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lifeofkaze · 4 years ago

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An Art of Balance #5

A/N: That one was tough. I have never written something with so much physical action before, and I had to rewrite a huge chunk of it until I finally felt happy with it. Describing sports is really tough, as it turns out. Also, KC belongs to the wonderful @kc-needs-coffee who lets me to a little cameo once in a while 😊 Enjoy!

Word Count: ~ 3.100 (oops)

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Chapter 5: Back Home

A persistent rumour among the students was that Professor Binns had altered the clock in his classroom, back when he had been still alive. It was said, he did so to allow him to delve more minutely into every little detail of his subject he wished his students to remember.

If he hadn’t known any better, Orion could have sworn it was true.

He absentmindedly ran his quill through his fingers, trying his best to take in Professor Binns’s droning voice in what was their last class of the day. Orion glanced around the classroom. He estimated about half of the students were daydreaming about the upcoming weekend. The other half was fast asleep.

His gaze wandered out of the window. He could just make out the Quidditch pitch up ahead in the distance. The banners on top of the stands were swaying in a gentle breeze. He could feel it lightly brush his face from where he sat near the open window. It brought with it the pleasant warmth of a late summer afternoon.

Orion shuffled in his seat. He could feel his entire body brim with energy. The restlessness he felt had been bubbling under his skin for the last few days. He was itching to get back on his broomstick and to feel the wind on his face as he sped through the air.

This was what he had missed most during the summer break. When not at Hogwarts, he had no access to a broomstick, let alone people to fly with. Although Orion prided himself on always being grateful for what the universe had chosen to bestow on him, he sometimes he couldn’t help feeling envious of people like Skye. They could practise what they loved to their heart’s content, whenever or wherever they wished to.

He could feel McNully nudging him into his side. “There are only 23 minutes and 35 seconds left to his torment. 30 seconds as we speak,” he whispered.

Orion tore his gaze from the silhouette of the Quidditch pitch and turned to better face him. “Excuse me?”

McNully pointed at his now worse for wear looking quill. “You have been running your hand over this quill fourteen times in the last twenty minutes. In the last 45 minutes you have been staring out of the window seven times, with an average duration of five minutes. You have not been able to play Quidditch for 76 days in a row. And to add a personal note, tapping your foot excessively like that gives off an impatient expression and is rather annoying as well.”

Orion only now noticed his foot was indeed lightly tapping against the leg of table. He stopped.

“Sometimes I find your habit of observing your surroundings as meticulously as you do worrying, my friend.”

McNully shrugged, a carefree grin showing on his face. “What do you expect? I’m a commentator. I observe things and I comment on them. That is what I do.”

Orion had to grin at that. “It is indeed.”

He propped his head onto his hand, staring at the clock mounted above Professor Binns’s head. “I wouldn’t call it impatient, though. More like eager. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

McNully had started doodling onto his parchment, drawing tiny snitches between his notes. “Call it what you want, it doesn’t change what it is.”

Orion contemplated his words. “I agree. The appearance of the shell cannot change the core of things.”

He could see the confusion forming on McNully’s face. “I’m about 34 % sure that is what I said.”

Only a few hours later, Orion felt himself unable to wipe the grin off his face. He stood in the middle of his beloved Quidditch pitch, the sun warming the back of his yellow robes. The unmistakable smell of grass, wood warmed by the sunlight and broom wax made him feel almost intoxicated.

Most of his team had already taken to the sky. They were getting back into the swing of things, darting around the pitch, doing turns and dives. Even down here, the joy they radiated was contagious. Everyone was wild with excitement to finally be back.

“And here is Parkin with a triple backwards flip. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a move to be watched! But what is this? Parkin is challenged to a race around the pitch by Jameson! Which Chaser can push their Comet’s limits further? There is a 92,4 % chance we are going to find out!”

He stifled a laugh. Of course McNully was here to commentate on their first friendly of the season. Orion hadn’t been the only one antsy to get back to business.

His attention shifted to the group of tense looking students stood in front of him.

Orion had carefully selected a few Hufflepuffs that were known to be skilled flyers. Every one of them had the potential to fill the vacant spot on their House’s team. He had already been thoroughly testing them, before admitting them to a practise with the other players. They had all passed his balancing test. Now it was time for them to prove themselves in action.

When he saw the reserve players arriving on the field, he mounted his broomstick.

“Now, my friends, is the time. The quest to become one of the pillars the building that is the Hufflepuff team is built upon is almost complete for one of you. For our new Beater to be revealed, we will have to see how you fare in a real match situation.”

He raised his arm, calling his teammates down to his side. “We will divide into two teams and play for a bit before switching things up. Good luck to all of you.” He inclined his head towards the contestants, some of them looking positively sick with nerves. “May this division serve to bring us unison.”

He unlocked the trunk resting at his feet and watched first the Snitch and then the Bludgers shoot up into the air. Picking up the Quaffle, he pushed himself off the ground.

“Let’s play.”

If returning to Hogwarts had him feel like being home, tearing up and down the pitch made Orion feel like he truly belonged here. In contrast to the hectic movements unfolding around him, playing Quidditch granted him unparalleled focus, similar to nothing else. All that mattered was the moment at present, nothing before, nothing after.

He had taken himself back from the game playing out in front of him to better watch the students competing for the open position. Jason Everett, a rather loud and braggy guy, was one of the competitors he had chosen. He was sharing the dorm with Orion and McNully and Orion had never been able to form a real connection with him. To his surprise, however, he was showing great promise.

He decided to take the challenge up a bit. Putting himself on the same team as Lizzie and Skye, he wanted Everett to compete against a full set of Chasers for the second half of the match.

It wasn’t until flying with Skye and Lizzie by his side that he fully realised how much he had missed this. He felt like sheer life was running through his veins.

Although they hadn’t seen each other since the end of last year, it took them only a few manoeuvres to regain the unmatched unison the Hufflepuff team had grown reputed for. They had managed to create a bond between the three of them that didn’t require any words.

He felt this connection especially with Lizzie, allowing them to move almost as one when attacking the opposite goalposts. Throwing the Quaffle back and forth between them, it was no easy feat to stop them from scoring.

With Skye, it was different.

They had played together even longer than he and Lizzie. If there was harmony with her, it was all friction with Skye. The two of them were entertaining completely different beliefs on what Quidditch stood for and how it should be approached. As a result, they regularly clashed, on the pitch and off.

Contrary to what most people would think, the tension between them had never worn him down. Like a static charge, the constant challenge Skye Parkin posed to him acted as an energiser. Discussing strategic matters with her had never failed to give Orion new perspectives outside of his own thinking patterns.

“Here is what we all have been waiting for, my honoured spectators. Now, we are getting serious!” McNully was giving it his all in the commentary box, clearly relishing the first friendly of his not-so-secret favourite team.

“Amari and Parkin are on the hunt for the Quaffle, Jameson’s broken out of formation. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we are about to see the Parkin’s family pinching signature move! Watch this! The Chaser is flanked by Amari and Parkin. This is not looking good, ladies and gentlemen, if I were in possession of that Quaffle I would seriously be worried right now. Oh, and there we have it! Jameson makes expert use of her Comet’s impressive speed and pulls up from underneath her opponent, forcing her to either let go of the Quaffle or her broomstick. Parkin relieves her of the Quaffle, using her broom’s patented Horton-Keitch Braking Charm to drift around, racing to the other side of the pitch, Jameson overtaking her and Amari close by her side.”

Lizzie was diverging from the path he and Skye flew on, preparing to round and get behind the other team’s attacking Chasers, allowing Skye to pass the Quaffle to her at the last moment. They had used this strategy numerous times and it had seldomly failed them.

“Parkin sets herself up to score. Or is she letting Jameson have the advantage? We might never find out as Everett, hot contestant for the vacant Beater position, aims his Bludger directly at Parkin. This might get ugly!”

McNully was right. Everett had hit his Bludger straight towards them. It rushed towards Skye at a fast pace. Orion shouted a warning, but she had already seen it coming. She waited for a moment, dodging the Bludger at the last second before passing the Quaffle on to Lizzie, who made short work of the Keeper.

“And Jameson scores! That’s ten points for her team and an impressive show of flying skills from Parkin if I may add.”

Orion nodded contentedly before turning around and chasing after the Quaffle again. Lizzie and Skye both didn’t seem to have lost their fire. They were in good form.

Despite himself, he liked the potential Everett was showing. He wasn’t nearly the Beater they had lost, but he had foundations they could build upon. When Lizzie had needed to fill in for Bean a seasons ago, he and McNully had made a more than capable Beater out of her in a shorter amount of time.

His mind was taken off his thoughts when he saw a yellow flash dart past him. It was their Seeker Lucy, who had spotted the Snitch hovering just underneath the railing of the Slytherin stand. The other Seeker had seen it as well and both were racing towards it.

“Both Seekers appear to have spotted the Golden Snitch. Catching it would reward their team with additional 150 points. We’re talking the winning catch of this game here! O’Connell utilises the advanced speed of her broom, but Miller has less ground to cover! Both are nearing the Snitch at high speed, if no one slows down, we had better alert Madam Pomfrey. But no, no! O’Connell takes the absolute last out of her broomstick. She secures the Snitch and her team’s victory!”

Orion saw Lucy raise her arm in triumph, the wings of the tiny golden ball beating frantically against her palm.

Everybody was steering their brooms towards the ground, clapping Lucy on the back. Orion landed beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“That was magnificent catch, Lucy, well done.” He turned towards the other players that had gathered around them and raised his voice. “Although Lucy secured the win for her team, all of us have won today. As we were competing against each other, we were competing against ourselves. Overcoming what’s inside us makes us stronger, and lets us grow closer as one team.”

“One team!” everybody shouted what had gradually become their motto, raising their broomsticks up in the air.

Orion turned towards the contestants. “Watching you play, I have been able to gain insight to the path that lies ahead of us. I will contemplate which one of you will get the chance to balance our team. I will let you know my conclusion when it is time.”

“And that would be when?” Everett asked impatiently.

Orion tilted his head and smiled placidly. “The time has come when the time has come. And the time is not now.”

A mix of confusion and frustration on his face, Everett left them standing and headed for the changing rooms. Orion had seen this look countless times before. New players always needed time to grow accustomed to his ways.

He was already going over the contestants’ performances in his mind when McNully rolled onto the pitch and joined his side.

“Brilliant match! The way I see it, you and Gryffindor are pretty evenly matched this season. I announced them the day before yesterday. If you keep up the form and choose a capable second Beater, that is. I calculated the odds and I would say Jason Everett has the best chance of fitting in, he is fast and has suitable strength. His aim is not the best though, 31,6 % of his Bludgers missed their mark.”

McNully’s eyes lit up. “I know just which one of my playbooks he needs. He will never miss his target again.”

Orion quickly filtered the information his friend had been spewing at him. He was right. Everett was far from ideal, but which player was when they started out fresh? They were like rough diamonds, waiting to be cut and polished until ready to shine.

“Can a Bludger really miss its target, though? Or is it the Beater that misjudges the path the Bludger is meant to be taken?” he mused.

“Whatever it is, I am glad this particular Bludger’s path was not destined to end in Skye’s face.” Lizzie and Skye were approaching them, their brooms resting on their shoulders.

Skye scoffed at her words. “As if it could have hit me. I had things under control. It takes more than that to bring a Parkin down.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “He is no Erika Rath, for sure, but it was good enough for a beginner, I would wager.”

Skye’s face darkened. “Don’t remind me of her. It has been such a beautiful day so far.”

“You will have to deal with her rather sooner than later. Ravenclaw is set as your first match in two months’ time. And from what I have seen so far, their Beaters are still the best Hogwarts has to offer.” McNully’s voice had a dreamy touch to it, making Lizzie chuckle.

“We all know you particularly enjoy watching the Ravenclaw Beaters,” she teased with a sweet voice. “Give KC my love, next time you see her, will you?”

“I have no idea, what you are talking about.” His face was blushing a deep scarlet. “I am merely doing my job and keeping my statistics up to date. I’d better get going now.” McNully turned his wheelchair hastily and rolled off quickly.

Orion was giving the snickering girls by his side a scolding look. “You shouldn’t taunt him like that. Our hearts’ desires are out of our power to control.”

“Calm down, Orion, it’s just a bit of fun. He can take that.”

The sun had slowly started setting, the stands casting their elongated shadows across the field. Skye rubbed her neck. “Come on, Liz, let’s get changed and head back to the castle. I’m starving.”

Lizzie hesitated, glancing at Orion for a second. “Go ahead, I’ll be with you in a second.”

Staring at her friend in wonder, Skye shrugged. “Whatever. Make it quick, I won’t wait too long.”

After Skye had left, Orion and Lizzie were alone on the pitch. He watched her staring back at the castle for a moment, the sunlight catching in her golden-brown hair. She seemingly tried to collect herself. He couldn’t deny being curious about what was on her mind.

He smiled openly. “What can I help you with, Lizzie?”

For an instant, Lizzie seemed to look for a way to word her question. She didn’t look him in the eye.

“Uhm, you are quite good at Herbology, aren’t you?” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows. “Being in balance with oneself brings you closer to nature. If you listen closely, the plants can tell you what they need.”

She sighed. “I take that as a ‘yes’.” She ran her fingers over the smooth handle of her broomstick, still not looking at him, her shoulders unusually tense. “Would you mind helping me studying?”

He tried to hide his surprise. “You need a tutor? Professor Sprout regularly fills me in on the academic progress of our team’s members. She never mentioned you struggling.”

“I haven’t so far,” Lizzie replied quickly. “But I had a look at the curriculum for this year. It’s really tough, and I don’t want to mess up my O.W.L.s because of a plant biting my finger off.”

It still struck him as odd, but Lizzie was his friend. He wouldn’t let her down if she sought his help. “I’ll be glad to guide you through your curriculum, as long as you desire my help.”

