the wall. His head had a semi healed gash that you would have bandaged if you had the chance, but you were too far away for the chains to reach. You held your stomach, thankful that you still had enough strength to fight Peter off. But you didn't know how much longer without food you could do so.  

You squeezed your abdomen a little tighter, biting your lip to distract yourself from the pain in your stomach. Whatever Peter had been putting in your food had been causing your sex drive to become overly active, making you desperate and uncomfortable at the same time. You both thankfully had something to use the bath room, but it was always painful for you. But you had worse things going for you, so you didn't mention it to Morgan.  

Slowly though, Morgan began to wake up, rubbing his eyes to the best of his ability. He cracked his neck a little, wincing at the pop that resulted. He turned his gaze towards you, immediately sighing. "K-kid? You still alive?" He asks.  You let out a small chuckle. 

"Not any more than I was… 6 hours ago when you asked me that." You tease tiredly, groaning at the way your chest ached. Morgan sighed again but harder, blowing out his exhale sharply. "Maybe you shouldn't have shared your food with me. Maybe you'd have more food." Derek shifted uncomfortably against the wall, stretching his arms as much as he could and adjusting his injured leg that was healing nicely. The only good thing about the situation. 

"You could've died if I didn't feed you. Don't give me that crap." You grunted, sitting back up as you gave up on trying to sleep again. "I don't care if he kills me for feeding you. I wouldn't be able to sit here and eat all of it without giving you some. You know it." You insist, falling into a heavy coughing fit.  

"Kid, you got a fever. If we don't get you something soon, you're just gonna get worse." Derek sighed. You let out tsk and smiled tiredly.  

"Oh he doesn't care. As long as I still conceive he doesn't care if I'm sick or healthy. After I'm pregnant is when he'll 'care'." Derek groaned and shook his head. He didn't know what to say. They had no real way out and with no real end to the madness in sight, it was dwindling his hope for being found, let alone rescued. 

You leaned your head back against the wall again, having no more tears left to shed. That was all you did for the first two days. Now you knew that wasn't going to get you anything except a pounding headache. You sniffled and wiped your nose gently, feeling exhausted. You swallowed harshly and kept your eyes closed. You had a feeling in your gut that told you today was going to be different. A bad kind of different.  

Five minutes after you both grew quiet, you heard the rumbling of gravel under tires, causing you to tense up. Derek widened his eyes and cursed under his breath, his arms already pulling against the chains again as he willed himself to be able to protect you. 

 The jingle of keys echoed outside the cellar until it finally stopped and the doors creaked open. You backed up against the wall and looked at the floor, unwilling to view your captor. 

 "Oh come on now, (Y/N/N), where's that fight you had the first day you were here? The first day I met you you were so willing to deny the rules. Defy them, even. But now here you are, an obedient bitch." Peter sneered. You could feel the burn of his gaze on you. It was almost so overwhelming that you almost didn't smell the food.  

The loud grumble of your stomach gave you away, making your mouth water at the idea of even a little food. Peter smirked. "You want this? You hungry, whore?" Peter shook the bag in front of you tauntingly. You refused to look up at him still, knowing he was going to turn this all back around to hurt you. 

"Peter, man, infertility is a product of excessive starvation. You really wanna keep starving her?" Morgan tried. You smiled just barely, knowing Spencer had to have been the one to teach him that.  

Peter sneered. "Yeah, I do. But this food isn't for her. It's for you. If she'll do what I ask." He smirked. You could already sense what he had planned, and your heart sank to your stomach when you realized it. Derek did too soon after you did. 

Derek looked to you desperately, shaking his head. "K-kid, don't. I don't care if I don't eat! Don't give into him!" He begged.  

You looked at him with a weakening smile. "I-I have to feed you Derek…." You begin, causing the mischievous grin to grow on Peter’s face. 

Derek looked at you guiltily, shaking his head desperately. "B-but… h-he's gotta feed me eventually. S-so I'm sorry. I-I can't give into him." You apologized, squeezing your eyes shut. 

 Peter's smile immediately fell into a scowl. He tossed the food at Morgan’s feet, sneering at him. "Eat, you bastard. She's gonna let me. Whether she likes it or not." Peter hisses. 

Morgan immediately starts pulling at the chains, wishing they were looser on him for him to fight Peter off of you.  

You kept your eyes shut and swallowed harshly you knew you couldn't fight back against him, yet you still found enough strength to keep your thighs closed tightly. Peter growled and his hand soon swatted across your face.  

Morgan called out to you, encouraging you to fight him off, but you could barely hear him. You were falling into your subconscious to hopefully pass through what you knew was going to happen eventually. 

 Peter forced your legs apart and tore your pants off without caring about the seams. They became a shredded heap beside you as he made quick work of your underwear as well.  

"It's about time I got to experience this."  

🛑RAPE WARNING!!⚠️ if you would like to skip this, please scroll down to the ⚜. 

Peter then began pulling off his belt and shoving his pants down enough to reveal his rather wimpy groin. You kept your eyes closed though, not wanting to experience this any more than you had to. 

