#drawing them fighting to show [Dream]'s train of thoughts <<< drawing them fighting cause they look real good like that ///

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Seven

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he’s not Reader’s sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2684

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love and support for this series! Everyone who has liked or reblogged this week after week means the world to me!

A/N 2: I split their date into 2 parts because I wanted to give perspective from both sides. Enjoy Bucky’s POV first!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

An anxiousness bubbled up inside Bucky as he and (Y/N) stepped out of her office building and onto the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. It was five o’clock, meaning every other yuppie in New York was trying to get somewhere as well. Walking shoulder to shoulder with her felt like a feat in itself. Everyone around them seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, and they were fighting against the current like a pair of spawning salmon swimming upstream.

With his size and stature, most passers-by gave Bucky a wide berth. But with (Y/N), they didn’t. They jostled her like a small boat caught at sea during a storm; they gave her no mind in their rudeness. She fought to stay astride him as businessmen shouldered past her like a runningback fighting to make it to the endzone.

A feeling of protectiveness washed over him. Longing to whisk (Y/N) away from her place on the dirty cement increased with every step. The defensive surge fizzing right below the surface wanted him to tuck her into his side and glower at anyone who dreamed of coming close.

Bucky couldn’t, of course. He had to play it as if they’d only met a few days ago, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he grasped her empty hand and led her through the swarm of fellow New Yorkers.

(Y/N)’s hand was warm inside his, and the very thought of him touching her made his pulse quicken. The reaction wasn’t unpleasant. Though, it fuzzily reminded him of his teenage years. He was nearly one hundred years old! He shouldn’t be acting like a lovesick fool.

But here he was- swooning over a girl like he was fifteen again.

Bucky felt a yanking on his arm as (Y/N) pulled him from the stream of rushing bodies. Unmoving, at the edge of the rush, he found it was easier to breathe again. The fretfulness bled away once they were standing still.

He peered around, questioning why they’d stopped. Wedged between two high-rise buildings was a squat cafe. The shop’s window front beamed onto the footpath like the mecca it was, calling bystanders in from the street. Above the green striped awning over the entrance spelled out Deja Brew in colorful, blocky letters. Bucky chuckled at the play on words.

Towing the door open, (Y/N) tugged him in further.

Stepping inside the brightly lit coffee shop, Bucky was blanketed by the overpowering scent of fresh coffee grounds. It was potent, hanging thick in the air. Taking a deep breath in, he was transported back to a rickety kitchen and a second-hand table, where he and Steve would take their morning coffee and breakfast. The smell reminded him of simpler times. Times before all the trouble Hydra had caused. He let go of a nostalgic sigh.

“Right?” (Y/N) asked, standing at his side. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. “I love it here. It always feels like coming home.”

Bucky grinned down at (Y/N), understanding how she felt. The exposed brick walls, the tidy, destressed floors, and the primary colors being strewn about the space gave him a sense of sentimentality.

“I come in here several times a week,” she explained. “Not just because it’s convenient, but it reminds me of growing up.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, taking in the warm atmosphere of the quaint shop. “I get that.”

The pair strolled up to the counter and, presumably, the barista taking orders. Without looking in their direction, the young man in an apron spoke in a monotone, “Welcome to Deja Brew. What can I get started for you?”

A smile slowly crawled across (Y/N)’s lips. “Hey, Bryson. Didn’t know you were working tonight?”

Bryson’s head whipped up so fast; Bucky thought it might detach from his shoulders. His cheeks dimpled, and the corners of his striking green eyes crinkled into a bright smile. “Hey, beautiful!” Bryson beamed. “I’m doing a double--covering for Kari. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“You know me,” (Y/N) said with a tinkling laugh. “Just can’t stay away.” Bryson replied with his own laughter.

A flare of jealousy twisted unexpectedly in Bucky’s gut. Was (Y/N) flirting?

Bucky supposed he could consider Bryson classically handsome. He was taller than Bucky with short, sandy brown hair and broad shoulders. His muscular frame filled out the black polo shirt he wore, but he wasn’t overly bulky- like he played baseball in college. There was a smattering of light freckles over his high cheekbones and straight nose. And eyelashes to rival Steve’s.

Was this his competition?

Bucky grumbled to himself and gritted his teeth as he watched the two giggle over some inside joke. There was an envious gnawing behind his ribcage as Bryson leaned onto his elbows over the countertop, inching closer to (Y/N). That was his girl!

Without warning, like a shaken soda bottle, his voice exploded from his mouth, dripping annoyance, “I’ll take a medium Americano, a chocolate croissant, and whatever the lady is having.”

Shocked back into the present by Bucky’s gruff words, Bryson shot upright. His startled green eyes shifted from (Y/N) to Bucky and back again. Bucky could barely contain his eye-roll as the other man feigned busyness after being caught slacking. It was apparent Bryson only had eyes for (Y/N), or he would have noticed she wasn’t alone, despite Bucky standing mere centimeters away from her.

Possessiveness tingled at Bucky’s fingertips, and the compulsion to wrap his arm around (Y/N)’s waist was strong. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull her close. Show this punk who she belonged to.

Regardless of his feelings, though, Bucky had no claim over (Y/N). He’d known her as Bucky for a scant three days. He imagined she’d known Bryson a lot longer. He couldn’t profess his desire to be hers in such a short time, no matter the urgency. It would come off as weird and controlling.

So, he resolved to bite the inside of his cheek and grin and bear it. He could bide his time, right? He’d waited seventy years. What’s another seventy more?

Bucky cringed internally at the thought of waiting.

“(Y/N), you know this guy?” Bryson inquired, acting as if he’d finally grown a pair, with a bite to his words.

Bucky’s pulse fluttered as (Y/N) turned to face him, a smile on her lips and something sparkling in her eyes. “I do,” she said. “He’s my date.” She grinned bigger with a cute scrunch to her nose as she said date.