Finally Lizzie met his eyes, obviously relieved. “Thank you, I appreciate this a lot.” She suddenly seemed to remember something. “Can my friend Rowan come, too?”

His surprise turned into confusion. “Rowan Khanna is struggling with a subject?”

“Well, she is a perfectionist.” Lizzie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A strand of hair had come out of her ponytail and she impatiently tucked it behind her ear. She was radiating a nervous energy Orion had never seen on her before.

“Of course, bring her. I’ll talk to Professor Sprout about using the greenhouse and let you know the details, is that alright?”

All of a sudden, Lizzie seemed much calmer. She sighed with relief, a smile forming on her face. “Brilliant. See you in the Common Room.”

With that, she spun around and quickly left. Now alone on the pitch, Orion stared after her and wondered what in Godric’s name that had been about.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #orion x mc #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #art of balance #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #quidditch squad #the quidditch squad #quidditch

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border-spam · 4 years ago

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Leech Lord - HC dump

Been a while!

Siren wings aren't physical -mostly-, they have no heft or real weight to them and aren't "real" objects that exist within the same space as their owners. The wings are more manifestations of power, the visualisation of the Siren's concentrated energy. They don't fly with them, they aren't actually doing anything generally, any movement a Siren performs while their wings are visible is due to expending their power - hovering, levitating etc, it's not the wings displacing air.

To the touch they'd feel like... the warm static on front of an old TV screen, a tingling buzz of resistance you can pass through but feel like you shouldn't. They feel very off, other, it would be hard to experience one brush through your body and not carry some kind of creeping dread for a few hours after that part of it was still inside your chest cavity somewhere.

The forms they take on aren't related to their Siren Powers at all, the great sources don't care or even know when their powers are being used by a host, they aren't making decisions over things as removed from their sphere of concern as fucking wings, Siren wings are extensions of self. They represent how that Siren see's who they really are, in one way or another.

Amara hardens hers into solid fists, powerful muscle shaped into a protective cage or battering onslaught. They flex and posture in a display of raw physical power behind her back.

Lilith's burn everything she touches, friends, enemies, they destroy and warp reality around them. They don't belong anywhere, and they do more harm than good.

Troy's twitchy, skeletal right wing that's stunted and bent in on itself isn't related to his body damage at all... it's how he sees his form. The vile eyes rolling in their sockets and glaring hatred at everything around him that bulge from the pinions of his left aren't being created by The Leech, it's his extension of self, how he understands and translates its power, how he experiences it. He doesn’t know this though, and it's one of the reasons he's disgusted by his wings.

Tyreen is wretchedly proud of her own, the horrific tentacles of energy that rip through her back, but she doesn't understand those aren't the same as other Sirens. Those aren't wings at all, it's The Leech physically manifesting, not a symbol of her own power and control.

If she ever did leech Troy in LL hers would be the stunted, barely visible purple static ones from canon, because Tyreen has barely any sense of self left. There is so little of who she actually is, that her psyche forms... nothing. Sad, pathetic silhouettes that pale in comparison to the memory of her brother's breathtaking wingspan.

The twins don't like leaving Pandora in general, Troy seeing it as a nuisance, and Tyreen not dealing well with traveling on what she considers "cramped" transport vessels. There is also a major element of danger, cosmic space witches don't hold as much weight when the skirmish is outside a planet's atmosphere, and a hull breach doesn't care if you've got magic powers.

Her claustrophobia and issues with feeling caged are one of the reasons Ty leaves so much of the cult's off world business and faction schmoozing to Troy, he's far more comfortable warping in Sanctum with a small escort fleet than she would be knowing she can't leave her ship for 24 hours.

They won't make trips longer than a short jump to a border planet in anything smaller than their flagship, the danger of being swarmed by an ambush is a tad too real, and the COV's main transport is a -massive- cruiser class warship kept in orbit around Pandora. It doesn't have a name, it doesn't need one. Its city dwarfing silhouette of jutting spires and eye burning floodlights that beam from the building sized sockets of skulls scrapped together from the wreckage of enemy ships do more than enough to announce who's vessel this is.

It can transport an army comfortably, and while devoid of Psychos, is filled with rotating shifts of Bandit and engineering crew. It's iconic visuals are due to tireless work of acolytes and pious worshippers who cover the surface while it's resting in orbit, painting neon COV iconography in teams that can take days to finish a single building sized piece, welding spines, blades, screaming rusted skulls and fluorescent light tubes across the massive breadth of its hull.

The thing is a fucking monster in the dark of space, and if it's ripping through a planet's atmosphere alongside thousands of escort gunships decorated in its honor, the surface inhabitants know exactly who has come to claim their fealty.

The lower crewpeople call it "Vae Victus" with some mix of adoration and fear, Troy doesn't like that. Doesn't think things like his warship should have a name, it's beautiful as it is - free and nightmarish, it doesn't need to be described as anything other than the ship.

Tyreen doesn't feel physical attraction to people anymore, and hasn't really realised this. Shes not asexual, the feeling just isn't there, another symptom of The Leech consuming her piece by piece. She gets fiercely, painfully envious of Troy's "time" with willing followers, of the way he doesn't even really react to eager touches along his skin as he lounges sprawled across his throne while they sit in boredom and listen to whatever bullshit the queues forming all the way out of the Cathedral have come to confess, but it's how used to it he is that irks her. How much he takes for granted something she can't have. Tyreen doesn't like not being able to have things. There's a reminder there that she doesn't have the real control she seeks so desperately.

She has extreme issues with feeling trapped in every way, physical, in her environment, in her decision making etc, it's one of the reasons she can't stand being told she's wrong, or that she has to do something, and it all stems from The Leech rather than her.

Troy heals much faster than anyone would expect from someone with so many complex physical issues. He doesn't spend any time thinking about this and genuinely doesn't notice it's a factor, but the man has very few scars. A severe injury that would leave a horrific gash on someone else just seals for him, always has. He pulled a bayonet out of his abdomen just before he crushed that heretic's head in his maw's reveal, and didn't even react. Within a couple of weeks that was just another slight silvery line across the warmth of his ochre skin, and it wouldn't take much longer till it vanished entirely.

It's likely one of the little reasons he's so uncomfortable about the paper thin coverage of the major scarring on his empty right that never healed, it's such a horrible clash against his otherwise unmarred skin to look at, and Troy finds himself often letting his eyes rest absentmindedly on other people's scars, subconsciously comparing against his own, trying to understand if he's as abnormal visually as he believes.

He has a few, scratch marks across his knees from falling a lot as a kid, the indent cuts along the sides of his spine for his rig attachments, but they aren't that noticeable. His throat scars later, they don't heal great. They show for, well, forever, and it takes him a couple of decades to realise that's how it had always worked, that he chose what to keep and what to let heal all along.

He still.. falls a lot as an adult. He stumbles, he has severe moments of weakness that can make him trip to the side and rock down to his knees before he manages to get a hand under himself, and it’s never his right even though he usually falls to that side. He always tries to steady himself with his left, even after years.

For all her bullshittery about being well traveled and street-smart and blah blah blah, Seifa can be shockingly innocent at times with things she's not much experience of. Ven taking her to a track race? Wow. Where do they sit? How do you know when it starts. What happens if that shit goes on fire? Oh VEN that shit IS ON FIRE!! Is it meant to be? Oh whoah. OHHHH.

She's grabby, she's a super tactile person who tries to not touch too much and respect people's boundaries but if she's excited or scared or can see a close friend is hurting, she tends to give in. She'd be hanging off his arm, bouncing in her seat and screaming as the racers roared by, and she'll go back home and talk to JK about it like she's some kind of expert who's been attending them years.

When they do -eventually- stop doing a terrible job of pretending things haven't shifted for them to their friends, her playful nastiness towards Troy only increases. The sparkle in her eye does too though, and you'd have to not know either of them to think it wasn't intensely affectionate. Yeah she rips into him right in front of a chuckling Eli or JK, but he knows the things she whispers tenderly against his throat as she's falling asleep. He knows what it's like to wake up with her fingers loosely entwined in his, knowing she'd taken his hand in the night. He knows how gentle and soft she actually is, so he'll let her make the little digs. It's a good deal, and he's spent enough time around the little shit to know how to spot those.

(Genuinely awful job of hiding things. Ven pointing accusingly at the Troy sized mound and messy black hair desperately trying to hide itself under her duvet she's accidentally let him catch a glimpse of as she INSISTS everything's fine and she just needs five minutes to get her makeup on hey why doesn't he turn on the TV she'll just be a sec yeah she just has to close the bedroom door no don't worry about it pal yeah bye back in a minute etc)

Troy wears his prosthetic so much in public and has had to practice gestures with it so many times, that very rarely he tries to perform a learned gesture while not wearing it and shit goes to hell.

A huffy God King mid argument trying to cross his arms and just... going nowhere with the left as it swings towards the empty bracer, then pretending he did it on purpose while progressively getting redder and closer to a tantrum as the friend he's talking to desperately tries not to laugh.

It's almost all gestures it happens with, his regular movements and functionality are from a lifetime of not having the prosthetic so he's not going to run into any trouble there. He doesn't reach for things with an empty bracer because he automatically always uses his left, but the things he had to learn since Pandora and practice daily so he could look like he was a natural with it?

Those pop into his movements sometimes when he's only in the bracer and are usually a combination of frustrating and very funny.

Things like his physical threat, that's not something that was part of his life before the God King, how to hold himself and twist the massive arm forward while letting the shoulder blades spread for the viewers are things he had to practice and learn. If he's angry and not wearing it he'll sometimes shift into trying to perform the same actions and just looking confused for a second as his side shakes before he blushes and storms away.

If he's sitting lost in a story Ven is telling and starts absent mindedly playing with what's in his hand, he'll sometimes toss it to catch with the right, something he purposefully does in the background of streams to display finesse and strength subtly... cept in Sanctum that means just yeeting the fucking beer can sideways across the room and everyone stopping conversation for a second while he blanches.

Smarmy, stoned Troy getting into a insults chicken match with JK or Sei, grinning ear to ear and flashing a practiced cocky grin before leaning to rest arrogantly against a door frame and just falling into the wall.

It only happens when he's repeating something he's practiced for a persona, so it's a lot less hurtful than it could be for his esteem, but it's still embarrassing and he usually launches straight into being a huffy little asshole directly afterwards ( even if the genuine laughter feels nice in a way)

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #seifa #ven #jak-knife #my hcs #my writing

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momijis-sunglasses · 6 years ago

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so in my post-first-two-episodes-of-furuba glow, I went home and watched the first episode of the 2001 anime again.

hoo boy.

it was FASCINATING.

it’s definitely become a little more common for the same story to receive multiple adaptations. but here we have two first episodes that cover the exact same chapter in the manga, end on the same story hook, and even have plenty of similar shots. but the overall impression and tone is incredibly different between the two. and it’s so revealing for why i’m optimistic about the new anime and have big issues with the 2001 adaptation.

SPOILERS

-the 2019 anime has the huge benefit of knowing the entire story. starting out with a flashback to the bond first being created between god and the animals is a great idea. it gets a hint of the supernatural in there early for new viewers, and it’s giving you a visual metaphor (the ropes aka literal bonds) of one of the key themes of the series. the new anime is being made with the awareness of the rest of the series, and that’ll improve things so much. they’re already really teasing the hat, and even kyo’s beads. it’s nothing too overt, just little nudges at the viewer that serve as a fun thing for existing fans and ways to tease the mystery for new fans.

-the scene where Tohru first finds the house and meets Shigure have very, very similar scripts between both versions. and I wish I had the new version in front of me right now because I can’t provide specific examples of why this is -- but I was left with a much more natural impression from the new version. the directing is just better. I think the 2001 anime has the problem of being too abrupt constantly. it’s like nothing’s given room to breathe. in the new anime, there’s a really nice transition into a flashback (lots of flashbacks in this episode haha) using the wind chime at Shigure’s to one at Tohru and Kyoko’s apartment. and actually going into the apartment gives the whole flashback a better sense of place. this is also where it starts being really apparent how much more static the old anime is. i do think they generally did the best with what they had, but there are more pans over still frames and the characters expressions are usually flat. the new anime is 1000% more dynamic.

-which also contributes to the comedy! there’s the same funny “what do you have in there, a dictionary?”/”two dictionaries” gag in both, but it lands better in the new anime. it’s more background chatter than anything, actually, so it feels more like incidental funny dialogue. like these people just banter and bug each other on the reg. the 2001 anime makes everything more slapstick and over the top, and 2019 tones it back to something more naturalistic. which i’m happy about, because when i think fruits basket, i think dry humor more than anything.

-also! eric vale! i’ve never blamed him for this, but his performance is sooooo much better in the new anime. he was definitely a newer voice actor (like a lot of the cast) when the 2001 anime came out, but I blame a lot of the issues I had with his performance before on the voice directing. there are so many times in the old episode where Yuki sounds straight up creepy. i don’t know if they were going for mysterious, but they didn’t get there that’s for sure. he’s more regular and a bit suave in the new one, which makes sense for this part of the story. yuki’s just like.. a huge improvement between these two versions. I always felt like the director of the 2001 anime didn’t get Yuki at all. like he thought he was actually a prince and also just wanted to make a cool character so girls would swoon and buy merch or w/e. I just want Yuki to get his due as a character, dammit!

-if you haven’t watched the original in a while and have hulu or netflix, fire that shit up because the transition to school is sooooo bad. first the prince yuki fanclub and their weird chant thing... and then uo and hana’s introduction is also super abrupt and we’re just firing through these scenes real fast. the new one has the same events happen, but again, it’s more natural. no weird chant! the prince yuki club has just cornered tohru in a hallway and are berating her. a boy even walks past and is like, “yikes, bullying.” because it totally is! the timing on uo and hana to the rescue is a lot better. and i think because of that, it allows the comedy more time to develop so that’s it’s actually funny and not just confusing. also all three of them feel more like comfortable friends. like we’re witnessing their usual dynamic. since the 2001 director was always going for comedy, it almost feels more like an interrogation in the old version.