Peter then smirked down at you, grabbing your hips tightly and pushing himself into you just as harshly. You grew choked up, finding tears bursting from your eyes despite your desperate attempt to escape through your subconscious.  

Peter let out a sigh, as if this was getting him off having you finally underneath him. He knew you didn't want this. Nor were you letting him. His weight was crushing you against the ground and the wall. 

"You know, I  have to give your mom some credit. After all she is the one who gave me your location. What luck that the world decided to give you back to me by chance." Peter admitted almost euphorically, beginning his uncomfortable thrusts into your unwelcome entrance. 

You squeezed a sob in your throat, covering your mouth with a hand. Peter had pinned your legs under him, keeping you from kicking him off of you. Derek had grown quiet after his curses and begging had done nothing. He wished he could look away, but he couldn't. You didn't blame him. Nor would you ever. He wasn't making Peter do this. 

Peter continued, his thrusts only growing harsher and brutal as he continued. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head, pulling back almost before shoving back into you. "Ngh… damn, how long has it been since you've really had a man in you? You're as tight as a pathetic virgin." 

You hiccup and coughed into your hand, feeling your body's heat growing warmer and warmer. You were overheating and sweating profusely from your forehead. You kept attempting the subconscious state you desperately wanted to achieve, growing closer with each of his thrusts.  

"Am I really popping your cherry? Did none of those men convince you to put out?" He taunted, causing you to fall even farther away from reality. 

"Bet if I threatened your brother again you'd put out for me. Always caring so much about everyone. You sacrifice everything for them. Just like you ran away from me to keep him safe, right?" Peter hissed, gripping your hair at the scalp and pulling your head forward. 

Your head hit the wall hard, causing your vision to grow blurry. You felt your hand become weaker until it fell from your mouth and you closed your eyes again, falling into a sleep you didn't want to wake from.  

°•⚜•°  

Again you woke, feeling a heavy and aching pain in your lower half. Your eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, but you managed to keep them open slightly. You slowly adjusted your position, trying to hold your head up. 

"(Y/N)?!" 

You lifted your head up again as far as you could, seeing Morgan’s distressed face looking towards you. 

"H-hey, Derek…" you coughed, soon grimacing as you felt the disgusting feeling of what remained of Peter fall from inside you. 

Derek sighed, swallowing softly. "Hey…" he whispered, reaching as far as he could towards you. You eased up and tried to reach over, barely being able to touch his hand. 

"Is… is he gone?" You ask. 

"Yeah, he left an hour ago. I…" Derek sighed, trailing from his in coming question. You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. 

"No… I…" you whimper and for the first time in a few days you begin to cry. You pulled your legs closer to you, wincing at the incredible pain you felt in your core.  

Derek gritted his teeth and tightened his fists. He just sat there. He didn't do anything. He hated himself for it. He wished he could've done something. 

You sobbed hard, hugging your knees as you tried desperately to disappear. You wanted to leave. Anything seemed better than this hell.  

Derek struggled to grab his phone from his pocket, sending their current area one last time. He looked over to you, and knew he had to do something. It had only been four days and you were deteriorating before his eyes. He looked over at the cold bag of food and eased it over towards you. 

You shrunk back away from the noise, shaking your head At the bag. That food was what got you into this position. You didn't want it. 

Derek exhaled softly and eased it again towards you. "(Y/N/N)... kid you gotta eat. I know this… this food isn't ideal. I haven't even touched it. But if you don't eat, you're not gonna have enough strength to escape with me." He insisted. You then begin to laugh miserably. 

"I'm not escaping until I get pregnant, Derek. Then I'll be a prisoner in his home until after I have the kid. Then I'll be stuck. You, I might be able to get out." 

"What do you mean?" 

"He wants me to give in, Derek. That's all he wants. For me to finally consent. And not fight him. And I'll give him that. If, he lets you go." You explain. 

Derek's pupils grew large, his eyes doing the same. "Kid--No! I'm not gonna let you let him rape you again just so I can get out!" He exclaims in disbelief. "You don't deserve this, believe me." 

You sighed and smiled at him. "I know, Derek. But I'm never going to forget this. You might be able to make peace with it. And even then, if you get out, find your way to town, you can call Hotch and the team. Find me then." You propositioned. Derek's eyebrows tilted up on his face, his heart breaking. 

"Kid… i-I…" 

"You don't have a choice, Derek. The next time he comes in here, I'll make him the offer. If I eat now… I'll have enough strength to fight him off next time if he doesn't agree. He'll have to eventually, if he really wants me to submit to him." 

Derek sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. You were right. No matter how many other escape plans there were, this one seemed the most likely to work. He would be allowed to escape and he could find better cell reception than one bar that liked to fade out and come back on. Once he did, he could call the police, the team. Get them here. And pull you out of the fire. Some sacrifices had to be made. He just wished it wasn't you who had to make them. 

○●♡●○ 

"Garcia, what do you mean there's no good in here?" Spencer asks. 