Bryson’s eyes widened in alarm, then quickly narrowed in suspicion as he observed the flowers (Y/N) held. Bucky wondered, momentarily, if he was the first guy (Y/N) had ever brought into the shop. Was Bryson just as jealous as he was?

It wasn’t until he saw the almost imperceivable head tilt to get (Y/N) to step away from Bucky’s side did he realize what Bryson’s genuine concern was about.

(Y/N)’s brow furrowed in confusion as she took a stride to her right.

In a hushed whisper, Bryson asked, “You know who he is, right?” Bucky’s super-hearing picked up every word.

(Y/N) unsuccessfully tried to blink away her uncertainty, causing her eyebrows to pinch together further. “Who exactly is he, Bryson?” (Y/N) pondered, an edge of irritation leaking into her speech. She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her sweater tighter around her body.

Bucky could hear it in her voice. (Y/N) knew precisely what Bryson had meant and was trying to draw it out of him.

“You know,” Bryson said, not even trying to whisper anymore. “He’s that guy.”

(Y/N) cocked her head to the side a fraction. “You mean the guy who the US government exonerated for any and all crimes he may have committed as The Winter Soldier? You mean that guy?” (Y/N) deadpanned, uncrossing her arms. Bryson stared at her blankly.

“What about the guy who got drafted into a war unwillingly?” (Y/N) continued. “Or the one captured by the enemy and experimented on against his will?” Her hands curled into fists as the tension in her body rose. Bryson’s eye contact suddenly became very jumpy, unable to focus on her now and for a good reason.

“How about the guy who fell from a train- survived- and had his arm barbarically amputated?”

Bucky watched (Y/N)’s hands tighten further, blanching her knuckles of any color. He shuffled forward, ready to jump in if need be. Although, she was doing a good job holding her own.

“Don’t forget about that one guy who was tortured and abused, brainwashed, and forced to commit unspeakable atrocities for over seventy years, all in the name of a cult,” (Y/N) stated, pressing her palms flat against the countertop and ducking her head, trying to catch Bryson’s eye. His face flushed visibly in embarrassment.

“In case you aren’t caught up on your current events, Bryson, that guy’s name is Bucky Barnes,” (Y/N) spit sardonically.

Bryson raised his eyes at this, and the look on his face darkened. “Regardless of whether he was brainwashed or not, he’s an Avenger,” Bryson sneered, his gaze sliding to Bucky. “And that makes him dangerous.”

What the hell was this guy’s problem? Bucky wondered, wanting to wipe the smirk off his smug face.

(Y/N) let out a humorless huff of a laugh. Her lips spread into a thin line. “No more dangerous than the possibility of being struck by lightning or getting hit by a subway train.”

Bucky chuckled inwardly as Bryson flexed his jaw in frustration. (Y/N) was really getting to him.

Bryson’s expression morphed into something more sinister. “I mean, are you really going to take the word of some ‘expert’ from a third-world country that he won’t turn into a murder-bot again?” The air-quotes in his tone punctuated the contempt he undeniably felt.

Anger blossomed in Bucky’s chest at the degrading mention of the Princess of Wakanda. He owed everything to Shuri. If it weren’t for her, he definitely wouldn’t be in New York right now but on the run again. Shuri saved his life.

Bucky took a step toward the counter, intending to do something, anything to shut this jackass up. Instead, (Y/N) placed a calming hand to his sternum, stopping him from doing anything rash. The look of disdain on Bryson’s face amplified the longer (Y/N)’s touch lingered on his body, and that was equally as satisfying as causing this prick bodily harm.

“While your concern is unwarranted,” (Y/N) assured, “it’s also unwanted. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

She gazed up into Bucky’s blue eyes fondly; a charming smile curled at her lips. “Besides, I don’t think he’d hurt a fly now.”

“It’s your funeral,” Bryson mumbled under his breath. (Y/N) didn’t catch it, or she paid it no mind.

The affection Bucky felt for (Y/N) at that moment swelled exponentially. He was in love with her, he realized. It was no longer just a crush.

No one, other than Steve, had ever championed for him as openly or as forcefully as she had just then. The adoration accumulating in his heart felt like it would erupt at any minute. She made him want to believe in love again. She made him think he might be worthy of that love someday.

He’d have to find a way to earn it, somehow.

Staring into her beautiful face and seeing compassion and empathy made him want to press his lips to hers. He still couldn’t believe she’d found him on accident. It was all so serendipitous.

There was one crucial roadblock obstructing his path to happiness, though. One he couldn’t possibly ignore for much longer without consequences— figuring out how to tell (Y/N) he and James were the same. But how?

Until then, he’d enjoy the ride.

“Hey, Bryson,” (Y/N) vocalized, her timbre a saccharine sweet. “I’ll take a medium iced mocha with extra whip and a white chocolate raspberry scone as well.” She winked at Bucky.

A scoff came from low in the pastry case causing Bucky and (Y/N) to titter in laughter.

“Wow. That was-” Bucky started, trying to find the words to explain how her coming to his defense made him feel.

(Y/N)’s pupils dilated, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Oh, my God!” she said in a near panic. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky smiled at her warmly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He brushed a stray hair from her cheek delicately, his fingers dallying along the soft skin. The palm of his hand settled just below her ear, on the side of her neck. His thumb bobbed up and down with every clench and unclenching of her jaw.

“You must be so sick of hearing the same argument over and over again. People deciding your guilt or innocence based on first glances,” (Y/N) murmured, finally dropping her hand from his chest.

Bucky wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart through all the layers of clothes he was wearing. “It’s nice to have a cheerleader, for once,” he answered honestly.

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll always be in your corner, Bucky.”

His stomach dipped at her words’ implications. He whole-heartedly believed she would. “Thank you.”

(Y/N) shrugged in response. Over her bouncing shoulder, Bucky caught a glimpse of Bryson scowling at the two of them from his spot at the espresso machine. Bile churned in his belly. Bryson was turning into a nuisance, like a mosquito at a summer barbeque.