-THIS! CHANGE! IS SO IMPORTANT! so the 2001 anime races through tohru telling us why she’s living in a tent. lightspeed. we have time for the prince yuki fan club chant, but we can’t spend too much time establishing the drama of the situation. in the 2001 anime, we transition to a literal slideshow basically recreating panels from the manga while tohru monologues over it about how her mom died in an accident but she wound up with her grandpa and he asks her to go live with a friend for a while. we all know the story. the new anime, on the other hand, transitions to an actual flashback, not a still image, of tohru as a kid balancing a checkbook while she explains how her dad passed away and her mom had a tough time all by herself. it’s really sad! and it’s so much more effective to show her as an actual kid worrying about money stuff and making dinner. they also showed a heap of blood instead of a car hitting a wall to represent kyoko’s death, which... woof. and then we get an actual scene of her grandpa asking her if she can stay with a friend. which, again, gives us more time to actually feel the situation she’s in. but also works so well because he phrases it as an option for her. he says he’s worried she won’t be comfortable stuffed into a small house with a ton of people so she might be happier staying elsewhere for a while. and then tohru, OF COURSE, takes that consideration and goes to live in a tent. the transition (which is different between the two) to tohru cleaning up a storm at her job was also a moment of genuine, sweet comedy.

-yuki talking to tohru on the way home is kind of interesting, since the two adaptations treat it in kind of opposite ways? in the 2001 anime there’s that ~mysterious~ music while he tells her random zodiac facts and then silent tension (which I actually quite like) when he gives her that enigmatic “it’s not that i don’t like all cats” look. in the new one it’s a more normal conversation? like they’re just chatting. and then it turns when she realizes there’s something more to it and the music got pretty intense and there’s A Moment. i think it’s less outright sinister in the new one. seriously, i’m waiting for 2001 yuki to start monologuing about his master plan to take over the earth any time.

-shigure laughing at tohru’s tent is straight up funnier in the new one. the timing is better. also his continued laughter and yuki’s little “oh you’re done now?” was really well handled. that joke falls flat in the old version.

-and i don’t know how they do it because, again, these episodes have the same runtime and cover the same material, but this whole scene definitely feels like it takes it’s more time in the new anime. it’s not overstaying it’s welcome or anything. it’s punchy and funny and i loved seeing the characters play off each other. but even shigure opening the door to reveal the gross kitchen is given more of a beat to it, so you have a second to laugh. and him hearing the dog howling isn’t the most awkward thing you’ve seen anymore.

-since we’ve had more time to understand tohru’s situation and even her mom (kyoko is finally allowed to be herself and not Cliche Dead Mom!) through flashbacks in the new anime, tohru clawing at the dirt to get the picture of her mom is actually pretty heart-wrenching. you get it more. everything she has in the world is in that tent and she doesn’t have anything but pictures to remember her mom by. this is what i’m so excited about in the new anime. if you give more time to build motivations and drama, because you understand that’s important to storytelling, then the emotional parts will hit that much harder

-tohru telling shigure about the day her mom died! I've always loved this scene, because it's one of the few times Tohru actually opens up to someone (who's not Kyo :P)about feeling crappy. amazing what a fever can do. these two scenes are so interesting, because they're actually really similar. we get the exact same info, and some of the shots of tohru lying on the futon are basically identical. but once again, the 2001 anime does a lot more telling us what happened. some shots are obvious budget-saving measures, like an extended shot of the paper wall/door with tree shadows waving. (what room are they supposed to be in?? for some reason, I always thought that was the kitchen) (actually the reason was all the rats are behind that door) (you KNOW there are rats in that kitchen) the 2019 anime, on the other hand, goes back to those old reliable flashbacks. we get a repeated (and longer) shot of kyoko going out the door, and you realize as the scene goes on and tohru explains she didn't even wake up to see her leave that morning, that it's an imagined scene or a memory of another day. which is... oof. make me feel all those feelings, please. we also get more actual kyoko dialogue, which is always a good thing.

-I also love yuki showing up after she's fallen asleep, having overheard anything, and saying he could've left the sohma compound to live in a tent. uh, I mean, I love it in the manga and the new anime. I won't put this on the original production staff and more on the original English dub, but oh boy is yuki kind of petulant and whiny in that scene. he sounds very petty and jealous and I don't like it. he's definitely envious of her to a degree (and beating up on himself), but he's also pretty in awe I think. ANYWAY I felt the new dub fixed this, so I wasn't like, what's your problem, dude?

-yuki and the rats is still weird lol (honestly being able to "communicate" with their animal is dropped so damn fast in the manga. I only like it for the payoff of the birds running away from kureno.)

-actually, one of the only things I prefer in the 2001 anime is tohru waking up to her mom's photo right next to the futon. I love the idea of yuki setting it up there real quietly while she sleeps, knowing it's the thing she was most worried about. so cute! but one point for the new dub: i'm assuming tohru says "oka-san" when she wakes up. since it's three syllables and zoomed in on her mouth they've changed(?) it to "I miss you" in English and just stab me right through the heart why don't you!!

-it seems like everyone's saying this, but that staircase scene! it's not even really a scene. but I love it! a cramped little switchback-y staircase. this show is making me feel like i'm IN shigure's house. it's also shot cool, and the reveal of kyo in the tree is great. I love that it's not pointed out so obviously, and he's just there. (it'd be hard to miss him though)

-then of course we end on kyo jumping through the whole damn roof (he really blasts through it in 2019 haha) and everyone turning into animals. no huge differences, but I want to fast forward a little to talk about kyo. jerry jewell may be the member of the returning cast who sounds the most "similar" to his old rendition of the character, HOWEVER. there's a huge change in acting and vocal direction. it might seem like a small change, but it's not! it's really big! in the 2001 anime he jumps through that roof and says a punny line (it would take kyo 6 months to come up with that lbr) and rah-rah rages through the next few episodes when he's not acting sheepish. now he sounds much less like he's just angry and more like he BLURTS things. a thought comes into his head and BLURT it's out of his mouth. because of the increased range in emotional expression on all their faces, we can see that he seriously feels guilty and conflicted about being mean to tohru. like there is some depth there to be mined. it's so much more obvious that the people around him can easily push him to the point of blowing up, and that he doesn't feel in control of himself. I give major props to the animation team, the anime director, and the dub director (I would trust Caitlin Glass with my actual life at this point) for pulling this off. because it seems subtle! but it really is a big difference!

I used to be a pretty staunch believer that we DID NOT need another anime adaptation of fruits basket. I know a lot of people wanted it, but I really never did. I love the manga so much, and think it's masterfully done. after the original anime, I didn't want more of it. mostly, because I didn't trust anyone to do it right. a lot of the changes made by the original anime may seem "small" to many people, but what makes furuba so great to me IS all those tiny nuances. change a tiny detail, and you may have changed the whole feel of a scene or an important interaction. the manga is pretty quiet, for most of it's run. little moments build up to create a big, beautiful tapestry. so I was happy reading my manga over again and not worrying about anyone else ever touching it to bring it to moving color.

so i'd say I was likely to be a harsh judge. and I was really, REALLY impressed with what they accomplished. i'm sure there'll be some decision I disagree with later. they'll cut some scene I love or i'll disagree with the emphasis on something somewhere. but they've really built up a lot of goodwill with me. I LOVED watching these characters on screen and seeing them interact. seeing them all eat around the table together felt like coming home. like settling down for another furuba reread.

and it's all the stuff above that made me feel that way. seemingly little tiny details and differences. again, we're talking about the exact same story! it's told with almost the same lines and the same characters and many of the same jokes. but it really felt different, because of small changes. and a much better understanding of what furuba is.

#fruits basket #furuba #fruits basket spoilers #furuba spoilers #text #a mountain of text i can't be stopped

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amwritesstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Pop the Bubble

I’ve had this idea bouncing around for a really powerful quirk that's deceptively labeled 'Bubbles’.

I'm thinking about making a little story regarding it, and still might after I've caught up on all my other writing things, but for now, have this little shot that kicked me awake from a deep sleep the other morning.

It had been slow. Too slow. Wa-ay too slow. Literally nothing had been happening for three god damn weeks. And Ground Zero was about to blow a fucking fuse.

Said Hero sat at his desk, head buried in his arms to keep himself from glancing at the clock for the nth time that day. He was caught up in all his paperwork and had organized it in six different ways. The most exciting thing on the news for the past few days was the multiple births of some panda cubs. He had even gone through his social media pages but quit after an hour of being bombarded with notifications he couldn't give two shits about.

He grunted when a knock rattled his desk, having a pretty good idea who it was. “Hey, man,” yep, Kirishima. “I know things are not your speed right now, but you've got to at least look busy.”

“With what?” He picked his head up enough to peak out. “I've done everything. Fuck, I even went to a couple of the interns to see if they needed anything.”

Kirishima looked away in thought. “Huh, that explains it…”

“... Explains what?”

“Oh!” Bakugou narrowed his eyes at Kirishima's knowing smile. “I overheard some of them talking about how they thought they weren't doing a good enough job because a Hero demand they give up some of their workload. Might need to talk to them about it. They're kinda stressing themselves out…”

“They're interns. They need a fire lite under their asses every now and then to keep'em on their toes,” he put his head back down. It was blissfully quiet for a moment; nothing but the static of office background. Until Kirishima opened his stupid mouth again.

“We could go spar?”

The blond heaved a sigh as he stood, reaching for his gauntlets. “I can only pummel your sorry ass so many times. Think I'll just go on patrol. Grab a bite while I'm out.”

“Oh, cool! I'll come with! Not like I'm doing anything either.”

The outside was just as uneventful as the inside had been in terms of excitement. However, it was outside, among fresh air and the bustle of city life, so it was better. The Heroes had been stopped by fans a few times during their route, but beyond that, they might as well have been off duty.

“I can't believe this… I came to this location because crime is higher. What gives!” Kirishima nudged his friend in warning to keep his voice down.

“Dude, I know it's boring, but don't complain! Being bored in our line of work is a good thing! Enjoy it while it lasts.”

He was right, Bakugou knew that. There a small fraction of him that was genuinely glad things were as peaceful as they currently were. He was just so done with being cooped up at his desk, not doing anything. As much as he despised doing them, he was actually contemplating setting up some interviews that he had previously turned down.

A panicked voice carrying over the city sounds gained his attention. He caught sight of a frantic woman through the crowd, calling out and looking every which way. Before he or his companion could fully turn to approach her, she spotted them, nearly knocking people over in her rush to get to them.

“Please!” She latched onto Red Riot, who had been closer. “Please! My baby! Please! I c-can't-” she choked on her own babbling sobs.

“Whoa, whoa! Slow down! Take a breath! We can't help if you can't tell us what's wrong!” Bakugou couldn't help but be grateful that the redhead was the one she had got to first. Kirishima's natural way with people, even in stressful situations, he would never cease to be a bit envious of. The woman calmed after a few gulps of air. “Alright, now, what's happened? What about your baby?”

“I-I can't find them! We were over by the pet stall in the outdoor market and I let go of their hand to dig in my purse for just a second!” She hiccuped, becoming increasingly more hysterical. “They didn't answer my calls or make any sounds! They're sh-shy so they always stay close-close to me wh-when we go out anywhere, and they weren't under any of the t-tables, o-or- or-”

Kirishima caught her in a strong embrace as she started to crumble. He gave comforting words as he and Bakugou shared a look. It wasn't unusual for small children to wander away from their parents. Not even for a shy kid that would normally stick to their parents’ side if something got their attention. It was what might've gotten enough of their attention to wander far enough out of range that was worrisome.

Kirishima pulled the woman back enough to make eye contact, beaming that sunshine smile of his. “Don’t worry, ma'am! I'm sure they just got distracted and are fine. Can you tell us what they look like?”

She sniffled, seeming to be taking to Red Riots words. “They're not yet five, wearing a-” her head snapped away as several loud bangs and screams rang out. The woman was trying to escape Kirishima's grasp to run in the direction people were running from. The outdoor market.

Bakugou was already moving, now feeling like shit for complaining about being bored as a massive explosion rang out. A kid was missing and it was looking like a villain might be involved with it. He swore as he blasted his way above the crowd.

The area was scarce save for a few stragglers and shop keepers that were too stubborn to leave their wares. Bakugou spun in place once he landed, getting the layout and where the potential threat might be. He saw nothing as he ran in a direction. He skid to a stop upon turning a corner, taking in the destruction.

Stalls, furniture, and goods were piled on either side of the street, into large circular indents made into side building walls. There were items that looked as though they had been flattened into the ground, the concrete cracked and bowing inward. Like something had forced everything back from a center point. There were more of these indents farther down, though on much smaller scales and not as impactful. Now, he just needed to find the asshole responsible for all this.

A sound of sucking air coming from behind caused him to spin on his heel, hand out and crackling with carefully restrained power. He was still aware that a kid was missing; an easy go to for a hostage. Only, there was no one behind him. But there was a transparent orb that he almost missed, gently floating at about eye level.

He kept his hands up, on guard for any movement as he slowly made his way over. He stopped a little more than arm's length from it. This close it looked more like a bubble, a bit bigger than his head. No one was around.

“Goddamnit- WHERE ARE YOU HIDING-!?”

BANG

He was blown back from a forceful gale. He managed to stay on his feet, whipping around for the source. The bubble was gone and in its place was a new crack in the street. The source of the destruction. But where were they coming from?

The same sound of sucking air came a little ways off, above him. He spotted the bubble, sitting there oh so innocently, just seeable against the sky. Several more appeared, growing into existence like someone was blowing up balloons. There were no more than two at a time. When a new one appeared, a previous one would loudly pop in an expulsion of air. They were moving up.

His eyes followed ahead of the path they were making- There! A figure hovering high above the low buildings. That was either the missing kid or the villain responsible, much farther away. The way he was lead to see them made a voice in his mind scream trap. However, Bakugou was not one for idle standing by to work things through. He was best when doing in the moment.