"I mean there is absolutely no good to her past. When she was 7 her family started abusing her after she began to refuse the family company. At least, that's what she told the doctors and they did nothing since her parents were one of the main stock holders of the hospital." Garcia began. Spencer looked down at the file Garcia had handed him in shock, reading through each legalized detail of your life was laid out in front of him. Garcia was telling the truth. Every bit of it.

"Why even do that to her own child? They groomed her to be someone she wasn't. Why take away her freedom of choice too?" Spencer asked as he sped through the details in your file, finding his heart aching with each and every word. 

"I don't know, but it doesn't end there. Her brother was the result of an affair her mother had with (Y/N)'s tutor, made her raise him as a sort of punishment. She was bullied throughout her highschool years for her memory and her smarts, earning her a week in a mental hospital that the school counselor made her attend. Her parents had tried everything to discharge her early, stating she 'is an overreacting, selfish brat and drama queen. She isn't depressed.'" Penelope read off, looking down at Spencer with an uncomfortable look. "I wish I could say I was exaggerating but unfortunately I am not." 

Spencer read through all the horrors you'd faced from your parents and suddenly his issues felt very small compared to yours. Yet you still held your head high. You still found the strength to laugh, to talk, to be a normal human being. Anyone who knew all of you would understand if you needed a break. But you never took one. 

"She went to multiple universities under a false name to avoid suspicions from her parents after paying her universities to send her parents updates on diplomas she wasn't working towards. All of this to avoid her parents? Just because they have money doesn't mean they get to control her life--" Spencer began to rant. He felt his mind rushing with anger filled thoughts. He wished he had hurt your mother a little physically when he met her.

"When she turned 18 her parents received a payment of 10,000 from a mister Peter Calvin in exchange for their daughter's hand in marriage, to which she refused for a whole year until she finally gave in exactly a year after the first. After that year of engagement she bought a plane ticket and changed her name. After that she continued going to school. Then the rest is almost history." Penelope rambled on, detailing everything Spencer already knew. He just felt angry at himself for letting this get so bad so fast. Then he read a little lower, and his heart sunk. And his hatred for your mother grew. 

"'Recently there was a wiring of cash to a Mrs. Grant in exchange for the location of her daughter. When asked on this information, she quoted this by saying 'She needs to learn to grow up. Life isn't about getting what you want.'" Spencer read, feeling as though the words were poison on his tongue. 

"So she sold her own daughter, twice." Penelope answered, nodding with a sad look on her face. Spencer felt his hands tightening harshly against his pants. If he didn't do something right now he was going to hit something. No he needed to hit something. Preferably Peter. And in his family jewels. 

"Yeah. She did." Spencer spat. "Garcia, can we get a hold of this brother of hers? I wanna talk to him. And her mother. I wanna talk to her too."  Spencer sneered again. Penelope nodded, slightly afraid of Spencer’s current state. 

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and stood up, resisting the urge to throw the chair he was sitting in. So instead he thrusted his pen at the closed door and found himself a comfortable part of the floor to crouch and release his anger. 

He needed to find you. He had to.  

[serasvictoria]

5 Fanworks Meme

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and post or link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Got tagged by @plavapticica (ages ago, I do apologise)

I tag @schreiberpablo (gifs!), @basilone (fic and gifs!) and @itstheheebiejeebies (wallpapers!). I’m not expecting anyone to do this by the way, not in the least because today is the last day of the year. It took me that long to decide to actually post this.

This is kinda difficult for me since the only writing I do nowadays is strictly for myself and I never share it, but I’ll bite. So the only thing I have to share are excerpts really. Or just the one in this case since I’m not particularly comfortable in sharing most of the crap that I write which is why it took me so long to post this.

I don’t think I’m a particularly good writer (trust me, I am well aware of my limitations) and the only writing that I even shared with others was for BBC’s Robin Hood (Allan, baby, those damn writers did you so wrong) and the last time that I wrote for an RP site was in 2012 so... long time ago. I also have a very hard time finishing things. During this batshit crazy year I finished a fic that I started writing almost 10 years ago. I shit you not.

So here, have an excerpt. And it would probably make sense if I posted something from earlier on the story, but I didn’t. Nothing I do makes sense basically. It’s just what I’m like.

Ronald Speirs (Band of Brothers)

Catherine headed outside, eyes immediately drawn towards the sky which was streaked pink, purple and blue as the sun set. When it was quiet and peaceful like this, she had to keep reminding herself that the only reason that she was even here to begin with was because there was a war on.

When she heard a lighter being lit to her left, she was momentarily startled. Looking to the side, she saw her CO sitting on the ground, leaning against the building.

“Admiring the sunset, sir?”

“Something like it.”

“Want some company?”

She took his silence as consent and sat down next to him, taking care not to invade his personal space too much. He produced a packet of cigarettes and held it out to her. She was well aware of the fact that he offered them to everyone just to see the terrified looks on their faces, but he never got one of those from her. She’d been accepting his smokes before the rumours surrounding him had even started so she could hardly stop taking them now, even if he would think nothing of it if she suddenly started refusing them. Besides, he hadn’t pulled a gun on her yet.