Bucky brought the hand at (Y/N)’s neck down to her upper arm and rubbed it gently. “Why don’t you find us a seat. I’ll finish up here,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. She returned the gesture and nodded her head in acquiescence, sweeping past him.

Bucky followed her movements through the coffeehouse as she picked a cushioned bistro set positioned near the front windows. The waning light of the day cascaded through the clear glass, highlighting her delicate, feminine features. She was breathtaking.

Turning to face the dreadful barista, the grin on Bucky’s lips faded into a frown.

Bryson set their order down roughly on the register counter and proceeded to punch in the items on the touchscreen. He remained silent, mulishly waiting for payment. The death glare he wore seemed to be permanently etched into his features now.

Bucky could tell he was seething; the vein in his forehead throbbed with every beat of his pulse. Instead of engaging, though, Bucky smirked and slid a twenty-dollar bill toward the other man.

Bryson angrily scooped up the money. He bent his head closer to Bucky, gnashing his teeth. “If you hurt a single hair on her head, I will burn you to the ground,” he taunted, reaching into the till for change and tossing it on the counter.

Bucky’s expression never faltered. His exterior remained composed, cool as a cucumber. Inside, he raged like a bull seeing the color red. He wanted nothing more than to mop the floor with this asshole’s face. Alternatively, he gathered the littered change and dumped it all into the tip jar sitting beside the register. He stared Bryson dead in the face, a ghost of a smile still clinging to his mouth. “And if I ever hear of you treating (Y/N) with the blatant disrespect you showed her today…” Bucky paused, his voice calm and controlled. He leaned forward, pushing in closer to Bryson’s ear. “They’ll never find your body.”

The joy he felt coursing through his body as Bryson’s eyes stretched to the size of saucers and his Adam’s apple wobbled as he gulped in fear was indescribable.

Bucky gathered their drinks and pastries, pivoting towards the table where (Y/N) sat. He shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, “Have a good day, Bryson!”

Chapter Six (Part 2) | Chapter Eight

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[phantasmagoriaoriginals]

Here There be Monsters: Mage Basic Intros (Part 2)

Cybele

She/her, ??? Mage.

Around three hundred years ago, Cybele wanted to help find peace between humans and Creatures. To do this, she found a way to merge with magic itself, change her form, and become something that the world would listen to. From there, with new, unheard-of powers, she formed the Organization and shaped it to work toward her goal and dream. 

While Cybele started out as a remarkably kind, gentle, loving person, her passions reached heights greater than she was meant to handle. Merging with magic turned her into something inhuman, and as it is, she’s slipped into a dream-like mental state where she only sees the reality she wants to. She’s lost in her own head and forgetting the world around her. 

Cybele’s magic is unique in that she can use all seven kinds with near mastery. This should be impossible, however, and the consequence of such power is the slow deterioration of her mental state. 

5′6, early 30′s (physically). Statuesque, shapely build, gentle, pleasing features, and light, rosy skin. Waist-length, golden-blonde, curly/wavy hair with distinct bangs, ocean-blue eyes with a bright sparkle in them. A soft smile almost always graces her lips, and her eyes are kind. 

Gisette

She/her, Blue Mage.

Born to a high-ranking Mage family, Gisette spent her youth with high expectations. She was supposed to be perfect from day one— with all the constant work that comes with that. Indeed, she grew to reach a powerful position in the Organization, but along the way, she’s become jaded to the world and the supposed purpose of making it better. 

Stern, strict, and severe, Gisette is the kind of person who doesn’t need to be big to be terrifying. She holds high, hard-earned authority, and her very posture makes it clear she knows it. An outstanding strategist, Gisette has spent years with the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders, choosing“should” over any “want” she may have had. 

Gisette’s magic involves bringing written messages to life. This mainly suits her work as a strategist and organizer, as she can send moving, encrypted, and physically activated text wherever she pleases. 

5′4, early 50′s. Waist-length, dark brown, almost black hair usually worn in a high bun. Dark gray eyes, pale skin, a fair amount of wrinkles. Usually wears earrings. Despite being a petite woman with a fairly slight build, the way Gisette carries herself shows her status well. 

Maximus

He/him, Red Mage.

Like Gisette, he was born to a powerful Mage family and experienced much of the same pressure. The two were childhood friends and held feelings for each other from a young age. Maximus was the one who could never quite let go of them, even after Gisette gave up on her personal longings in favor of what she knew she had to do. 

The opposite of Gisette in almost every way, Maximus is animated, dynamic, and imposing. His physical size makes most people cower, but his boisterous nature either sets them at ease or makes it worse. While he’s more than capable of taking things seriously, a beaming smile and openly held passions get him where he wants to be. 

Maximus’s magic involves augmenting his physical strength. Instead of merely utilizing his energy, he doubles it back and ups his capacity for strength and movement, giving him nearly superhuman capabilities. 

6′10, early 50′s. Huge, heavily muscled, powerful build. Shoulder blade-length, curly/fluffy hair a shade of blue so pale it’s almost white, almost always restrained in a low ponytail. Tanned skin, dark crimson eyes, chiseled, handsome features, and a good few wrinkles from age. 

Rosaria

She/her, Green Mage.

Aurora’s older sister. From a young age, she was considered a prodigy at Green magic and was showered in the attention and praise that followed. While she remains a sweet, caring person, Rosaria’s outlook toward the world and other people has been distorted by the way she was treated growing up. She can be quite oblivious and ignorant. 

Charismatic and sociable, Rosaria is the picture of the person everyone loves. Between her gift for magic and her skills with interpersonal relations, she’s well-respected and well-loved by almost everyone around her. Rosaria is quite a friendly, cheerful, and kind person, but she struggles with considering others’ feelings properly. 

Rosaria’s magic is typical Green magic— drawing from the world around her to manifest various effects. In her specific case, she augments both her physical strength and her speed capabilities. 