He wasted little time blasting his way up, the figure quickly growing closer. He allowed momentum to carry him upward, just past them to give himself enough time to see what he was dealing with. He hung in the air above them for less than a few seconds, but it was enough.

A small child was in a bubble just big enough for them, bawling hysterically, desperately reaching for him as he began to drop. There wasn't a sound coming from them. The bubble might very well be soundproof, which would explain why no one had heard the no doubt ear-shattering screams they were making. Bakugou was in slight relief. The kid was found, scared out of their mind, but seemingly unharmed… but where the hell was the villain? He didn't know if he could get them out of that bubble without causing them harm. Then there was the matter of safely getting them down-

The bubble holding the kid popped suddenly, knocking Bakugou away as the kids scream dropped past him.

Panic in his belly and heart in his throat, Bakugou shot after them. He had just managed to grab onto them when another, bigger bubble appeared around the kid, engulfing his hands and half of his gauntlets in with them. The bubble came to a stop in midair, Bakugou following after, gravity causing him to roll until he was dangling under it. His arms felt as though they were being pulled out of their sockets from the abrupt stop. How the fuck was this holding him?!

Taking a quick glance down, he saw they were still a good ways from the ground. He looked back up into the bubble. The kid was looking at him through tears, snot, and spit, mouthing something he could just hear but not make out, gripping onto his hand like a vice. He couldn't say he blamed them. Hanging this high in the air with no control or anything to hold on to was not a pleasant position to be in.

It was in that moment, when he realized the kid was apologizing, did a thought strike him.

”They're not yet five…”

His eyes widened upon noticing the bubble quiver. “Oh, fucking hell-"

He was more ready for the blast this time. The kid had one hell of a grip on his hand, thankfully. With the help of his feet, he managed to get the gauntlet off the arm not attached to the kid, flinging it away. He pulled them in close, securing them to his chest with his naked arm, making sure their face was buried into his neck.

He yelled for the kid to close their eyes and hang on tight, little arms nearly choking him being the only clue he got that they'd heard. He turned his body to face the ground that was quickly approaching. He might have spotted movement below him, but the smoke from the painfully massive one-handed explosion blocked his view.

Blast after blast he let out, desperately trying to slow down in time. His arm was screaming in strain, the explosions becoming weaker. The only plan that seemed to be on repeat was to land on his back to minimize damage to the kid, but slow down enough so he would receive minimum damage. He thought that a voice came to his ear, but with the roaring wind and his own rapid pulse, he wasn't sure.

He paused in his explosions, needing to see how close to the ground they were. Too close. He started to turn and shift the kid as they fell past the top of the nearest building. He barely comprehended a figure standing there.

He shut his eyes, bracing for impact when something wrapped around his torso multiple times. They were jerked, being pulled to fall at an arch rather than straight down. He felt the heels of his boots drag across concrete for an agonizing second, before lifting, slamming into something soft enough to survive the landing, but hard enough to really feel the full impact.

He gasped, not realizing he hadn't been breathing, as he settled into whatever he was laying on. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, seeing the sky being bordered by tarp material. It took him a moment to realize the static in his ears were muffled voices, growing louder and more clear as the adrenalin slowly ebbed away.

He grunted at the weight on his chest shifted, almost forgetting that they were there. The kid was trembling something awful, small sniffles and hiccups escaping. His neck felt sticky. Tears and snot most likely, he thought with a grimace.

He slowly sat up with some difficulty, finding his arms bound to him, shushing the kid as their grip tightened from the movement. Despite his restricted movement, he tried to pull them away as much as he could to assess any damage, but they refused to let go, whimpering and snuggling deeper each time Bakugou attempted. Not even his (less) harsh commands would loosen their grip. Sucking his teeth in defeat, he pulled himself up to crawl out to the open.

“Hey! You alright?” Bakugou came face to stupid helmet with Cellophane. He thought this tape looked familiar.

“Fine. Now, get me the hell out of this!”

A short time passed, explaining the situation to authorities as he was cut from Sero's tape. The kid still clung to him tightly. They would cry the second they would feel someone grab them and only settle when left alone. Not even Kirishima could talk them from letting go. In fact, as soon as they saw the redheads sharp smile, they started screaming right in Bakugou's ear, which in turn caused him to yell for Kirishima to fuck off. So, medics did what they could to work around.

As annoying as it was, Bakugou couldn't help but feel a bit smug that they felt so safe around him. Not to mention the media catching him allowing a small scared child to cling to him would really help boost his ratings. His PR agent was going to be over the moon with all the shit he usually got.

It was only when the frantic woman from earlier came forward did they finally move. The calm that had finally settled over them being shattered to wails as they reached for their mother. Bakugou had to admit as he watched them walk away, that he felt good. He'd never say it out loud, but he had started to feel… warm when that kid was clinging to him like a lifeline. His chest was starting to feel a bit cold now.

“Hey,” he glanced to Kirishima, who had slung his arm over his shoulder to watch with him. His face was scrunched. “You smell that?”

Now that he mentioned it, yeah, Bakugou could pick up something… coming from him. He picked at his costume, noticing a bit of dampness to it. He brought his nose to it and took a whiff.

“Are you shitting me?! That little brat fucking pissed on me!”

#bakugou katsuki #imagine #bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero kirishima #pro hero sero #mha #bha

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ultrakeystotheheartblog · 7 years ago

Text

The Trees Have Eyes: Chapter 2

New Characters

Chapter 1

A/N: Two main characters return in this instalment! I hope you enjoy :D

Also, to differentiate between the Skinwalker characters (because not all of them have names), I’ve used a few examples of typographical emphasis to highlight their voices and who is speaking:

Skinwalker #1: Normal / Skinwalker #2: Italics / Skinwalker #3: Bolded

Translation:

Nissandeh = Of course/Undoubtedly

Kutsit narak - Bloody hell

Mera dost - My friend

Warning: Very slight violence and swearing. That’s it.

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

Hayden does as she promises once you reach the city. Both her and her sister, Val, help you break away from the group during the chaotic organization of new supplies. And Val is the one to point you in the direction of the nearest bus station, as she hustles you and Noori through the emergency ambulance entrance of the local hospital. You take the very next bus as far as you can up to the city’s border, and then walk the last few miles in the general direction of it, soon finding yourself walking down the side of an empty road. There are short clusters of trees lining either side, and you glance around at them, thankful for the amount of cover they offer from the sunlight, however minimal.

Noori bumps your shoulder, hurrying from your side and up ahead with a look of content. She turns around to speak to you after a moment, walking backwards with an elegance you envy. “So…she was nice. Friendly. Surprise visit from your voice of reason though–do you think it’s a good idea to go to that city?”

You shield your eyes from the mounting sun that appears over the horizon, jacket resting over your arm as you squint at her though the intensifying brightness. “Hayden said her friends could help me finally figure out what I am. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Noori stops, smile drooping at your words. “Danny’s stories don’t bode well.”

“I need this, Noori. I need to know.”

She stares at you for a moment longer, and then smiles more brightly than before, nodding as her gaze lifts from your face and scans along the open road behind you. “Okay. Death city it is.” She finally agrees.

You sigh at the passive aggressiveness in her tone, “Oh, come on–” You catch sight of a lone car, parked at the entrance to a nature path, and lose your train of thought. It’s one where people can picnic or take walks through, the large picket sign to the right of the car–a black and white minimalist map of area–marking the start of the trail, leading down to a shallow valley. Noori grips your elbow and turns you to fully face it, smiling mischievously. It’s not hard to figure out what she’s thinking. You let Noori lead you towards it, but make it known that you’re not too fond of her idea.

“What is with you and breaking the law?”

Noori circles the car, eyes darting over the details of it. “In my day, it was easier to take things into your own hands. Instead of waiting around for something that might happen.”

“I can see your point.”

She looks up to meet your questioning gaze and grins, thumping her hip against the passenger side door. You wince and wait for an alarm that never comes, stepping closer to the car in astonishment. Noori leans forward on it with a wink, her forearms resting against the gleaming gold metal of its roof.

“Besides, I’m getting too old to worry about things like that anymore.”

“You sound like a grandmother.” You joke. Something strange flickers across her face. It’s an odd knowing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, a sad sort of wistfulness that makes your heart ache. But Noori blinks then and the quiet sadness is shattered, her smile widening in a more animated, familiar way. She steps away to bend and peer into the car’s tinted window, running her hands through her hair to turn the electric blue strands–her colour choice of the day–into a icy white that is more reminiscent of an older woman. She looks back up with a smirk. You almost choke on an especially fast intake of air, eyes wide.

“Wait, how old are you?”

“Old.” She answers, striding back around the car to where you stand at the driver’s side. You cough a few times to regulate your breathing again, narrowing your eyes as you follow her movement.

“Cryptic.”

Noori scoffs as if it was to be expected by now and flashes you another playful smile. She takes a hold of your dangling jacket to pull you closer towards the car. “Nissandeh–now get in. We’ve got places to be, people to save.”

“What? I’m driving?”

“This way you won’t have to worry about me breaking any more laws.” She teases, glancing down the path that leads to the natural park, the trail sheltered in the cool shadows cast by the surrounding canopy of trees. You tense at the dart of her gaze but don’t hear anyone coming. You breathe in relief, rolling your eyes at her.

“Funny.” You retort, trying not to smile. You wrench the car door open easily, blinking in surprise when you find that it isn’t locked. There’s even a key already sitting in the ignition. Too trusting, you think dejectedly. You shake your head at the awful feeling that rises like heat in your chest, trying to push it down as Noori hops to the other side of the car. These poor people were going to in for a very bad afternoon soon.

“Let’s go.”

Hours later on your second day of travel, the sun is just beginning to dip down from its peak height in the sky, signaling the start of a late afternoon. You’d insisted on driving the whole way, wanting to sort out your racing thoughts about what would happen once you reached Shiprock and the Skinwalkers, finding the lull of a car relaxing.

You’d already passed into Mexico with minimal stops for a faster trip, finding that your werewolf abilities offered you a little relief from tiring as quickly as you would being human. But as Noori chatters away in the passenger seat, you begin to feel the oncoming wave of drowsiness that you’d been battling to fight back. Your eyelids droop, mind growing fuzzy with static as exhaustion and pangs of hunger settle in your gut. Noori is quick to notice your discomfort as you shift in your seat, squinting out hard at the shimmering dark pavement of the road, and casually mentions that you should pull into the next gas station or convince store you see.

“We’re not stopping.” You tell her vehemently, hunching over the wheel as the brightness of the sun pierces brazenly through the tinted front window. You hoped this terrible feeling in your chest would go away once you reached your destination, the tightness and dread since parting ways with Hayden and Val gone at last. You can feel the heat in the tight space of the car, the cloth seat damp beneath your thighs and through your jeans. The sweat is sticky on your skin and stings your eyes as it drips down from your hairline. You cast a fleeting, envious look at how Noori seems so unaffected by the temperature.

“You need a break, (Y/N).” She reminds you.

You swipe across your forehead with the back of your hand. “I’m fine.” You say in frustration.

Noori furrows her eyebrows to concentrate, reaching out to crank up the air conditioning in the car. She kicks up her feet on the dashboard then, crossing them at the ankles as she leans back against the seat, sounding the tiniest bit amused. “You were just complaining about imaginary flamingos blocking out the sun."

You hesitate, leaning back from the wheel as a curiously out of place thought risies above the sluggish hum in your brain, your mouth moving before you can fully think your question through. "Are there such a thing as were-birds?” She looks over at you, eyebrows shooting up before her eyes flicker over to the passenger window, relief blooming across her expression. She glances up in the rear-view mirror to see that there are still a few cars behind you, and she jabs the turn signal switch up with the open palm of her hand, indicating that the car was about to turn right.

“Okay, pull over here. I think it’s time we got something to eat.”

You look across the mounds of sand and dirt and open desert, patches of coarse looking green and red vegetation, and the far-away ghosts of rolling hills in the distance, until your gaze lands upon a lone bar up ahead. It’s old and rustic looking, with a patchwork of rusted coloured stone–maybe concrete–covering the outside. It’s all obviously weathered from years of service: a rusting heavy metal door propped open for the entrance, thinly barred rectangular windows lined with a peeling red painted trim, a thicker, fading yellow trim outlining the door. From a distance, the edges of the rectangular building are not exactly straight, but chipped and divoted, making it look odd and slightly slanted. It seems popular though, a range of cars and trucks lined out front.

You begin to shake your head, “Noori–”

She grips your elbow tightly and you secure your hold on the steering wheel in alarm, but she merely draws it towards her, so that the car begins to turn slightly towards the shoulder of the road. One look at her expression and you don’t struggle, sighing in defeat.

“Pull over, (Y/N).” She says, sounding more serious than you’d seen her in a while. It was solemn and framed with a tender warmth, something you hadn’t felt since she had first calmed you in the community centre locker room. You nod in agreement, slowing the car to turn into the busy, dirt parking lot of the bar. The two other cars honk and zip around you. Noori flips off the second driver, and is already jumping out from the passenger side before the car fully stops, slamming it closed behind her. You slip out of the car next and wobble slightly on your feet, but manage to catch yourself by grasping the car door. By the time you close it and look up, Noori is already striding ahead to the open door of the bar. You follow hurriedly, head shyly hung as you step over the raised threshold.

The inside of the bar is definitely cooler than outside, with dim lights and running ceiling fans. Although the body heat from the packed mass of people made the large space feel more stifling than it really should be. It was much more modern looking than the outside as well, the dark wooden bar worn and heavily lacquered, so that it shines when sunlight hits it from the open door. There are silver rimmed bar stools and chairs, and clusters of round high tables made of a solidly smooth reddish wood. The floor is scratched up beneath your feet but strong and firm, the ceiling high and lined with structural beams to make the room feel bigger. But the most obvious, newest amenities are the two wide glass cases resting against the wall behind the bar, reaching about 8 feet in length. There are rows of liquor bottles within in them, the red trim on the shelves matching the rusty colour outside.