Looking ahead of her at the brilliant display that Mother Nature was putting on, she said, “It looks like a painting.”

“Does it?”

“Like Turner himself might have painted it.” She took a drag and added, “Sun Setting over a Lake.”

“No lake here, Taylor.”

“We’re not in Switzerland either.” When she looked at him, she found him staring at her questioningly. How he looked in the fading light took her breath away for a few seconds and made her think that some painters would have jumped on the chance to be able to paint him. “He liked to paint there.”

“How do you even know those things?”

“My father’s an art teacher. So I’ve been spoon-fed that kind of stuff ever since I was a kid.” She tapped on her temple before continuing, “My mind’s full of all kinds of useless information like that. Like Raphael being only 37 when he died. Or how Botticelli had initially trained as a goldsmith.”

“Who?”

“Sandro Botticelli. Italian Renaissance painter. The Birth of Venus?” The look on his face told her that he had no idea what she was talking about. “Naked blonde girl on top of a big shell?” Still nothing. “Bet if I showed you one of those pinup drawings from Esquire that you’d recognise those.”

“That’s different. I like those.”

“Philistine.”

He didn’t reply, merely offering a little half smile before turning his head to look at the sky again so she did the same. She smoked the rest of her cigarette in silence and kept sitting there until the brilliant display of colours was over and nothing but a small strip of red could be seen on the horizon as the sky above it gradually kept going darker.

She’d look at him out of the corner of her eye at times, but he hardly even seemed to notice her presence. He wasn’t really the talkative sort and she had to admit to herself that she quite liked that. If she wanted to talk complete and utter bullshit, she’d seek out one of the other guys. If she wanted silence, Speirs was her best bet. Though he did sometimes seem ever so slightly bewildered that she actively sought out his company at times, but she also expected that if he didn’t want her to sit with him that he’d tell her to fuck off and as long as he didn’t explicitly tell her that, she would continue sitting with him in silence like this.

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 5

Hello all, here is the second to last section of Midnight Striga, episode 4! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

“GET DOWN!” Luz screamed, diving towards Boscha. As the two crashed to the ground, the savaging claws just barely skimmed overhead. With a roar of fury, the Owl Beast rounded on them, murder just barely visible in its Pitch-Black eyes. As King desperately waved them towards the hallway, Luz tried to crack a joke, nervous fright bleeding into her voice. “Huh, guess that kids’ story turned out to be true, eh Boscha?”

“I Really Wish It Wasn’t!!” Boscha yelled, naked fright burning through her voice.

“Less talking, and more running!” King shouted, running up beside them as fast as his legs could carry him.

“SHRRRRRRIIIIIIIAIAAAAAAAAKKKKKKK!!!” The Owl Beast roared behind them, the sound of its talons digging into the wood of the floor as it closed in, sending chills down their spines. As the Beast’s footfalls pulled closer, Luz spared a glance back. The Beast was soaring through the air, talons raised to slash through them.

“Shit!” Luz bit out. Raising her hand, she quickly cast. “Quick Flash!” A burst of light bloomed in front of the Owl Beast’s eyes, prompting it to roar in pain as its sensitive sight was assaulted. As it crashed to the ground, it frantically wiped and scraped at its eyes, desperately trying to clear them. When its vision returned, its prey had vanished. It roared in rage. Snuffling, the Beast stalked around, ready to attack at the first sign of the intruders who had dared to disturb its home. Hiding in one of the nearby closets, the three let out sighs of relief as the sound of the Owl Beast went off into the distance.

“Okay, so,” Boscha breathed. “Just what the heck was that!?”

“You tell us, seeing as how you described that curse.” King huffed, trying to disguise his shaking at the close brush with death the three had received.

“I didn’t think it was real!” Boscha retorted, flailing her arms in the crowded room.

“Why would you think that!?” King exclaimed.

“It’s not the kind of thing you really expect to be real, I mean seriously, a curse from the Titan!? Please!!”

“Well we might not be stuck in a closet if you had mentioned this earlier!”

“Excuse me!?”

“Quiet!!” Luz hissed, grabbing the bickering duo by their ears, much to their mutual pain, particularly when she twisted. “We. Do. Not. Have time for this!” She muttered as low as she could, releasing the two. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down, and she wasn’t sure she actually managed it. “Okay, look. This is a very bad situation. Eda has apparently turned into a freaking Owl Beast, and we need to do three things: 1) figure out how and why she turned, 2) subdue her so she can’t keep trying to kill us, and 3) find a way to turn her back so we don’t have to worry about keeping her bound. Agreed?”

“”Agreed.”” The two echoed, both sharing looks of mixed fear and determination.

“Alright then,” Luz said, putting on a confident expression, while internally squealing in relief that they listened. “Let’s make a plan.”

They hungered. It was not unusual; they always hungered when awakened. Once more, they found themselves bound. This time, the binding was less… infuriating. They were bound within the not-tree/nest/den that the shell called their own. They growled. This was not THEIR home. They were an outsider, but the shell acknowledged this place, thus it was acceptable.