5′9, late 20′s. Tall, curvaceous build with an hourglass figure. Short-cut, chin-length white hair worn in a bob that frames her face. Wide, deep gray eyes with a slight green tint to them and pale lashes. Her features are quite appealing and she always seems to be wearing a smile. 

Adrian

He/him, Yellow Mage.

In his early teenage years, Adrian made a mistake with his magic that caused his body to stop aging. He’s forever stuck at the age he was when the incident happened, even though his mind continues to develop. He became a skilled Mage nonetheless... but life seems to never give him a break. An unfortunate incident with a girlfriend was the tipping point. 

Adrian is intellectual, poised, strict, and somewhat snobby. He has the personality of s stuck-up professor, and definitely enough ego to mirror it. Despite being internally depressed and angry with the world, he’s determined to ignore his unpleasant history and pretend like he’s not miserable. He has more than his fair share of pride in himself. 

The magic he uses involves bringing his words to life. When Adrian speaks a command with magical intent, it happens. He has to be quite careful with it, as the exact mechanisms are tricky and complex. 

4′11, late 30′s. Adrian’s body is youthful, small, and unaging. Brown, past chin-length hair in a fairly straight cut, with bangs, and brown eyes only a few shades warmer and more hazel. Carries a near-permanent scowl and posture that conveys his pride and experience. 

Gloria

She/her, Yellow Mage.

Formerly a Mage of high rank, Gloria’s magic started to affect her mind about a decade ago. From there, it’s been a slow slide into delusions and distorted thinking that have left her with a very different role. When she was younger, she loved her magic for what it could show her and the things she could experience, but now, she can hardly keep track of them.

Gloria used to be a composed, passionate woman who handled her job well and enjoyed every second of it. She was outspoken, bold, and graceful in both speech and mannerisms. After her magic changed her, though, she’s become very disorganized in thought. She has trouble telling what’s real, what’s tangible, and what’s in the present.

The magic that twisted Gloria’s mind is the ability to see into the past and future. While limited, it was highly useful, and she pushed herself too far with it, leading to her mind being unable to handle the information. 

5′5, mid 30′s. Graceful, art-like build with a soft figure and not a lot of muscle. Caramel-brown hair worn in a shoulder-length style with longer sidelocks, shining, golden-hazel eyes, and fair skin. Her eyes have a vacant, spacey look in them more often than not. 

Coulson

He/him, Blue Mage.

For the most part, Coulson has a normal past. He fought his way through education and training to be as skilled as he currently is, and that fight gave him an unhealthy amount of pride. He’s always been competitive and authoritative, and can’t stand others besting him in any way. He worked his way into the Organization for the sake of power. 

Coulson is strict, self-absorbed, and demanding of others. In his mind, he’s almost always the most capable person in the room and he acts like it. He’s a stickler for rules (when they suit him), dismissive of other people and their opinions, and aggressively fixated on his authority in the chain of command. He takes a lot of pride in his power and abilities. 

For magic, Coulson uses a variety of small tattoos self-engraved into his body to create a variety of effects. He adds new ones quite frequently as he learns new applications and methods of utilizing them. 

6′0, mid 30′s. Tall, somewhat lanky build with unnerving strength for how little muscle is visible. Dark blue, curly hair slicked back on the right side and left loose on the left. Darker blue eyes, pale skin, and two silver piercings (right nostril and right earlobe) connected with a thin chain.

Rochia

She/they, Brown Mage.

A perpetual hard worker, Rochia grew up with a love of both machinery and magic. She enjoyed experimenting with everything she could get her hands on and seeing what worked. Once she joined the Organization, Rochia wound up assigned to a top-secret project that killed her optimistic view of the world, leaving her bitter and pragmatic.

Sharp-tongued, logical, and no-nonsense, Rochia is dedicated to her work— even when she hates it. She dislikes unrealistic fantasies and people who go against rules and sensible choices and favors those who devote themselves to something tangible with their whole hearts. Despite losing faith in the world, small parts of her still cling to hope. 

Rochia’s magic is something of a mystery. It relates to creating and maintaining magical machines, but the exact nature of what she knows and does is kept secret by the higher-ups of the Organization itself. 

5′2, mid 20′s. Petite and rather stocky in build, with few curves. Dark brown hair worn in a shaggy, somewhat messy pixie cut easily kept out of the way. Gray, brown-tinted eyes with perpetual dark circles underneath, light skin, and forming wrinkles at her brow. 

[bittydragon]

The Borrower of L’Manburg (Pt.1)

Notes: So for starters, this story is actually written by a friend of mine on discord. They asked if I would be willing to share this with you all and here we are! I’ve enjoyed reading their writing as the story progresses (and if you didn’t see in the title there are more parts in the making!) With that all said, their story is really good, so I hope you enjoy their writing as much as I do!

It had been a while since you had fled your home in L'manburg, but not nearly long enough to be able to move out of this cursed house that you had had to move into for the time being. You somehow chose what was possibly the worst building to ever live in. The dictator and his VP lived here; the ones that uprooted your life and destroyed the protective walls of the nation you called home. You were terrified every time you had to go out for supplies, but you couldn't survive another long journey to any other nearby building yet. Piercing loud yelling broke your train of thought.

"Quackity, I swear to God, don't you fucking touch that!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" A different voice yells back, laughing. The man behind that voice was a bit younger- Quackity is his name, the Vice President of the dictatorial president. He also seems to be a whole lot nicer in private than he showed when he was ripping down the walls that protected you. You tuned back in to their conversation, but it was too late. You hear the front door slam, and silence.

They had left. This gives you the perfect opportunity to go scavenging. These guys aren't exactly tidy- they leave everything out in the open, which is the only reason why you hadn't risked your life to escape to get somewhere else quite yet. You remove the pixels of the block you had hallowed out for yourself and look around, just to make sure the coast is clear. After replacing the pixels, you make your way across the counter of the whitehouse's kitchen, which is actually just a space below the stairs, with just a crafting table and a few furnaces. Once you get to the furthest furnace away, you clip your fishing rod string to the corner pixel and swing down to check for any leftover cooked food. There's some cooked chicken, so you grab just one pixel of it. You don't want to risk them noticing anything.