The amount of people around you makes you feel the slightest bit anxious, and you sidestep a group of visibly drunk men when they move around a table near the bar. Tourists, you realize, as they huddle around a map haphazardly spread out on the table. The place is deafening with laughter and lively chatter, clinking glasses and screeching silverware on plates, and you wince at the volume, rubbing your eyes to keep the throbbing pain in your head away.

There’s the smell of alcohol and smoke, the sharp spice of sweat, and an aroma of warm food–burgers and salsa, and something sugary and fried–fiery flavours that make your mouth water and stomach growl. You catch the eye of the bartender, a pretty older woman dressed in casual jeans and a simple dark blue shirt, brown hair swept up into a bun on the top of her head and a black apron slung low on her hips. She saunters over to you, tossing a stained towel over her shoulder. She smiles brightly, bracing herself on the bar as she leans forward to be better heard over the noise, though you think you could have heard her just fine.

“I’m Martina. What can I get you, sweetheart?" The woman’s accent is soft and pleasant, and you find yourself relaxing a little as you shake your head, glancing to your side to look for Noori.

Who had suddenly disappeared on you.

You spin around but can’t see her through the throng of bodies, and reluctantly turn back to Martina. She’s watching you now with a curious expression.

"Lost somebody?” She questions casually, leaning back to cock her hip out and rest her hand there. You gulp down the anxiety of being alone in an unfamiliar place and straighten, nodding slowly.

“I’ll find her, it’s alright.” You respond, smiling kindly at her. Martina hums and regards you carefully, tapping her fingers on the surface of the bar. She nods after a moment and stoops to grab a tall beer glass from behind the bar. You nervously wave your hand at her to stop.

“I can’t drink, I’m going to be driving in a bit.”

Martina doesn’t respond, and instead turns to the back of the bar, filing the glass with tap water from the deep seated, brass sink there. She slides a white plastic coaster from the front pocket of her apron in front of you, and then plops the full glass down. She smirks at the surprised look on your face, rubbing her hands across the fabric of her apron before shrugging.

“You looked like you could used something refreshing. On the house.”

You curl your hand around the bass of the glass and flash her a grateful look. “Thank you."

Martina smiles again, backing up from you with a sweet sounding chuckle. "Let me know if you need anything else.” She says, finally turning away to speak to another customer.

You sip on the glass of water eagerly, scanning the room around you to keep an eye out for Noori. And that’s when you see him. He’s comfortably slouched back against a chair on the other side of the room, nonchalantly turned so that his back and seat are facing the empty table behind him. You think that this way he can more easily survey the people around him.

His gaze jumps from person to person, quick, darting eye movements as he stretches out his legs, popping a chip into mouth from the ceramic bowl in his lap. He’s very tall and very handsome you conclude, a young man with a lean, muscular build and sharp features, including a nicely chiseled jaw line. His dark blonde hair is slightly curly at the front, more shaven in the back. He’s wearing stylish dark jeans and a white v-neck, a gray bomber jacket with shiny golden zippers on the arms as well, thick black boots on his feet. But what astonishes you most are his large, deep-set blue eyes. He finally turns his gaze to you and you feel yourself freeze, glass halfway up to your mouth.

They’re bright and beautifully disorientating, piercing in the dim. His gaze is searching and deep as it lingers quite a long time on your face, and you stare back, skin itching under the intensity. You feel your face burn when his eyes slightly narrow and he continues to study you, and you wonder if he feels the strange pull like you do, as if you both know that there’s something off about each other. Something different than the other people around you–that makes you want to drift closer. A group of men pass in front of him, cutting off the odd staring contest. You turn away fully from him when the captivating connection is broken, draining the rest of your water in one gulp. You can still feel his eyes on you though, trained on your back, and you shiver, pressing your hands to your heated cheeks.

“Who’s he?”

Noori’s voice startles you, and you knock the empty beer glass with your elbow as you turn to face her, catching it from smashing against the floor. You think that your reflexes might have been a little too fast there, and you search out the familiar feeling of burning eyes. Martina is looking at you from the other end of the bar, her expression surprised. You smile weakly, lifting the glass in a little greeting before placing it gingerly on the bar, and clear your throat as you turn back to Noori. You blink at her, trying to remember what she had said last.

“What? I don’t know.”

Noori crosses her arms, resting her hip against the side of the bar, and lifts her eyebrows teasingly. “There was some solid eye contact.”

You pointedly look away from her, wishing that the heat in your face would just leave, and yawn as you eye the food Martina is now passing to a customer over the top of the bar–cheesy layered nachos. “You promised me food, didn’t you?” You say suddenly, the pangs in your gut returning as you think more about it.

“Deflection.” She counters, sighing as she turns to slip through the mass of bodies. “But you’re right, I did. Over here.”

You immediately follow, not wanting to lose her again, but find yourself glancing back a final time, unconsciously searching for the boy from earlier. His seat is empty, the half eaten bowl of chips left on the table, and you frown, feeling strangely disappointed that he’s gone. Noori leads you to the far upper corner of the room, around the side of the wooden bar where there’s a more secluded table, and gestures proudly to the nearly full basket of fries sitting there. You slide into one of the seats after Noori does, and pluck one from the pile. The potato is cold between your fingers, but it still smells salty and delicious. Your mouth waters, but you compose yourself and raise an eyebrow at her, eyes flicking down to indicate the basket.

“Where did you get this from? We don’t have any money.”

She gestures with a small tilt of her head to another, much smaller–but equally loud–group of tourists a few tables away. There’s an assortment of empty and half eaten plates stacked around the edges of the table. She laughs quietly, “They’re too drunk to realize it’s even gone. I doubt they’re going to miss it.”

You think about it for a moment and then shrug, popping the fry into your mouth. It’s good and goes down easy, and soon you’ve devoured more than half of the basket, the twinge in your gut dissipating. You glance up at Noori to see she’s watching you fondly, arm draped over the back of the chair as she slumps back against it. You swallow another few fries before a flash of realization makes you pause.

“Aren’t you getting something?” You ask in concern. Noori waves away your attempt to offer her what’s left, sliding the basket back to you with a small smile.

“You need it more. I’m fine for now.” She says, chuckling at the look of frustration that crosses your expression. “I’ll get something on the way back.”

“Noori–”

She sighs, looking surprisingly drained, and you clamp your mouth shut at the sudden change. You stare at her curiously, realizing that she must be more affected than you thought. She shakes her head, tired smile wrenching at your heart.

“I promise.” She assures you, head dropping into the palm of her hand. “Just rest.”

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

A few hours later is all it takes to reach your destination.

You both hike through the warm sand of the desert, car left far back by the road, and blink away drifting dust from your eyes, as she leads you off into seemingly vacant terrain. The heat of the sun is almost worse out in the open, and you grumble as it shines down on you without mercy. Noori kicks up a burst of sand as she picks up speed, staring intently into the distance, and you begin to worry if she truly knows where she’s going. You huff, staggering to follow her pace while sucking in quick breaths to keep from panting too loudly. You stride up beside her when she eventually looks back and slows down for you, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“Are we in the right place?” You ask, scanning the landscape curiously.

“Yes.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

Noori shoots you an amused look, “What were you expecting?” You shrug, shielding your eyes as you train a more focused gaze out over the horizon.

“A house? A camp? Something more than empty desert.”

And then you see it, as the two of you clamber up a rare, steep hill of sand, fingers burning against the sand when you hunch over for more leverage. It’s an isolated rock formation that rises abruptly above the high-desert plain. Noori had told you about it on the way from the bar–that it lies just southwest of the town of Shiprock, which is actually named for this particular sacred peak, the formation having a large historical and significant role in Navajo religion, myth, and tradition.

They had to be here.

You can’t help but gawk in awe the closer you get to it. It’s tall and hauntingly powerful, jaggedly cut out against the clear blue of the sky and orange tinted landscape. Noori excitedly waves you over, to follow her towards an outcropping of rock around the side of the base. She smirks as you bound up to her, body buzzing with energy.

“Have a little faith, (Y/N).” She playfully tells you.

The excitement is short lived. The sound of wet gurgling reaches your ears from too close, slow and deep like churning molasses, and your body tenses at the familiar sound from the hospital. The sound tapers off into a sick, high-pitched squelch that racks your body with the cold sensation of dread, the feeling too intense under the heat of the desert. You turn around in a tight circle, chest constricting in fear, but don’t see any of the lumbering smoke creatures in the brightness of the sun.

“Noori…” You say quietly, and she reaches out to grip your bicep, eyes narrowed as she scans your surroundings.

“I heard it too.” She mutters.

That surprises you, considering no one else seemed to acknowledge the horrible nightmare shadows the last time you’d seen them. Your head snaps around to look at her, the sound momentarily forgotten.

“How–” You start. You’re cut off as something large and gray unfolds itself too quickly to comprehend–from the shadows at the base of the rock formation–and slams into your friend from the side. She flies more than 10 feet away, landing in the sand with cry. The smoke creature is significantly smaller than the ones before, but more wild, clawed hands lifting and glinting in the sun as it staggers–a vision of suspended rolling smoke–in misshapen circles around Noori. She scrambles onto her knees and stares up at it in terror, the slits of its eyes opening. The white glow of them is sharp like a lens flare in the light.

“Noori!” You shout in alarm. You dash towards her, sliding to a stop and stumbling back when the creature whirls around to face you. It’s terrible mouth falls open in a gaping yawn, the darkness inside disorientating and much too deep, a feeling of panic rushing towards you like a raging stream. You fall against the sand and drag yourself backwards as it follows you, its burning eyes trained intensely on your face. Noori is searching in a panic through the sand around her, burying her arms up to her elbows to find anything that could help. You’re unsure if a rock will do much damage though, and you scramble away further until your back knocks against the rocky base of the outcropping. You can feel the heat and rough texture of the formation through your shirt, and you spread out your arms to brace yourself, palms pressing flat against the rock as you shrink back from the creature.

It pauses before you, puppet-like as it hovers in the air, watching your trembling form as though its waiting for something. Or trying to figure something out. Its head cocks so far to the side that it looks as if the appendage has broken off from its body. It’s gurgling again, softly, and you flinch at the sound, tensing for the worst. But it doesn’t move to attack you. Just sits there, waiting, and you feel the odd supernatural heat return in your eyes, the purple glow more prominent in the shadows of the rocky outcropping.

It reacts more violently then, recoiling from you for a moment with a throaty snarl that shocks you, and then it surges forward like a cornered animal, sharp claws piercing the stone above your head. It drags them, scraping down the rock, the sound of it echoing awfully in your ears. It’s so close now that you feel as though you’re drowning in the inky smoke, and as its claws touch the crook of your neck everything starts to burn. Your back arches off the rock and you don’t realize that you’re screaming–thrown into the push and pull of an undertow made entirely of a fire, a heat that locks into every muscle of your body–until your throat begins to ache. It’s in your head, a confusing icy pang thrashing through the sudden deafening static, and a sloshing, unintelligible voice, like someone is choking on water, begins to cry out. There’s a weightless lurch like a spasm in your limbs, as though something was being ripped from inside you–and it hurts, hurts, hurts–

“Hey! I think you’re seeing double.”

Everything stops in an instant these words stab through the haze, and something snaps back into place, the force almost giving you whiplash. You’re left gasping in large gulps of air, dropping to your hands and knees, body heavy. You taste blood, spitting out the copper taste to see a splatter of dark red against the orange sand. You manage to lift your head, blinking away your blurry vision to see that the creature is now listlessly floating, seeming confused as it turns in sharp movements to look between both you and…Noori? It gurgles in what sounds like frustration and you squint out at the other figure kneeling in the sand, thoughts muddled from the shock.

It’s an image of you–an identical you, breathing heavy with a hand held up towards the creature. You make eye contact and something flickers in the figure’s eyes. It’s a familiar spark of comfort that tells you everything will be okay, and you realize with a start that this is the first time you’d seen Noori truly and completely shape shift into another being. It was eerily accurate. Before either of you can move there’s a metal glint in the upper corner of your eye, and you slowly look up to the top of the rocky outcropping jutting out above you. There’s a figure of a girl illuminated by the sun, katana sword drawn out at her side.

What the fu–

She leaps down in front of you, landing on one knee in the sand and faces out to the open desert. She has a bob of short dark hair and is dressed in ripped tights and a green plaid skirt, as well as a black tank top, and folded down black combat boots. The creature rears back at her entrance, and the girl looks to you over her shoulder, eyes glowing a brilliant orange.

“Where is it?” She asks, and you immediately point to the anxiously swaying creature just in front of her, the mass of smoke backing up with another feral snarl from its open mouth.

The girl lifts the katana with both hands on the hilt, the blade poised horizontally just above her head as she drops back into a ready stance. A trail of fire licks along the metal, a shimmering fluorescent wave that circles in a spiral around it, the sharply sweet smell of electricity rising in the air. The girl lunges forward towards the creature then, in a movement that’s supernaturally fast, swiping the fiery katana through its body. The creature doesn’t make a sound, the ghostly glow in its eyes flickering out, mouth stuck in a silent scream. The mass of smoke halves into two separate sections, the top sliding from the bottom, and then the smoke unravels, wisps curling up into the air before burning up when the fire from the katana sparks against the smoke. It consumes it in a upwards swell of flames, leaving nothing in its wake. Noori–the other you–smiles in relief when the smoke completely clears from the air, blinking up into the sun. The eyes flash pink as your image changes quickly, vibrating and shifting, features sinking back like clay until her familiar figure emerges as if breaking free from a shell. Her white hair gleams under the sun as she breathes deeply. You stare at her in disbelief when she crawls across the sand towards you, grumbling under her breath about needing a vacation.

“Kutsit narak.” Noori mutters upon reaching you, hands going to either side of your face as she turns your head from side to side, gaze searching for any physical injuries. When she finds none, she leans back on her knees with a look of content, hands dropping to her thighs.