They sniffed, growling at the scents of invaders. Those who would bind/capture/restrain them. They would be eliminated. They prowled forward, claws digging into the not-tree dead-wood-flesh beneath them. They would not be caught by surprise again. The bright-flash-with-bang was painful, but not impossible to defeat. The one-who-danced-with-light they saw in the shell’s dreams was skilled, but could not challenge their might.

They screeched in fury. Once more, oppressors attempted to steal their freedom. Unacceptable. They sniffed. One of their prey was nearby!! But where!?

With a growl, the Owl Beast shook its head, trying to track down the source of the scent. Unbeknownst to the fierce beast, it’s target was actually creeping along the ceiling, right behind it. Boscha tightened the handholds she had gotten in the ceiling, internally begging for her fingers to stay strong. ‘How did I let myself get talked into this!?’ She worried.

“Wait a minute, you want ME to spy on that thing!?” Boscha incredulously demanded.

“I’m wondering about that myself.” King said. “I mean, I hate to say it, but I am smaller than her, wouldn’t it make me harder to see?”

“You are smaller,” Luz conceded, before her gaze sharpened. “But Boscha is an athlete; out of all of us, she most likely has the best stamina for getting to safety if caught. Besides,” She smiled, giving Boscha a wink. “I believe in her.”

‘Oh yeah,’ she deadpanned, ‘that’s how.’ Dang it, being praised was gonna end up being a weakness for her now, wasn’t it? Ah well, at least she stayed out of the Beast’s sight. Silently sighing, Boscha crept after the Beast as quickly as she dared. She had to keep the Beast in her sight at all times, and if it looked like it caught wind of what was happening upstairs, she was to make a big racket to distract it, and then break for cover. And, if necessary…

‘I always have my… flames to fall back on.’ She mused internally, holding back a shudder at the thought of those bloody flames. No, she had no room in her heart and soul for doubt right now. No matter what, if she needed to use those flames, she would. The alternative was one she refused to accept.

“If everything goes to crap, make a break for it and run away.” Luz bluntly stated.

“What!?” Boscha just barely kept from shouting.

“Luz?” King trepidatiously asked.

Luz gave her small friend a sad smile, and ruffled his head. “Out of the three of us, she’s the only one who can reliably survive the rain. Odds are, this will end one way or another far before it stops.” She sighed, fixing Boscha with a stern look. “That’s why I’m saying, if only one of us can get away, it should at least be the person who will survive getting through the barrier. Make a break for it, and live, you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Boscha said numbly. “I hear you.”

‘Sorry Luz,’ Boscha internally focused her resolve. ‘I’m not going to keep that promise.’

Luz huffed, feeling like she had just been defied for some reason, as she and King silently crept through the rooms, looking for any sign as to what could have caused Eda’s transformation. After a few false starts, they eventually found themselves in Eda’s room. Luz just stared in dumbfounded disbelief. “Wow.” She quietly muttered. “She actually sleeps in a nest.”

“Yeah.” King quietly added. “With the whole ‘turning into an Owl Beast’ thing, it makes a lot more sense.”

“Same with the attraction to shiny objects.” Luz mused.

“And eating small rodents at night!” King laughed.

The two shared a quiet chuckle, picking through Eda’s nest/bed, and while they found a lot of strange bones, including a disturbingly complete humanoid skeleton, and a miniature mountain of shiny bits and bobs, they hadn’t found anything that could be considered a source for her present state. Holding in a growl, the only thing keeping Luz from thumping her head against the wall was the knowledge that it would draw the Owl Beast’s attention. “Let’s go King, I think this is a bust.” Luz muttered softly.

“No!” King insisted. “I’m sure we can find something, we just have to keep looking!”

“I don’t know King,” Luz muttered sorrowfully. “It really doesn’t look like there’s anything here. Come on, let’s try another-” She cut off, her eyes drawn to the slight opening of the closet. It was a long shot, but it just might work. “Scratch that, King. Let’s check one last thing, then we head to the next room.” With that said, she headed for the closet. King followed behind, grumbling but accepting her decision, knowing he wouldn’t be able to out-stubborn her.

Opening the closet, Luz scanned it’s contents, panning her vision up and down, before catching sight of an glowing bottle filled with an orange liquid. Bringing it up to eye level, she slowly read out the tag affixed to it. “A potion a day keeps the curse at bay…” She muttered. Turning wide eyes towards King, she said, “This must be how she’s kept the curse under wraps!”

“Yeah!” King agreed. “But, why didn’t she take one today?”

Luz’s mind flashed back to the events of earlier today; when Eda sorted through the massive pile of Lacrimas she had accumulated, something that took upwards of four hours to complete, and when she pushed herself to set up the barrier against the rain. Luz grimaced. “I have a pretty good idea.” An ear-splitting scream cut through the air. “”Boscha!!”” The two exclaimed, abandoning subtlety to race towards the commotion.