Just as you've swung yourself down to the middle furnace, you hear a loud thump upstairs, and freeze. The color and warmth drains from your face in an instant as footsteps begin thundering down the stairs that are right over your head. Oh, fuck…

You scramble to pull yourself up and unhook the string, but it's too late. You hear the clink of the door opening behind you, and your body turns cold. You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

"What the actual fuck?" His voice seems slightly amused.

You're sweating bullets, but all of your senses suddenly hit you all at once. RUN. So, you bolt. You're sure that this is the fastest you've ever ran in your life, but somehow he's faster and slams his hand down in front of you.

"Oh hell no, you aren't going anywhere! You're staying right here, you tiny fuckin idiot." He laughs at you condescendingly as you slam into his hand and bounce off, flat on your back. When you try to sit up, he puts his index finger on your stomach to pin you down as he looms over you menacingly. "What, you really thought I'd just let you leave? I gotta know what the fuck you are!" He chuckles without a single attempt to comfort you. Can he even see that you're hyperventilating? You aren't sure.

Realizing that your hands are free, you pull out your swords and slash his finger in one swift motion, drawing blood immediately.

"AH, SHIT!" His scream thunders in your ears. He pulls away to look at the damage you did, and you swiftly scramble up and continue your escape to your block. "Hey!"

You're stopped mid sprint as your sword is snatched away from you, and you stumble a little bit. A moment later, you're also snatched up by the opposite hand. Another moment later, and you're held up in front of a giant, horned face of the man- and he looks absolutely pissed.

"You little piece of shit! What the fuck was that for? I didn't do nothin' to you!" Those words coming from him fill you with rage, but you don't want to piss him off any more.

"Let me go!" You squeak, squirming in his fist, your arms pinned to your side this time. Only your head and shoulders peak out of his hand. He raises his eyebrows at the sound of your voice, obviously a bit surprised.

"Hell no!" He looks at his other hand, at the finger you had slashed. He sucks on it for a second just to clean the blood off. "Not after that shit you just pulled. You're a violent little thing! What are you anyways, huh? Where'd you come from?"

"I'm a villager! Now let go of me!"

"Wh-What?" He laughs loudly. "You aint no fuckin' villager! You're smaller than a bee!"

"Yeah, thanks, I couldn't tell. I am a villager. At least, I used to be."

"What the fuck happened to you then, huh? A witch got you? When did they make that update?"

"Yeah, sure, a witch." You shiver at the memory of what happened to your village. Dream and Technoblade. You'll never forget.

He sets the fist you're in down on top of the furnace and leans over, resting his other elbow on the furnace as well. "Well c'mon, you gotta tell me your life story, I'm so very interested." Sarcasm drips from his stupid muttonchops.

"Piss off." You scowl at him. You remember how Dream had threatened the whole village if anyone ever said anything to anyone. Schlatt uses his thumb to nudge your head, just to annoy you. He smirks and chuckles.

"Y'know, you're kinda cute. I might have to keep you around." Your eyes widen at that.

"What? Keep me?"

"Yeah! Like a pet or some shit. Build you a little terrarium or something." He snickers.

You start to struggle in his grip again, which immediately tightens out of instinct. "Let me go! I'm not staying here with you, you crazy bastard!"

"Woah, woah, why the hostility, Jesus! Relax! I'm great to be around, I don't know why you're freaking out. You'd love Quackity, too." He stares off into space for a moment in thought of his new VP.

"No! I'm not staying with either of you! You ruined my home in L'manburg!" You fight with all your might to free yourself from his hold.

His eyes light up with something you can't quite place, but it isn't good. "Ohoho! So that's where you came from! L'manburg, huh? What the fuck did Wilbur do to you!" He laughs so hard that he has to straighten himself standing up. "Y'know, I rule L'manburg now. So you're technically my citizen. I rule you." He chuckles at your pitiful attempts to get free. "You're just as pathetic as all the other citizens I rule. Except with you, I can hold you in my hand. Oh yeah, you aren't going anywhere, anytime soon."

You didn't know it was possible to laugh as hard as he is.

~

You huff as you pace back and forth, glancing out the glass he had trapped you in. He had taken away your sword earlier, but before he had trapped you he had taken all of your supplies- your hook, your climbing equipment, your toolbelt, everything besides the pixel of cooked chicken. He said that you had 'earned' that.

Whenever you glance out the glass, you see Schlatt laying in his bed, turning a little bit every once in a while. You sigh, knowing that his VP will be home soon. At least that's what Schlatt told you before he went to sleep.

Speak of the devil, you hear the sound of the front door, muffled by the glass that surrounds you.

Fuck.

"Schlatt, I'm back! I got some extra food and coal and stuff!" A chest opens and then closes a few moments later.

You pushed yourself up and looked around for somewhere to hide. You see nothing. You're out in the open, trapped in glass, without anything to protect yourself. Double fuck. Footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs.

"Schlatt? I- Oh!" Quackity switches his voice to a whisper. "Shit, I didn't know he was sleeping." He giggles to himself. You push yourself to the far back corner away from him, which backfires on you immediately. Quackity swivels around, hearing the slight scuffling noise you made when moving. His eyes widen, as do yours, and he freezes. "What the fuck…?" He whispers, eyes locked with yours. He takes a step forward, causing you to press back even more. He notices.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Don't be scared! I'm not gonna hurt you." His voice is a lot more calming than Schlatt's, especially since Quackity is still whispering, trying not to wake up Schlatt. You realize that you're shaking when you glance over at Schlatt. He notices that as well.

"Did… Did he trap you?" You nod in response. He squats down so he's not looming over you. "Oh Jesus. Uh… what exactly are you?"