“Holy shit.” You say in agreement. You look to the girl standing a few feet away and see that she’s now holding the katana in front of her body, blade just ordinary metal again and raised to the sky. Her eyes are closed as she speaks softly to herself in a language you don’t understand, until they flutter open again after a moment, the orange glow gone.

She steps towards you, gaze concerned. “Are you alright?”

Noori stands, pulling you to your feet as you nod and push off the rocky wall behind you. “I…yeah. Thank you for that–that was really…badass.” You tell her, brushing sand from your arms with a small, friendly smile. Noori slouches back in a casual stance, putting all of her weight on her back leg, hand slipping into the back pocket of her pants.

“So is that sword.” She adds. The girl grins at you, looking shy as she slips her katana back into a black sheath, one that hangs from the leather strap looped around her shoulder and back.

“No problem. I’m just relieved I got here in time.”

“How did you know?”

“My teachers sent me.” She answers, casting a sweeping look at the open desert behind you and Noori. “They felt something….dangerous and dark, and they had me come here to fight it.” Her eyes lock onto you, “Whatever that was.”

You step towards her, “The Skinwalkers?”

“Told you.” Noori quips excitedly, reaching out to lightly poke your shoulder. The girl blinks at you in surprise, fingers curling around the part of the katana’s strap that cuts down diagonally across her chest.

“Uh, yeah. What–”

“They’re why I’m here, I wanted–needed to talk to them.” You explain quickly.

A warm gust of wind picks up around the three of you, swirling dust around in the air until it’s too thick to see, and you tug your shirt up over your nose and mouth. Both Noori and the girl back up to stand closer to you, elbows bumping against each other at the proximity. The girl stares out into whirlwind of sand as if this is an everyday occurrence, grip on the leather strap tightening until her knuckles are white. She tilts her head towards you, voice low, eyes never leaving the growing dark shapes appearing through the undulating dust.

“Well, here’s your chance.” She says simply.

The dust and sand begins to settle around you, vision clearing so that you can better see who is walking towards you. The shapes become three woman as the last of the dust falls, the small group slowing to a stop a few feet from you. Their postures are tall, regal and grand and all knowing, a swelling vibration of static energy radiating against the air until your breath catches in awe. The first woman, standing just in front of the others, is wearing the pelt of an animal over her head, her spear topped with a jagged piece of bone like a crescent moon. She has striking black paint around her eyes, simple vertical lines down one half of her face. She tips her chin up as you look at her, poised stance seeming every bit the leader you begin to suspect.

The second woman is wearing a belted long-sleeved outfit and holds a more simple spear, white paint layered across the entirety of her face, tinted black circles around the eyes. Tresses of beautiful dark hair hang around her face. The third woman is carrying a more simple spear as well, her hair in tight intricate braids that sit over her shoulders. She has similar black paint around her eyes like the other two, but she also has a beautiful deep red paint starting across her browline, creating two pointed peaks that stretch down past her cheeks and stop just at the corners of her mouth. They’re all covered in sand from the surrounding desert, dark eyes piercing in the brightness of the sun as they stare down at you.

You’d never felt so small.

“Do you feel that?” One asks in a hush.

“There’s more.”

The woman in front of them–definitely the leader, you conclude–looks up into the sky, expression fierce. “I feared this day would come.”

The girl beside you shifts anxiously and steps in front of you, sweeping a piece of hair behind her ear. “What was it?” She questions, glancing to the spot where she’d dispelled the creature only moments before.

“It has many names, Kira. But there is only one that will matter to you.”

“Which is?’ Noori chirps from your other side. The leader’s attention is pulled from the sky and she transfers the decorated spear to her other hand, rolling her shoulders back slowly.

"They’re soul-eating beings.” She clarifies, gaze straying to you as though she’d almost forgotten you were there. “They feed on the spirits of the dead.”

Noori sighs, “I’m not liking the sound of this.”

The girl with the katana–Kira–shakes her head in disbelief. “Is there anything we can do?” She asks with a slight twinge of desperation. The leader lifts her spear and brings it down solidly against the sand, the muffled thunk punctuating the intensity of her words.

“We’ve looked into the other world and saw darkness.” She begins.

“The other world?”

Kira is quick to enlighten you, turning to speak softly. "The spirit world.“

There’s a drop in your stomach–a lurch like your falling from somewhere high–and you gulp, feeling the cold, prickling fear from earlier return. The Skinwalkers are watching you closely, and Noori presses against your arm as if silently telling you that she understands what you’re feeling. You clench your hands into tight fists at your sides to hide the shaking in your fingers.

"Darkness…like those creatures?” You can’t help but inquire, another fearful lurch of your stomach at the grave look on their faces. You have an odd feeling that you’re about to regret wanting to learn the truth. The leader of the Skinwalkers nods.

“Yes.”

“And this darkness is speading…growing, and it will echo across the world if it’s not dealt with.”

“You must stop it, (Y/N).”

You startle at the casual use of your name, sharing a brief look with Noori beside you. She doesn’t seem as surprised as you though, and you furrow your eyebrows, realizing that although you’d become a part of the supernatural world, you still had a lot to learn. “How do you know my name?”

The leader slowly drops the tip of her spear to gesture at you, “The spirits talk about you.” She says, bowing her head slightly as though she was offering you some semblance of respect. “You are the shepard.”

“Do you know what I am?”

“Something old.” The second woman counters in response.

“Something powerful.”

“Powerful enough to stop all this.”

The third woman cuts the other two a sharp, displeased look, mouth set in a firm line. Her voice is laced with doubt, “Powerful enough to try.”

“Kira, you must go.” The leader advises firmly, flashing her fellow Skinwalker a warning look, her tone leaving no room for discussion. “Help where you can.”

“(Y/N) will have a large part in what’s to come.”

Kira frowns, “What can I do?”

“Your sword is made from our power, a weapon forged with the energy of the spirit world. An electricfying spiritual force that only a Kitsune can weild.”

“It can dispel the shadows."

Kira takes a step back, body bumping against you, and you hear the mounting panic in her words. "I don’t know if I’m ready.” She admits, spreading her palms to stare down at her hands. There’s a spark of apprehension in her expression, a farway look to her eyes. It’s one shadowed with fear like someone remembering a horrible dream, and as her hands begin to tremble, you understand. It’s all about control, and she’s still learning, like you. The leader of the Skinwalkers smiles, a twitch of her lips that makes you wonder if it’s merely a courtesy or meant to be more encouraging.

“You’ve done well, Kira.”

“You’ve learned fast and gotten stronger. More aware of your abilities and the balance that is needed.”

“But lessons can only take you so far.”

“It’s time to take what you’ve learned and apply it.”

Kira swallows hard, gaze snapping up sharply to stare at the three women. She clenches and unclenches her fists a few times and then lets her hands drop back to her side, shaking herself free of her memories. Her eyes widen as she mulls over their words.

“What are you saying? Is this another test?”

The leader’s fingers flex on the wooden length of her spear, but she doesn’t visibly react any further at the question. She simply regards Kira–unblinking and intense, and eerily meaningful. You wonder if the test began the moment Kira appeared to rescue both you and Noori from the creature. The leader looks to the other two women standing behind her as she speaks. “Do this–stop the darkness–without your inner fox taking control. Show us your strength in balancing two sides. And if you succeed…you may leave us.”

“Just like that? I’ll be free to go home to my family? My friends?”

“Just like that.”

Kira breathes deeply to steady her resolve and straightens, head held high. A flicker of determination appears in her expression as she pulls at the strap of her katana again, as if reassuring herself that it’s there. “I’ll do it.”

“Stay true, Kira. Keep the balance.” The leader warns, dipping the top of her spear again to train on a spot just above Kira’s head. She slowly lowers it, cutting an imaginary line down the centre of Kira’s body. “No matter what.”

“I will.”

“Hold on, wait a minute!” You blurt out, mind dizzying more strongly with each passing moment. They couldn’t possibly be thinking that you–no. Your grimace at the thought, eyes nervously darting from Kira to the Skinwalkers as you will the conversation to slow down. They all turn to you, and you duck your head in embarrassment, voice small but surging with alarm. “What do you expect me to do? I don’t know anything about dealing with terrifying darkness monsters.”

“To have your answers, you must find your new path in this world."

You close your eyes to try and soothe your racing heartbeat, turning to look at Kira then, tone pitching in desperation. "Is everything an extremely vague test to them?” Noori stifles a bout of laughter, and you firmly elbow her side to keep her quiet.

“Not everything.” She says immediately, pausing as though she was giving her answer more thought. She sheepishly smiles after a beat of silence. “Most things, actually.” She amends.

The second woman speaks up, drawing your attention back to them with a small gesture of her spear–a quick up and down motion that reminds you of a judge calling order to their court. “But this is not something you have to walk alone.”

The leader fixes you with her heavy, knowing gaze. “You have allies where you least expect them.” She reveals, sounding oddly amused when her eyes flick over to Noori. “Friends that will surprise you.”

Surprise you?

“It’s a pleasure to see you three again.” Noori says kindly, inclining her head in a simple hello.

“You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve had my moments.”

Kira seems puzzled by the exchange and looks as though she wants to say something, but she stays quiet as the leader turns back to you, beckoning you forward by extending an open hand. You hesitate, but with a gentle push from Noori you find yourself moving towards her slowly. “You’re young, (Y/N).” The Skinwalker reminds you. “With untapped potential. You must be strong. You must be brave. And above all you must be open.”

“You are a bridge between two plains of existance. Both physical and spiritual. You walk with us between both.”

“Don’t be afraid of this connection. Learn to use it to your advantage.” The leader takes your hand once you’re standing in front of her, skin warm and sweat slicked, and covered in sticky sand. Her gaze shifts pointedly to Kira as though making sure she is still listening. “To protect those….who cannot protect themselves.”

You glance back curiously over your shoulder and see a strangle flash of emotion in Kira’s expression, one that tells you these words mean something to her. It’s quick and sad, and you wonder for a moment if you should ask her if she’s alright. Kira makes the decision for you though, dropping her head to stare at the ground and avoid your eyes. You frown, turning back to address the double meaning in the leader’s tone.

“The spirits that are disapearing–”

“They may not be completely lost.”

“Yet.” The third woman adds icily.

“So, there’s still time.” Kira concludes, lifting her head to study her teachers’ expressions.

You draw your hand away, frustration curbing your earlier alarm. “How am I–look, this all seems so simple when you say it, but…I don’t know how to do what you want.”

“You can. By looking to others. And trusting the core balance within you as well.”

“Balance?”

“Your fear and your compassion–the thing that gives you your courage.” Noori offers suddenly, sounding as though she’s just had a realization. The Skinwalkers nod, shifting to stand in a straight line before continuing.

“The wolf and the human.”

“The spirit and the body.”

“Can you do this?”

“I don’t think I really have a choice.” You say in defeat, the laugh that escapes you exhausted and hollow.

“You do.”

“But if you choose to let the darkness fall–spread to the corners of the Earth–more things will be lost than you can ever imagine.”

“No pressure, right?” Noori quips, stepping up beside you with a smile. She lifts her arm and rests it against your shoulder, sighing as she leans onto you. She winks when you look to her, "I’m here to the end, mera dost.“

Kira returns to your side as well, nodding at you with an emotion you can’t quite place–determined you decide quickly, but edged with a jumble of fear and hope that reflects everything you’ve felt youself. Since clawing your way out from the damp dirt all those months ago. Her smile is shy and small, but beautifully bright despite the turmoil you’re sure she feels about your chances–a promise for adventure no matter the outcome.

"I’m with you.”

“Okay then…it looks like this is happening.” You mutter, straightening to stand taller–more heroic, hoping that the puff in your chest makes you seem as though you’re more confident than you feel. Fake it until you make it, right?

….

You think you may be in some serious trouble.

“What’s the first step?” You ask the three women, feeling satisfied when your voice doesn’t shake.

“That is up to you.” The leader tells you, lifting her spear high into the air. “Good luck.”

When she brings it down again, a puff of sand bursting from the impact, another gust of wind swirls around you, as soft as breathing. It quickly strengthens into a humid gale as the other two Skinwalkers knock their spears against the sand as well, one after another. A haze of dust is drawn up from the ground, twisting into circling clouds that shut out the sunlight and curl around the three women in ribbons of sand.You can’t see anything in front of you, your breath coming in quick, coughing gasps as you struggle to breath against the pressure on your chest. And then it all comes to a stop, much like when they first appeared from the dust. You suck in a much needed gulp of clean air as the sand falls like rain around you, the ocean blue sky finally emerging in your vision. Noori waves away the last of the dust hanging in the air around her head, blinking at the sudden burst of sunlight.

“I forgot how unhelpful they can be at times.” She sighs. You shake your head at her in amusement, brushing away grainy sand from your shirt and jeans.

“Kira?” You question, watching her shake dust from her hair with a look of concentration. “Do you know where we can go? For help?

She looks up at you and smiles, gaze trailing behind you to stare out into the far most plains of the open desert. "I know a place.”

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

“Beacon Hills? That’s where you want to go?”

Kira nods as she crosses from the sand of the desert to the paved road, breathing out a little satisfied sigh at the echoing of her boots against the surface. She shields her eyes from the sun when she looks up and down the road, easily spotting your stolen car. It’s parked up the empty road a few feet away, and she heads towards it with a hop in her step. Someone seems excited, you think in amusement, trailing behind her more leisurely. And it’s contagious. Noori is grinning when you turn to see her reaction.

“I have friends there.” Kira says and then hesitates, slowing her pace until you and Noori catch up. “At least I think so–I don’t really know how long it’s been.” She glances at you sideways, “Why? Have you heard of it?”

You share a knowing look with Noori as Kira reaches the car, running her fingers over the metal surface of the trunk. You raise your eyebrows, “The name seems to be popping up a lot recently.”

“And we’re just crazy enough to go.” Noori adds. You roll your eyes at her sulky tone.