They were growing annoyed. No matter where they went, they could not find the intruder. It was very aggravating. They growled, spitting to the side. How could the intruder avoid them so completely? It was impossible. They were apex, a beast beyond the limits of what could normally be challenged, let alone avoided when hunting. It made no sense! Where could the intruder be…? They were not found on the ground, not in the smaller dens riddling the not-tree/nest/den, so how could it avoid them? Unless… pricking their ears, a faint noise came through. The faint sound… of a heartbeat. They bared their fangs.

Boscha was worried. The Beast was just standing there, panting lightly. Could it have…? No, that was crazy, no way this thing was smart enough to try and trap her!! Still, better to be cautious. ‘After all,’ Boscha mused darkly, ‘being reckless is ultimately what got Skara hurt. If I had never gone after Luz that night, I never would’ve gotten that stupid Lacrima, and never gone crazy.’ Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Boscha relaxed her hands and wrists, ready to start casting the instant the Beast made a move.

Without making a sound, she slowly crept closer to the doorway, ready to spring into action. She turned her head for just a second… and blinding pain surged through her side. With a shriek, she jumped as hard as she could, feeling the talons exit the newly formed wound in her side. Biting back a curse, she crashed to the ground, blood oozing underneath her fingers as she stared at the Beast, which was clearly staring back. Its teeth were bared, its nostrils flared and scenting, the movements of its head clearly showing it was tracking her visually as well. The twitch of its ears drew her eye. Was her noise how it had caught her?

They gurgled, pleased they had managed to wound the intruder. It was a youngling of this Land’s dominant race. How amusing. With a shriek, they closed the distance between themselves and the intruder, her scent reeking of fear. She twirled her hands… With a shriek, they pulled back as the bright light burned before them. That little rat!! How did she threaten them with the light!? Howling in rage, they chased after the wretch. They would savor the taste of her blood upon their tongue for such an insult.

Bouncing off of the walls as platforms to propel themselves forward, they chased after the soon-to-be-dead youngling. They would grudgingly admit, they found her tenacity admirable, were she not trying to bind them again. With a pleased roar, they leapt into the air, ready to rip and tear… why was the youngling showing joy?

“Eat Boiling Rain, you dumb bird!” Boscha shouted, jumping to the side. The Owl Beast howled past, crashing through the window and part of the wall from the force of its jump. Internally, she felt guilt at putting the Beast through something like that, but it would at least slow it down-

With a roar, the Beast hurled itself back inside using the talon it managed to keep clinging to the floor.

-Scratch that, she had just delayed it for a few seconds, and probably annoyed it.

“Demon King’s Rocking Roar!” A familiar voice screamed. Boscha barely had time to cover her ears, for all the good it did, as a solid mass of sound slammed into the Owl Beast, prompting it to scream in agony. Boscha felt a twinge of sympathy; she was fully aware of how painful King’s magic was for those with sensitive hearing. While the Beast was distracted, she rushed over to King and Luz who were waving her over.

“Guys!” She cheered. “Did you find something!?”

“Yeah, we did!” Luz said, giving her a quick hug, which honestly left her feeling… weird. She wasn’t used to hugs. Luz gave her a crooked grin. “We honestly found it just before we heard your scream. A second earlier, we’d have probably taken off without.” She opened her hand, showing off the potion inside.

“A Curse-Suppression Potion… of course!” Boscha exclaimed. “That’s how she keeps it in check, and keeps from turning into that thing- Gah!” She yelped as pain flared throughout her side.

“Boscha!” Luz shouted worriedly, looking at her side. “What happened!?”

Boscha grimaced. “It figured out how to track me.” She glanced back at the Beast, wondering how long they had until King had to drop the spell; when he let it down, it would be up to Luz and herself to get this potion down the Beast’s throat. “I’m not sure how, but it got to me, and slashed at my ribs.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Luz deadpanned, looking over the wound. “It’s kind of weird, this injury isn’t as deep as it should be, and it’s not bleeding anywhere near as bad as you’d expect. How’s the pain?”

Boscha blinked, it finally clicking into place how odd the fact the wound had phased her so little was. “Honestly, not much at all.” She gently brushed the gash. “That is weird.”

Luz snorted. “I guess we can add hard to injure to your list of Devil Slayer powers.”

Boscha chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I guess we can!” She was still incredibly uncomfortable with the whole ‘Devil Slayer’ thing, but if it came with benefits like this, she’d try not to let it get to her.

Luz grew serious. “Okay, King’s going to have to drop his spell any moment now, and then we’ve got what has to be at least a ton of Owl Beast bearing down on us. Are you ready?”

Boscha grinned with a confidence she wasn’t sure was fake. “I was born ready.”

The Beast shrieked, King having tapped out and released it. It charged them.

“Then let’s go!!” Luz shouted, jumping into the fray, Boscha joining her with a shout.

[thepandapopo]

His Star - Chapter 2: Proposals

Can I get this out before midnight? who knows. But I’m determined to at least bang this chapter out in one sitting because it was Claude’s birthday yesterday damn it and I told myself that for his birthday, I would post at least 2 chapters to this fic, bake him a cake, and have a perfect tea time with myself.

So far everything has been accomplished except for the second chapter. so HERE WE GO.