You sigh internally, really not wanting to have to explain it each time. You decide to just give him what you refer to yourselves ever since Dream got your village. "I-I'm a borrower." You reply simply.

His eyes light up and he grins when he hears you speak. "Oh my god. You're so cute." He laughs, then looks over to Schlatt, who tosses a bit in his sleep.

"Can… Can you let me out? P-Please?" Your shaking slowly lessens, realizing that Quackity probably doesn't have the same intentions as Schlatt does. His eyes snap back to you. There's now pity in them.

"Oh… uh… I-I can't," he rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. He… He would kill me if I did that." You wince at the second realization that it's not gonna be easy getting out of here. You sigh and slump down into the corner of the glass container, rubbing your face.

"It's okay! He's not as bad as he seems once you get to know him. You might like him! Eventually…!" He gives you a little smile. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)." You hesitate a moment. "You're less scary than him. Thanks for being… nicer."

He grins again. "What are you talking about? I'm very intimidating! I'm way taller than you." He stands up to his normal height, his shadow falling over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

"Okay, okay! You're scary too!" You giggle nervously, and he laughs.

"It's alright (Y/n), I promise nobody's gonna hurt you, not on my watch." As if on cue, Schlatt stirs from the bed, making Quackity cringe as he sits up.

"Quackity? You better not be touching the little thing in the glass that I found. I'll kick your ass." Schlatt grumbles and yawns. You try to make yourself smaller in the little corner you've claimed as he gets up, stretching even taller as he approaches Quackity and the glass container.

"No, I haven't touched her."

"Good. Don't. It's mine."

"Where did she come from?"

Schlatt is fully awake once he asks that question, grinning. "Well, apparently our little visitor here came straight from L'manburg! Isn't that cute?" He sneers in your direction.

Quackity's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? You're from L'manburg?!" You saw his pity again. "You didn't tell me that."

You cringe. "It… It didn't come up-"

"Oh! You two've been talking! What did it tell you, Big Q?" When Schlatt looks at you, all you see is malice.

"Just… her name… and what she is…?" He fidgets nervously.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Please don't-"

"Ah ah ah! Shush! Go ahead, Quackity!"

Quackity gives you an apologetic look. "Her name is (Y/n). She's a borrower." With that, Schlatt's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and he starts laughing maniacally.

"So…! You lied to me, huh?" He catches his breath after laughing. "I didn't even care much for your name, but what the fuck's a 'borrower' and how many of you little rats are around here?" He rests his weight on his hands, placed in front of you behind the glass. You start shaking again.

You push yourself away from him. "I didn't lie! I-I haven't seen anyone else around in years. I don't know. There's nobody else here or in L'manburg." You ramble, looking anywhere and everywhere but his face.

"Schlatt, c'mon man, you're scaring her." Quackity tries to push him back, but Schlatt slaps his hand away. Your eyes widen- that much force on you would kill you instantly, but it was practically nothing to them.

"Don't touch me. What I do with her is none of your business. I found her."

"Yes it is! I'm not gonna let you hurt her when she can't do anything to you!" Quackity yells back, taking Schlatt by surprise.

"She's from L'manburg! She could easily be Wilbur's little bitch sent here to get information!" Who's Wilbur?

"She doesn't know anybody. She's innocent, just leave her alone, man!"

"Fine." Schlatt steps over to your glass container, and opens the top. His hand reaches in and fills up your entire field of vision. You squeak in fear and push yourself back into your corner.

Since you made it hard for him, Schlatt has to pick you up between his thumb and index finger, on your stomach and back respectively. You squirm at first, but you grab on tight as your stomach drops when he lifts you up and out of the container. "No no no! Please!"

"If you want to protect her, then here, catch." Within a second, you're flying through the air, screaming your lungs out. You gasp when you land on your back onto a warm, plushy surface, frozen in shock, mouth agape.

"Schlatt what the fuck! You can't just do that to her, she's tiny!"

"Too late. She's your problem now, anyways."

Quackity protectively holds you close to his chest, shielding you as Schlatt walks by him and down the stairs. "If you let her run free to Wilbur I'm gonna hunt her down!" You both hear the front door slam shut.

[shinsoups]

Student No. 22 —

m a s t e r l i s t

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x f!reader x class1a

genre: 1tbsp of crack, 1 tsp of fluff, a sprinkle of angst and 1 cup of chaotic randomness

synopsis: y/n was certain she would never be a Hero. She had a different goal in her mind, and that is to be a great doctor someday. With a terrible past she wants to forget, she vows she would never use her Quirk and will never let the world know what it is. Not until she finds out that the invincible quirk she thought she has can also have a certain weakness.

random updates

a/n: canon Shinsou is joining hero class for their second year but I'm gonna make him part of Class 1A already yay!

OO4.1 : Hero vs Villain —

You can feel the tension wash over you when every student started to pile out the changing rooms and proceeded towards the training ground. The farther you drag your feet, the deeper your thoughts ran riot. Who was the person who just controlled you? How did that happen so fast and why did Aizawa never bothered stopping the fight? The secret you hold on to for so long was now out in the open for the whole class to see. The adrenaline rush you felt earlier started to subside, panic once again spreading on your nerves.

Was this their plan from the start? You stopped in your tracks upon realization, clenching your fists, knuckles turning white...are they trying to control and use you? Is the HSPC behind this? Are they going to make you into something like Hawks is? You shuddered with the thought.

A warm hand suddenly pulled you out of reverie. Asui, was it? The green haired girl stood in front of you with worried eyes. "y/n-chan?" she tilted her head sideways, "Is everything okay?"

It’s not the question that startled you, but the idea of someone worrying for you shook you to the core. Growing up in a household without any affection, the warmth of the hand comforting you somehow made you feel at ease. Your eyes soften until the tension on your shoulders loosens a bit “Asui-san, is there--”

"You can call me Tsuyu," she says.