Kira turns to you as you pass behind her, tugging open the driver’s side door, the burning metal making you wince as your palm closes around the handle. Kira seems surprised that it was left unlocked for so long under the sun, but doesn’t comment, ducking her head instead to peer into the humid car. She had insisted on driving back, partly for the joy of it again, but mostly because she knew the quickest way to Beacon out of the three of you. You lean against the open door, arm slung over the top of it, and slip the set of keys from your front pocket, dangling the metal ring from your index finger.

“So.” You begin casually, as Kira smiles and gently takes the car keys from you. “One of the Skinwalkers called you a…Kit…Kitsune?”

“They did. ” She agrees, carefully sliding into the front seat so she doesn’t catch the hilt of her katana on the roof. Her hands lift to touch the warm rubber of the wheel. “It means that when I was born…an ancient fox spirit attached itself to me, became a part of me. I can handle lightening and high levels of electricity. It’s like I absorb it, and then I can re-purpose it.” She explains, tossing the ring of keys over in her grip and then fitting one that looked about the right size into the ignition. It slides in easily and she pauses, looking up at you. “We can also live an insanely long time, or so I’ve been told.”

“Like past a century?”

“My mom is about 900.”

Noori whistles, leaning back fully against the rear door on the same side of the car, legs crossed at the ankles. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Wow.” You breathe in shock, staring at Kira in amazement. “That is way more badass than I originally thought."

She laughs, looking embarrassed, and you shake your head incredulously, trying to wrap your head around the new information. The supernatural world is more surprising than you’d ever imagined. More upside down and curiously twisted. More deadly. Like a rabbit hole down into the reaches of a Wonderland’s darkest absurdities, and you were still free falling from thousands of feet. This was all definitely going to take some getting used to.

You reach over to open the back door beneath Noori when she settles more heavily against it, as if getting comfortable, wanting to get on the road as soon as possible. It throws her off balance and she stumbles a bit to the side, rolling her eyes at you before jumping into the back seat. She scoots to sit in the middle and slumps back to rest her head, eyes fluttering closed. You hear the metallic click as Kira turns the key in the ignition, but there’s no rumble of an engine or juddering of the car’s metal frame to signal life. Kira turns it again a few times, getting a quiet, short gasp from the machine after the third, before there’s total silence again. Noori peeks up at you with one eye. You groan, shutting the rear door to step back to the driver’s seat, dipping your head down to look back into the car. Kira leans forward to tap the gauge on the dashboard, the little red needle quivering around the bold ‘E’ at one end. Kira smiles up at you weakly–forlornly–leaning farther to drape her arms over the wheel with a soft sigh. You swear under your breath.

Of all the stupid things–

"I think we forgot to gas up around the bar.” Noori reminds you needlessly from the back, merely shrugging when you turn to stare at her with the most incredulous, miserable look you can muster. And then you finally hear it through your racing thoughts–an unfamiliar, thudding rhythm. It’s faint at first but growing, a nervous stutter in the beat drawing your undivided attention before the smell. Like the ocean, salty and warm, and the air fills with the smoky twinge of burning wood. Kira sees your body tense, your head tilting to more easily catch any nearby sounds, and she straightens in her seat with alarm.

“What is it?”

“I hear something.”

Noori sits up immediately, both eyes open wide. “Let’s hope it’s friendly this time.”

“A heartbeat.” You tell them after a moment. Kira reaches behind her to grip the hilt of her katana, and you slip out the old, blue ice scraper tucked down into fissure between the driver’s seat and the door, weighing the heavy plastic in your hand. Kira curiously eyes it as she turns in her seat to better face the open door, and you shrug helplessly, holding the makeshift weapon by your hip. Noori stifles a laugh at your choice despite the situation. You ignore her with a roll of your eyes, bracing yourself to shift back from the door without turning around–so that Kira can see out behind you. The muscles in your legs barely twitch before you feel a towering figure close in behind you. And you react instinctively, quickly swinging around as you lift the ice scraper and blindly swipe at the figure.

He grips your wrist just as fast, halting your blow and tightening his hold until you’re forced to drop your weapon. In a panic you jerk back, throwing your weight forward to knock him of balance. It works and you both topple over, his eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. You land on top of him, wincing at the shooting pain in your knee caps, one leg hooked over his hip, and he groans loudly from the impact of his back against the pavement. You hear Kira scramble from the front seat, the hilt of her katana thumping against the roof. But as you stare down at the boy beneath you, you can’t seem to find the energy to move, all the breath punched from your lungs. He stares back just as astonished, and you realize that up close you can see an infinite sadness in those beautiful blue eyes–the exact ones from the bar–the hardened, raw awareness of a damned world reflected in them. But there was a fervour in them too, and it makes your heart flutter beyond all reason.

You swallow hard, allowing the confusion you feel to seep into your tone. “It’s you.”

The boy is broken from his revere and drags his gaze away to glance briefly around him, as if suddenly remembering where he is. He flinches when you accidently shift, gritting his teeth and trying to smirk through another groan of pain. It’s a weak smile and he clears his throat to speak, sounding as though he’s struggling to control his breathing, voice pitched as he squints up at you.

“As much as I love the view, your knee in is places that are…very painful.”

“Well, isn’t this romantic.” Noori teases from the other side of the car, propped up on the threshold of the open back door and curled over the roof, her chin resting on the back of her interlinked hands. It takes you a few seconds to realize what the boy means, and you blink at him, looking down to where your knee had landed in the fall.

“Oh. Oh. Oh my god, I’m sorry.” You say in a rush, instantly rolling off of him. You rise to your knees as he breathes out in relief and sits up, but you’re quick to remember that you should be very annoyed with him right about now. You push back on his chest to keep him seated as he goes to stand, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait, no I’m not. Why the hell were you following us?”

“Well–”

“Isaac?”

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the-kipsabian · 6 years ago

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maaaads can i ask for all of them w asagao!dan? (minus champagne cause y'know, he'd technically be a teenager here)

frost blue: does your muse enjoy the snow and cold? or are they the type to enjoy summer more?i really wanna say that hes more of a summer boi tbh? he wouldnt mind winter, its really just the facts that putting on so much clothing can be annoying plus with the crazy hair during winter when it gets all static and stuff? yeah thats a pain (plus during summer he can. wear ponytails so!!)

peacock blue: is your muse honest? what sorts of lies do they tell, if not?he tries to be as honest as possible. sometimes theres little white lies to protect friends feelings if they are required in the moment, but usually hes very honest and straightforward with things tho

lapis lazuli: does your muse prefer the idea of exploring the depths of the oceans, or the boundless expanses of space more?oh, space for sure. first of all, dan thinks space is amazing. second, hes afraid of big bodies of water and sharks so. yyyyeah

reddish brass: how likely is your muse to step up and take the role of a leader? are they willing to take the challenge, or are they more apt to being a follower?hes not. super willing tbh? he will if he absolutely has to, but more often than not hes happy to just be a follower in most cases. unless its. something hes very passionate about, like music or such, then hes more likely to take charge of things

burnt umber: how stable is your muse, mentally and/or emotionally?i mean. he has his issues tbh? but hes not like. completely broken. he is an emotional man i can give him that, but in a really good way. mentally, well.. he struggles with some things more than most people, but then again, dont we all

tea orange: what is something that your muse is fascinated with?i. really wanna say unicorns to this tbh lol

malachite: has your muse ever done anything that they winded up feeling incredibly guilty for in the end?oh im sure. some examples that come to mind would be saying something to a friend that he regretted or having like a really bad breakup or something similar. nothing too drastic tbh, but something along those lines

olive: is your muse prone to feeling envious of others? if yes, what is it that they typically feel envious over?nah. like, not really at all. he does his best and knows his limits and doesnt push them too hard unless its. something he really cares about, so if anything its usually others being envious about dan and his work ethics tho?

vermillion: is your muse courageous, or would they consider themselves to be more of a coward?well. technically not a coward, but in fight or flight situations he would definitely choose to flight as he tries to avoid confrontation as much as possible? if this is not like. physical confrontation related, i’d say he can be very courageous tho? like stepping on a stage to perform or sing in front of a crow and whatnot. that he can do without a doubt and not be afraid of it tho

bougainvillaea: would your muse consider themselves as blunt, or do they beat around the bush instead?it depends? who hes talking to and what about mostly? he can be very blunt, mostly for comedic purposes tho, so i guess he beats around the bush more often? i mean dan says things fairly straight, but not in a blunt way? does that make sense??

currant: what's something that absolutely disgusts your muse (can be a person, place, thing, ect)?mmmmmm is there. really such a thing?? like apart from obvious stuff like inconsiderate assholes and just generally unpleasant people and stuff? mmm probably like. most fast foods? i mean also kinda not as he doesnt care if you consume that stuff, just really dont force him to eat it and hes good? idk dan likes. pretty much everything as long as its not harmful to anyone so like. yeah

crimson: how passionate is your muse about the things they love most?oh, VERY. extremely passionate and he loves to share those things with his friends cause he wants everyone to be able to experience them and yeah

raspberry: what food and/or drink can your muse not get enough of? do they indulge in it often, or is it something reserved for special occasions?sssskittleeeees. he consumes them like. ALL the damn time. which is probably bad but also he doesnt care tbh

baby blossoms: does your muse have a favorite scent? what is it, and why?..my instant first thought was ‘what do unicorns smell like’ so mmm. something slightly sweet maybe? i high key wanna say vanilla but idk?

mallow: what sorts of things might remind your muse of those close to them? any scents, objects, sounds?welp for starters im sure dan has like. songs he associates with each of his friends and such. as for objects, he absolutely treasures any gifts he ever gets, and then theres. the game grumps club jackets woo ~

aubergine: does your muse prefer the day, or are they more of a night-owl?i wanna saaaaay he prefers to actually be awake during the day more? he can be a very sleepy boi and has more energy during the night to take care of things so yeah. plus hes. relatively loud so its much easier for him during the day time when people arent constantly yelling at him to shut up when they want to sleep tbh

acacia: how much does it take for your muse to hate someone?oh, a LOT. dan isnt a hating type at all, like you have to pretty ruthlessly fuck up something really major for him to hate on you, and even then hes. pretty fast to try to forgive and forget and patch things up honestly? hes not one to hold grudges at all

cadmium yellow: what subjects or topics does your muse avoid, because they bring up harmful / painful memories?i mean. personally not much as he doesnt really have those kind of things? and even if he does, dan is pretty open to talk about his life and stuff thats happened, even if for nothing else than to share things with others to show that hey shit can be fucked up but you’ll survive and come through as a stronger person, you know? as for others, yeah if you tell him you dont like certain topics around them hes completely down to not bring them up for you and thats really that - hes not gonna question you or tease you about it or anything like that. dan just gonna take it as it is and be cool with it

honey: when your muse loves someone (whether it be romantic, platonic, or familial love), how do they show it?he can get very physically affectionate tbh. a lot of hugs and cuddles and hand holding. hes very much into sneaking little kisses on your face if your close enough. if youre not down with pda or are a friend or family, then its using words to tell you how much he likes and cares for you, and getting gifts to people of things he knows you like and stuff that makes him think about you when hes picking it out

chartreuse: if you had to describe your muse with a color, what color would it be and why?bbbbllluuuuue. like, a soft shade of blue. not like baby blue, but. blue. cause its his favorite color and i mean maybe this is a personal thing, but to me blue has never been a “cold” color, and knowing what kind of a soft warm personality dan is. yeah

anise: when it comes to self-care, what does your muse do to take care of themselves? do they take care to spend time on it, or do they feel they don't deserve it?he knows his self-worth, thats for sure. tho hes. really bad at taking care of himself if he has a lot to work on, especially when it comes to thinks hes passionate about? like if dan is in a creating mode its really hard to get him to sit down and chill out even for a hot moment, but outside of that he takes pretty good care of himself - doesnt put himself in situations he doesnt like and that get him stressed, actually eats pretty well and gets a decent amount of sleep too, spends time with friends and whatnot

new leaf: what message would your muse send to their past self, if any?mostly he would tell his younger self that things are going to be alright and get better, no matter how things seems to look like now (see ‘danny dont you know’ for example lol)

moss: how easily does your muse adapt to any new situations they're thrust into?hes pretty fast to adapt to new things, honestly. he gets along with people really well as long as they arent straight up assholes, and he loves to get to know new people and places all the time so being thrown into new stuff isnt scary or uncomfortable to him pretty much at all

silk: does your muse care about appearances much? do they spend a lot of time on their own appearance, or do they just go with the flow each day?oh he doesnt really care one way or another tbh. hes a tall boi with a crazy hair, its already hard enough for him to find fitting clothes and keep his hair in some sort of order, he doesnt need to stress about anything else lol. as for others, he doesnt really care either as long as. you dont smell awful tbh. hygiene is the one thing that he cares about honestly

sanguine: does your muse typically have an optimistic, pessimistic, or some middle ground outlook on life?hes an optimist for sure. sure like everyone he has low days, but even then hes trying to keep the outlook on life as positive as possible, no matter what

atoll: if your muse could go anywhere, without any restrictions whatsoever, where would they go? why would they go there?..i just high key wanna say to visit his grandma cause we all know how much he loves her mmmm. probably some other places too, but as far as im concerned, dan is just mostly content being anywhere he is or going or anything as long as he has people he loves around him tho

cool grey: if your muse could ensure one thing for certain in their future to come, what would it be?a stable music career tbh. and/or having people he cares about and who care for him around him

black: does your muse have a 'bucket list?' list some things your muse wants to accomplish before they die.im sure he does, dan is the kind of a person who would like to have some kind of goals in mind for life mmm. well, again with the music career tbh cause thats. kinda obvious. he probably would want to visit as many places in the world too. have like so many dogs. know that he has made someone happy in their day to day life, no matter in what way or who they are. stuff like that ~

colorful headcanons ~

#asagao!dan #this got loooooong oops #tho i mean. you asked for all of them so yeah lol #i left out champagne and coral cause obviously but other than that i tried!#for once my six years of grump knowledge can be used for something LOL #blue-bismuth #birdhouse ✉

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juju-on-that-yeet · 8 years ago

Text

Will I ever stop writing things inspired by @reverseblackholeofwords‘s stuff? Probably not. I was really intrigued by one of her Ego Imagines, the one about what would happen if the Egos met Sean and Signe. I thought the idea of Dr. Iplier having a wicked crush on Signe was interesting and adorable, and then I remembered that he’s not the only Ego who’s dealing with unrequited love, and it didn’t seem so adorable anymore ;w; But it was still very interesting, so I wrote this! I guess it takes place sometime in the future where Mark actually visits the Egos more often? But also not too long after that Ego Imagine took place? Oh well. It’s under a readmore because it’s long, but it’s totally sfw. Hope everyone likes it!