Pairing: Claude x F!Byleth

In which Claude proposes a vacation to Byleth which may or may not be stress free, and may or may not include going back to Almyra with him so that he can court her properly. 

OR

The one where Claude schemes to take his star home so that he can finally get started on his plans to make an honest woman out of her... and also get his parents off his back.

Chapter List

1 / 2 / 2.5  

Masterlist

If you would like to be added to a tag list whenever I update, please let me know!

XxXxXxXxX 

Of all the things Claude expected to come back to, Byleth falling off a cliff was not one of them.

In fact, after the first time he watched her fall off a cliff following the Battle of Garreg Mach, he never wanted to see it ever again. So when he was faced with his greatest fear for the second time - no no no, she couldn’t leave him again - he had not hesitated to throw caution to the wind and abandon his position at the head of his army. He had dug his heels into Zahra’s flank and as always, the white wyvern was on the same page as her master, flying faster than she had ever flown before towards the falling queen.

Claude was used to any physical contact with Byleth feeling electric, like little shocks of pleasure shooting from his nerves and sending shivers down his spine, but when he caught her in his arms, he was alarmed by how hot her skin felt even through the thick leather of his gloves.

It was clear that Byleth was ill. Extremely ill. And yet she pushed herself to her very limits, standing at the front lines with her soldiers to show them that no matter what, she was with them because she believed in a world of peace.

She believed in his dream.

Suddenly, the fear that gripped his heart mere moments ago gives way to a fiery hot rage that burns through his body.

Byleth has done enough for Fodlan. She has fought countless battles, pushed her body to the very limits, and even carried the burden of having the powers of a goddess (”Teach, you’re joking, right? What do you mean you can turn back time?” “It is exactly what I said, Claude.”).

And now these stragglers and remnants of the Imperial army and Those Who Slither in the Dark come once more to try and revive their warped plans?

There are many things that Byleth deserves, Claude thinks, and being able to lay in bed recovering from a cold without worrying about crazy delusional dark mages is probably near the top of that list.

So when the newly crowned King finally makes it to Marianne and entrusts his secret fiance to her care, he no longer has his usual mask of cheerful indifference. Instead, storm clouds roil and darken his visage, verdant eyes sharp and blazing with cold, calculating determination.

Claude doesn’t remember how many enemies he shoots down that day. But he does know that it isn’t enough to quell the fury that simmers beneath his skin.

----

It is four days after the battle before Byleth finally regains consciousness.

Much to his chagrin, Claude is not there by her side when she rejoins the land of the conscious. In the aftermath of the battle, he resolves to step up and help Byleth with some of her duties while she is recovering. Which is exactly how Claude has found himself in the middle of a dreadfully exasperating conversation with Count Gloucester going over resource allocation for the umpteenth time. Thankfully, the servant chooses this time to burst through the door with the news.

“Your majesty!! She’s awake!”

The words are barely registering in his brain before he is moving, hastily throwing half-hearted apologies towards the clearly disgruntled Count, and rushing out the door.

He makes it to her room in record time. And he knows this because he has timed how long it takes to get to her room from any location in the castle, just in case he needs to get to her quickly.

Sitting upright against a mountain of pillows and bathed in the sunlight from the open terrace doors, Byleth is a vision for sore eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak and cannot help but slip back into the playful banter that he is so used to.

“Teach, we really gotta talk about you and cliffs. I don’t think it’s working out in your favor.”

Claude distantly wonders if maybe he should have said something more romantic, or even just a simply inquiry about her health, but those options don’t sit right with him.

She loves him for who he is, and that includes his old habits and light quips.

She is staring at him like he is a ghost, and really, he cannot blame her. The bed sinks a little with his weight and he reaches out to brush a stray lock of mint so that he can see those beautiful eyes that he missed so dearly. 

It has been a long six and a half months since he left her at the top of the Goddess Tower. Probably even more shocking yet, he has since ascended the Almyran throne and that feat itself is quite evident from the brightly coloured and extravagant robes that he now dons on a daily basis.

“What’s the matter, Teach? Cat got your- oof!”

She crashes into him without warning and he is immediately reminded of how solidly built she actually is. Byleth is a fighter first and foremost, after all. Claude should have known that a few months behind a desk tending to paperwork wouldn’t have been enough to deteriorate the wall of lean muscle she has built over years of mercenary work.

“I... You... you’re really here?”

Oh, Goddess. He has missed her voice.

His arms snake around her, one coming to a rest across her lower back, pulling her smaller form closer to him as the other hand snakes its way into her hair. 

Lips against her temple, he gifts her with a gentle kiss before humming his reply against her skin.

“I am, my love. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

Neither of them can bring themselves to separate, not when this moment feels so much like a dream that could dissolve at any second. Instead, they trade quiet whispers of affection that do not even come close to reflecting the longing and yearning they have experienced since they parted ways.

The sun is beginning to fall below the horizon by the time they manage to pull apart for longer than a heartbeat. Byleth has long since scooted over and pulled Claude under the covers so that they can lay side by side rather than perched uncomfortably at the edge of her bed.