“Uhmm Tsuyu-san, actually--” you started to fidget when more of your classmates started to hover beside you. Tsuyu and her friends were now circling you asking if you were all right. Midoriya carried on staring at you somehow urging you to confide to them. After some thought, you mentally sighed and told them.

"Earlier about what happened...I didn't mean to fight that guy. My body--"

You looked at them with hesitation on your eyes, "Someone was controlling me. I wasn't in control, but my body was moving on its own telling me to fight him. After that... everything suddenly turned blurry until I slapped myself. I swear I'm not..." you sighed, your eyes meeting Todoroki’s mismatched colored ones.

"-bad." the last word turned into a hush.

Were you trying to convince them? Or were you trying to tell that yourself? The idea of being controlled somehow made you twitch in disgust, but the thought of crushing someone else's dreams weighed you even down. This is why you don't want anyone to find out about it. People obsessing over Quirks, people limiting their selves cause of it...you don’t want any of that. You don’t want to hinder anyone, so why can’t the HPSC leave you all alone?

The four of them exchange knowing glances, Uraraka was the first to speak, "We know. It's because you replied back to him." She looked at Midoriya.

"Him?"

"Ahh...Shinsou-kun. The guy sitting next to you in class." Midoriya pressed a hand on the back of his neck, lost in thoughts.

Todoroki supplied, "His Quirk is Brainwashing.”

“I don't have any idea why he would suddenly use his Quirk against you since it is not allowed inside the classroom. But can I ask you a question y/n?" Midoriya continued.

Brainswashing...so that's why. You nodded, mentally listing reasons on why he would do so and how his Quirk passed through yours. The shocking realization made you want to know more about him and his power. How and why can he pass yours? Your invincible Quirk you once thought was impermeable now has a weakness...interesting.

The five of you started to walk again towards the exit, waiting for Midoriya to shoot his question. He awkwardly waved his hands, eyes not looking at yours, telling you that it's okay not to answer if you're uncomfortable with it.

"I-I've never seen any Quirk like yours. I thought that Aizawa-sensei erased Kacchan's quirk when he was fighting you, but the fire explosions kept coming. Yet your body somehow takes the blow and the fire disappears right after hitting you leaving no damage at all. You can nullify fire attacks? But you also have Stealth since you ran so fast. Do you have multiple Quirks?" he mumbled continuously lost in his own trail of thoughts.

He looked really interested, a look just like yours whenever you take notes about different Quirks and their weaknesses on your notes. You sighed a small smile lingers on the corner of your lips. They just saw what happened but why are they acting so interested and not disgusted by it? Why are they so excited to find out about it? You expected them to reject you just like all those kids who harmed you when you were young. The main reason why you were home-schooled and never let anyone know about you. Should you just go on and tell them? You debated but before you could reply, the class representative were calling all of you to hurry up.

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

Class 1-A stood infront of the large gates of the training ground— ruins and buildings scattered behind just like a city damaged by a real battle.  

Holding a box, Aizawa’s tired eyes settles on everyone in front of him. “I’ll draw your names out.” His voiced drawled out in exhaustion. “7 teams in total. A group will consist of 2 heroes and one villain to act out. The only way to win is when you capture your enemies with this tape or if you get this badge pinned on your enemies. Once taped or the pin is stolen from you, you’re not allowed to fight anymore.” Aizawa held up a little button pin with a red x mark.

Iida realizing that there are now twenty two of them stuck out his hand, “Sensei!”

But before he could ask his question Aizawa already supplied an answer, “This class exercise will help you in situations were in heroes who never worked together before will get to partner up and adapt to the situation to defeat the villain. Since there are 22 of you now, one group will have 2 villains. The first two I’ll call will be the heroes and the last one would be the villain. Just group yourselves once called and proceed to the waiting room after I’ve finished.”

Aizawa started calling out names. And maybe the gods of misfortune are on your side after hearing your own name called out in the first group. Belatedly realizing that you’ll be facing the same two people who you fought minutes after you introduced yourself in class.

Whispers soon started to rise when your name was called after Bakugou and Shinsou. A look of excitement soon spread across the blonde one. Shinsou on the other hand, had his shoulders slumped, stealing some glances on your way. Midoriya must have read the panic on your face, because he waved his hands mumbling once again and good naturedly tried to comfort you.

“y/n,” Aizawa’s voice drowned out the whispers as everyone’s attention were now on you. “Think of this as a first step in our agreement. Maybe you’ll soon find an answer once this exercise is finished. You can go all out.” He then pets your head, another unfamiliar gesture that shocked you. “This class will treat you as a hopeful hero just like them. You already showed you’re more than capable. If you accept yourself that you have that potential, maybe you’ll realize the answer for yourself.”

With that Aizawa proceeded to leave. The other students started to follow, leaving you Bakugou and Shinsou on the training ground. But before Midoriya could leave, you run towards him asking something you forgot earlier.

“Midoriya-kun, about his Quirk,” you whispered. “How does his Brainwashing works?”

Bakugou noticed Deku talking to the new student. Feeling someone’s gaze were on you locked eyes wthi the guy Midoriya kept calling Kacchan. He grunted with a smirk on his face “I’ll let you know who’s the strongest. Hey you--” he called out to Shinsou. “Don’t get in my way.” With that he walked towards the front of the gates leaving you three behind.

“Remember what I told you?” Midoriya asked once again. You nodded, thanking him for some information about your assigned enemies.

Shinsou looked at you when you walked towards them as you all waited for the gates to open. Sill feeling guilty about what happened, the apology left unsaid was still hanging on his mouth.

You breathe, trying to smooth the wrinkle on your shirt. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” he asked confused, tilting his head to look at you eye to eye.

“Don’t apologize, Shinsou-kun,” his name rolling out of your mouth made him unable to spit out the apology.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “I have a feeling they used you to get what they want. I won’t let them control me. I won’t let them get their way. I’ll do this my way.” You stared back at his dark purple irises, determined to let them know that your power is nothing important nor interesting. That the HPSC are just obsessed over your late parents’ Quirk experiments, looking for another set of talents for them to hone and use for their own good. You refused to be like them, to be like him.