By all accounts, life was going better for Bim than it had in a while. Of course he had Poppy and his garden, but there was more to it than that. Dark was actually making an effort to be civil, Amy was back to visiting frequently, and sometimes she even brought Mark along. Not to mention that Mark seemed to enjoy Bim’s company, or at least tolerate it, more than he did the company of the other egos. Bim did suppose that he was one of the least…eccentric of them all. Either way, it made him happy to have so many opportunities to talk to and really get to know the man who made him, and he never came without Amy, so that was a bonus in and of itself.

But somehow, somehow, Bim didn’t feel quite as happy as he thought he should. He was happy, sure, but he felt something strange when he saw Amy tug Mark along the halls of Ego Inc., or into the elevator, or into a chair beside her. The strange feeling flared when the two shared sweet glances, cozy embraces, or gentle kisses. The feeling kept Bim from being totally content, and he began to feel guilty. What did he have to get upset about or dislike? Everything was going perfectly. It wasn’t some impending sense of this-is-too-good-to-be-true dread, he was certain. It wasn’t jealousy, either, not exactly. He loved Amy, but he didn’t love her like Mark did. He didn’t love Mark, either, for what it was worth. Yet when he looked at the two of them together, Bim would find himself consumed by a wanting, a longing so strong that he sometimes had to excuse himself.

Soon enough, though, he realized. Mark and Amy brought up feelings he’d spent over two years trying to put away. Feelings that remained still, in the background of his mind, just out of reach unless he focused on them. Feelings which he’d so ardently tried not to focus on that it was second nature now, and the thoughts had become little more than mental white noise. But Mark and Amy amplified the static and cleared up the wayward pixels, morphing the buzzing chatter into something Bim recognized.

He didn’t want Amy, and he didn’t want Mark. He wanted what they had.

And he wanted it with Matthias.

Yes, Bim knew his real name, but it always felt odd to call him that, even in his own mind. He’d only met the man once, and never again; using his real name felt too presumptuous, too familiar. But that one meeting was enough for Bim to become smitten. Of course he’d seen all of Matthias’s videos, including the ones he did on other YouTubers’ channels, and kept a sharp eye on his notifications so he never missed a new upload from Matthias’s channel. For a long time, that had been enough. There was one channel, however, that Bim made a point to ignore, because he knew that the background fog in his mind would overtake his whole brain if he watched it. It was the reason that, during the rare times he left Ego Inc., he turned away when he saw happy couples hold hands or kiss or lean on each other as they walked down the street. For over two years, he could avoid the endless longing if he ignored those little moments, bypassed that YouTube channel.

But he couldn’t ignore Mark and Amy. They loved each other like a flower loved the rain. It was clear even when they weren’t touching or stealing glances; just the way they talked about the other betrayed their feelings for one another. Their names were sunbeams rolling across each other’s tongues, soft and bright and joyful. Amy’s already-lovely smiles got wider when he spoke of Mark, or even heard someone else speak of him. Mark, as awkward and nervous as he still often was around the Egos, visibly relaxed and let himself grin whenever Amy came up in conversation. As the days passed, the white noise in Bim’s mind cleared and got stronger, and he gleaned words from it:

I want that. I want to be looked at like that. I want to be touched like that. I want that. I want what they have. I want it with Matthias. I want that, more badly than I’ve ever wanted it before.

Once those thoughts appeared, it was only a matter of time before Bim broke his only rule, the one that kept the mental static from consuming him.

One evening, after Mark and Amy had visited and left, Bim went to his room, turned on his laptop, and opened YouTube. His hands shook slightly as he typed into the search bar:

Matt & Amanda.

Bim knew of Amanda, of course he did. He followed Matthias on other places besides YouTube, and she made plenty of appearances in those places. But it was much easier to ignore or push away a line of text or a still picture. He’d known from the beginning that he could never, never go to the channel Matthias had with Amanda. It would hurt too much to look at them together, be too painful to watch the way Matthias looked at her and spoke to her, and be too easy to imagine himself in Amanda’s shoes, to get lost in a fantasy of something that had no chance of coming into being.

But Mark and Amy unlocked that desire in him, the strange feeling of morbid curiosity, of wanting to see exactly what he was missing.

So he watched. It felt like an eternity passed as Bim watched videos on the channel. He didn’t go in any particular order, simply choosing whichever video’s title and thumbnail called to him the loudest. He watched Matthias and Amanda do challenges, travel, and relax together. He saw in their faces, their eyes, the tones of their voices how much they loved each other. He saw the deep affection and care Matthias felt for baby Luna, herself the very manifestation of Matthias’s love for Amanda. He watched the beautiful family move through life like they were sailing a calm ocean, in leisurely command of the boat, traveling to exactly where they wanted to be. Bim watched, and his heart clenched in and out, and the white noise was white noise no longer, but loud and clear and agonizing as it rolled across his mind in waves. He was only half-aware of the tears. He didn’t hate Amanda, not by any means, but he was so deeply envious of her and what she got to experience with the man of his dreams. He so deeply wished he could be in her shoes, and have the life she lived, the life she lived with Matthias, the only person Bim felt he was capable of loving. Bim watched, and he wished, and he felt his heart snap into millions of tiny fractals, infinite and desperate.

He was so overtaken by his sadness that he didn’t realize someone else was there until he heard them speak from behind him.

“Bim, are you…” Dr. Iplier, of all people, said slowly. Bim momentarily froze before closing the tab and rubbing tears out of his eyes. He swiveled around in his chair to face Dr. Iplier and forced out a smile.

“Dr. Iplier, what are you doing here?” Bim asked, attempting to shift his focus but also genuinely curious about the answer. After all, this wasn’t his floor, and while Bim and the Doctor were certainly on good terms, they weren’t quite friends, either.

“There was a lull in my shift, so I decided to take a walk to keep myself awake,” he explained, “But then I heard you crying. And you left your bedroom door open.”

Bim looked past Dr. Iplier towards the door. Ah, so he had left the door open. His cheeks reddened, but they were already so red from crying there wasn’t much of a difference.

“Look Bim, I know what you were looking at.” Dr. Iplier frowned. “That’s not good for you.”

“I just…I mean…I…” Bim stuttered, trying to figure out how to explain himself. Finally, he gave up, and abruptly stood from his chair. “I’m Bim Trimmer!!” He shouted, before moving to dash away.

“Not so fast,” Dr. Iplier muttered, grabbing Bim’s arm and stopping him from fleeing, “We need to talk about this.” He looked at Bim, eyes serious and sympathetic. “Mental health is just as important as physical health, Bim. I’m a doctor, I know what’s best.” Bim sagged slightly in Dr. Iplier’s grip and shook his head.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, voice quiet, “Everyone already knows how I feel about Matthias, including you. It’s already been two years, it’s probably too late to get over it.” He looked at his feet. “Besides, it’s not like a doctor can fix a broken heart.”

“Bim,” Dr. Iplier tried again, “Whatever way you’ve been trying to deal with this hasn’t been working. What you were doing before I walked in is proof of that. You’re never going to feel any better about this if you don’t—”

Bim wrenched his arm out of Dr. Iplier’s grasp, feeling tears spring into his eyes anew. He felt it happening, something the Doctor tended to do: He would become certain of the right course of action, the correct solution, and become blind to alternatives. Bim was already strained from being barged in on and prevented from getting away, and he didn’t want to be browbeaten by some know-it-all, not now.

“It’s not that easy, don’t you understand??” Bim yelled, voice wavering with anger and sadness. “If it were, I would’ve gotten over Matthias a long time ago! But it’s not and it isn’t, and I don’t care if you are a doctor! Clearly I was wrong before, because you don’t know how I feel! I was doing just fine before…before…” A sob broke into his voice, and his arms curled around himself like a shield. “Before I kept seeing Amy and Mark together, and realizing how much I wanted what they have with each other. I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t.” The tears fell more strongly now, and his shoulders began to shake. “But I have to ignore it, it can’t…these feelings won’t ever go away so I have…I have to…” He started to cry again, much harder than before, his body trembling with emotion.

“Bim…” Dr. Iplier sighed. Bim had always been one of the more sensitive of the Egos, and seeing him upset was enough to tug at nearly anyone’s heartstrings, including Dr. Iplier’s. He took Bim’s arm again, gently this time, and pulled him into a hug. He felt Bim grip onto his doctor’s coat and bury his face in his shoulder. The other man’s sobs were so severe that Dr. Iplier felt himself trembling from the force, but he didn’t flinch or move away. Being a doctor who was used to giving bad news, he’d developed a good bedside manner. He knew that in situations like this, it was better to let the tears pass before the problem was addressed. And the more he thought, the more he realized that there was only one good way to solve this problem, and it would involve telling one of his deepest secrets. He was in no hurry to do it, so he let Bim cry until he finally burned himself out after several long minutes. Bim then pulled himself away from the Doctor to wipe away tears again, feeling a little better but also rather embarrassed.

“Bim.” Dr. Iplier took a deep breath, steeling his nerves before he continued: “I do know how you feel. I know what it’s like.” Bim blinked.

“You’re in love with Matthias, too?” he asked.

“No…” Dr. Iplier said, put out. He took another breath. “I’m in love with Signe.” His cheeks turned pink.

“Oh.” Bim murmured, now feeling bad about his earlier outburst. “I didn’t know. She visited a while ago, was that…?”

“Well, I made a fool of myself in front of her,” Dr. Iplier muttered, “So it didn’t go great. Not to mention I got to watch her walk around with her boyfriend the whole day.” He shook his head. “The point is, I know how you feel. Unrequited love sucks. But there’s ways to cope with it, ways that don’t just make you feel worse in the long run. Let me help you, Bim.”

Bim considered, then sighed.

“How do you stand it?” he asked, voice small. “It hurts to even think about it.”

“Have you even let yourself think about it?” Dr. Iplier asked. “You said you’ve been trying to ignore it all this time, but the first step is letting yourself feel it. In a healthy way—” he clarifies as Bim opens his mouth, “—that is, not by wallowing in misery. You try to keep your routine, do the things you normally do. You acknowledge that you won’t be as sharp or able to do as much as usual, and you don’t aim for that. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other, while letting yourself be sad. You can’t just make yourself feel it all at once and then push it away.” He stared at Bim pointedly. Bim looked down, sufficiently chastised.

“That sounds nice, but it seems really difficult,” he mused quietly.

“It is,” said Dr. Iplier, “I know from experience. But it works. You let yourself feel it, a little at a time…” He closed his eyes, saw Signe’s pretty face, and gently opened them again. “And eventually, you move on.”

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving Matthias,” Bim murmured.

“That’s not what ‘moving on’ means,” explained Dr. Iplier, “It just means accepting the situation, and being able to love without it hurting. I suppose the ultimate end goal is to stop loving the person, but that’s the part you can’t control. You can only control how you love them, and how you deal with that love. Some days are definitely worse than others…” Dr. Iplier remembered Signe’s visit and turned red again, “But it’s never hopeless.” He gave a soft grin. “It helps to have someone else who understands, too.”

Bim smiled back. There were tears in his eyes again, but he wasn’t quite so sad anymore.

“Yeah, I can already tell,” he said. His smile was tired from all the emotions his mind had run through over the day, but it was bright and genuine all the same. He yawned then, surprising both Dr. Iplier and himself.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost two in the morning,” Dr. Iplier answered, looking at his watch. Bim was shocked to realize how many hours he’d spent watching Matthias and Amanda’s channel. No wonder he’d felt so bad, so mired in despair.

“I wonder…” he said slowly, “…If I might be better off not watching Matthias’s videos for a little while.” Dr. Iplier’s expression colored with surprise.

“That’s…very sensible of you, Bim,” he managed to reply, “I think that might be a good idea, if you think you can do it.”

“I have to at least try,” Bim said, “I know what you said about keeping up a routine, but maybe it might be better for me to take that part of my routine out.”

“I would have to agree,” Dr. Iplier said amicably. He peered at Bim closely for a long moment, who slowly became confused.

“Dr. Iplier…?” he questioned.

“Bim,” Dr. Iplier proclaimed, face serious but voice playful, “You are not dying. You’re going to be fine.”

Bim giggled, and a few happy tears managed to escape from his eyes and down his cheeks. He wiped them away, much more gently than he’d wiped away his tears earlier in the night.

“Thank you, Dr. Iplier,” Bim said, voice wispy with emotion.

“Of course, Bim,” Dr. Iplier replied, “It’s what I’m here for. Now,” he continued, “Go to bed already.” Bim laughed.

“Okay, I will, but so should you!” Bim insisted. “You work so hard all the time, you deserve some rest. There has to be someone else who can cover for you.”

“I’ll see.” Dr. Iplier phrased it like a consideration, but Bim could tell it was a promise. “Goodnight, Bim.”

“Goodnight, Doc,” Bim replied as Dr. Iplier left Bim’s room, shutting the door behind him.

As tired as he was, Bim’s heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

#staygoldrbhw #markiplier egos #markiplier fanfiction #bim trimmer #dr. iplier #kristin says stuff #my writing #bim is such a sweet boi #i felt sad making him sad #don't worry though dr. iplier knows what's best ;w;

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