He lets out a pleasant hum when her fingers begin carding through his hair, slender fingers parting his thick brown hair and smoothing it down the back of his head.

“So...” 

He knows that tone. He’s been on the receiving end of it multiple times, mostly back in his schooldays when she catches him red handed with a vial of his latest experiment uncorked and ready to pour into someone’s meal.

“King now, is it?”

“Er... yeah.” He ignores the urge to scratch his neck sheepishly and opts to bury his face in her shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of blade oil and jasmine that is unique to Byleth.

“King Khalid.”

Ah crap.

He lifts his sheepish expression to meet her narrowed eyes, “By, you have to believe me when I say I was going to tell you. But I had to sort a lot of things out first.” 

He brings their hands up under the fading sunlight and verdant eyes shift to look at their intertwined fingers.“You know already that I am part Almyran. And I told you before I left that I had some...royal connections -”

“I believe you described them as ‘insignificant’.” As usual, her memory and mind are as sharp as her sword and he knows that he cannot weasel his way out of this situation.

“Haha... did I say that? I mean, even though technically I was the crown Prince, it’s not like I was guaranteed the throne. Almyrian traditions are a bit different than here in Fodlan.”

He’s half expecting her to throw another quip back at him about another one of the ways he’s botched this whole thing up, but to his surprise, she merely stares at him with those unwavering green eyes and nods for him to continue.

It’s now or never. He may not have been able to be completely truthful with her before, but now those obligations and promises that veiled his truths no longer bind him.

So he tells her. He tells her about his mother and how she made him promise to keep his identity a secret. He tells her about his promise to his father that he would return home to put his name in the running for the throne when it was time for his father to step down. He tells her about the fights and trials that he had to go through to beat out all the other contenders to prove his strength and abilities as a leader and King. And finally, he tells her of how he took the title of King of Almyra and how it took several weeks for him to get everything under control, only to get intelligence that Those Who Slither in the Dark were plotting one last stand, and how he barely had time to muster his army and march at full speed to make it to her side in time.

When he is finished, Byleth is silent and for a moment, he fears that perhaps it is all too much for her. There is a nasty voice in his heart of hearts, quiet though it may be, that whispers that maybe she has decided that she no longer wants to be with him because how can she trust a man whose real name she didn’t even know?

When he finally musters enough courage to meet her eyes again, his heart does a funny little flop in his chest and the back of his eyes burn with the familiar sting of tears.

Byleth may not be a woman of many words, but the firm squeeze of his hand and steady, soft gaze says everything he needs to know.

I understand. And I love you.

He wheezes out a chuckle and brings her hand to his lips, kissing the digits almost reverently. “I wanted to tell you before I proposed to you, but I needed to honor the promises I made to Mother and Baba. Trust me when I say the first thing I did when I went home was ask them to relieve me of those burdens.”

“Did...did they ask why?” Her voice is hesitant, even as the question leaves her tongue.

Goddess, just once he would like to be able to pull the wool over her eyes, but as usual, Teach is sharp on the uptake and Claude really cannot get anything by her.

He reaches up to finger the emerald ring hanging from a silver chain around her neck, dragging out the silence as long as possible before giving the answer he knows she is dreading.

“I maaaay have told them that I had a certain special someone in mind that I wanted to introduce them to...” His sentence trails off into laughter as he watches the horror creep into his beloved’s expression.

Byleth Eisner. The Ashen Demon. The first leader of the United Kingdom of Fodlan. The Hero of Fodlan.

Claude finds it hilarious that the woman he loves can carry such daunting titles and face an army head on with no fear, but is absolutely terrified of the idea of meeting her future in-laws.

“Khalid-” he likes the way his real name sounds coming from her lips, even if it is a horrified gasp. “-I can’t. I don’t even know what to do! I’m not a noble and I don’t know anything about etiquette on meeting royalty from a foreign country, much less your parents.”

“Aww, don’t worry Teach! You’ll be perfectly fine, just like when you joined the Alliance Round Table for the first time.” He winks at her, biting his cheek to stop the laughter that is threatening to bubble over.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I also have a country to run. One that you so gladly dumped on my lap before escaping across Fodlan’s Throat.”

She must be desperate now if she is willing to hide behind her duties.

“Not to fret, my dear.” He leans over to place a chaste peck on the tip of her nose, flashing her his signature wink and grin afterwards. “I’ve already cleared it with Seteth. After all, it was the stress from the non stop work that caused you to fall ill in the first place, right? I simply proposed that you could take a month or two off from your duties to relax and recover from your injuries-”

“-I have no injuries-”

“-and maybe come back with me to Almyra for a little vacation.”

While she doesn’t officially reject his proposition, he does receive her reluctant acceptance in the form of several pillows being chucked unceremoniously at his head.

XxXxXxXxX

I’M TERRIBLE AT WRITING ENDINGS. I promise I’ll come back later to fix this one up too. 

Hope you all liked chapter 2!!

Note: I did NOT get this out before midnight. It is currently 1:56AM.

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[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex! 

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.  

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.  

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans?  What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

**

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

**

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least.  Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle.  The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.  

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

**

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.