“I can be a Hero in my own way. But if what they want is to let them see me use my Quirk, I’ll show it to them.” You grit your teeth accepting your fate. “Besides,”

A siren blasts signaling that the exercise is now starting. As soon as the gates opened Bakugou sprinted towards the designated Hero base, leaving you two behind.

“Besides, I need to know how you got me earlier.” You looked at him once again. “I won’t let you do that again to me.” With that being said, you ran towards your designated spot with a new found determination.

Shinsou places his detachable mask over his mouth, a small smile placed on his lips. “Like I said I worked my way to be able to sit where I am. I always dreamed of being a Hero. I’ll fight my way again to reach for that.” He races behind you, realizing that there’s a part of you similar to him.

“You’re not a villain just cause of your power, silly girl. So don’t hold back. Cause I sure hell won’t.” He shouted as he fall behind you.

You were tempted to answer, but recalling what Midoriya had told you, you bit your tongue to stop yourself. So instead you mouthed the words, “I WON’T.” Leaving Shinsou dazed once again as you ran in full speed leaving him on the empty streets of the training ground.

“Ahhh I should really work on my stamina,” he murmurs to himself as he catches his breath, running to where his hot-headed partner would be.

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[rainbowbutterfrosting]

The Revived - Chapter 4: Reunion

This is chapter 4 of the dream smp fic @dramaticsnakes and I are writing. Thank you to @r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Tubbo, and Ranboo

Word count: 2,988

Cw: discussions of burns, medical treatment, mentions of hospitals, implied anxiety, implied suicidal behavior, crying

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Tubbo led Wilbur over to a room near the entrance of the house. It was mostly empty except for some boxes labeled with markers. From where Wilbur was, nothing seemed special at first. There were some labeled with clothes, furniture, and pictures, but there was a box named ‘Michael’ that was unlike the others. The peculiar box had some drawings on the side of it. There were three… people in it? The drawings were too shaky to be easily determined, and Wilbur didn’t have the time nor patience to decipher them.

Tubbo caught where Wilbur was staring, “Oh, don’t mind the boxes. We know which ones will have the medkits.” Wilbur nodded as if that was the main question in his mind. Yet, he didn’t want his reunion with Tubbo to be filled with him eavesdropping on his new life.

“Where should I sit?”

Tubbo looked away bashfully, “Oh! I uh, we mostly just sit on the floor.”

Wilbur walked towards one of the walls and slouched against it. His legs still ached from his fight with the ghast, and he gave himself a moment of peace as he closed his eyes.

Apparently, he gave the peace to Ghostbur too, “Thank you. It was starting to hurt again.”

Wilbur mouthed, “No problem,” before realizing that Tubbo and Ranboo were staring at him, with Tubbo looking him directly in the eyes and Ranboo focusing on his burns.

Wilbur propped himself up slightly, “Am I in the way of something?”

Tubbo pursed his lips, “No, it’s just-” He exhaled, “Nothing.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Tubbo, if I’m in the way you can just tell me.” Though Tubbo just shook his head and smiled awkwardly in response. Ranboo kneeled down next to Wilbur and opened the medkit. There didn’t seem to be too much in it, but Wilbur couldn’t judge since he didn’t need a hospital to treat his wounds. 

Ranboo quietly asked something he couldn’t hear, with Wilbur’s confused glance, Ranboo said it slightly louder, “S-so Wilbur, uh, does it hurt right now?”

Wilbur barely resisted the urge to scoff at him, “I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“Wilby, that wasn’t very nice,” Ghostbur commented.

Wilbur sighed, “Sorry, I’ve had a rough day so far.” His words grew quieter near the end, embarrassed that he needed to apologize to someone he barely knew.

He might’ve expected Ranboo to make fun of him for not having armor or say he was an idiot for going alone, but the boy only nodded and slightly tilted Wilbur’s face towards him. A focused expression came across Ranboo’s face as Wilbur held still. 

Ranboo looked somewhat relieved when he said, “Second-degree at the chin, but uh, first-degree at the surrounding area.”

Tubbo nodded, “Do you know what to do?”

Ranboo shifted his focus to Tubbo, “N-not exactly, but I’ve got a general idea. Sorry, I-” Ranboo tightly closed his eyes and hid his face with one of his hands. An enderman vwoop came out in small chirps. Tubbo kneeled down to where Ranboo was and held his other hand. His eyebrows were knitted together with concern, but he tried to have a small smile on his face.

Tubbo’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Hey, Boo, it’s alright. How about we head outside?” Ranboo responded with a shake of his head. Then came another enderman vwoop, one that sounded like a constant buzz that made Wilbur slightly cringe from the unpleasant sound. Ranboo nodded and stood up, still covering his face with his hand, and Tubbo stood up with him. Tubbo mouthed something to Wilbur that wasn’t clear to him as the married couple exited the building. 

“Aww, poor Ranboo. Ranboo said he’s never met you before but I can explain! Sometimes, he gets… how did Tubbo describe it? I- I don’t think I can remember.” Ghostbur sighed.

Wilbur shifted slightly to look around the corner, and when he couldn’t see anyone, he whispered back, “It’s alright if you don’t know the exact wording, just give me the general idea.”

“Well, I’m not too sure. All I know is that it can be really unpleasant for him. Once when it started happening, Tubbo started counting. I’m not sure why though, maybe Ranboo really likes numbers.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and made a sharp exhale out of his nose that could have been recognized as a laugh, “I don’t think-” Did Wilbur want to ruin his fun? The ghost was already in limbo. The most he could do was play around with his silly ideas. “Yeah, maybe he really likes numbers.” Wilbur could barely keep himself from laughing at himself saying the statement.

Ghostbur gasped excitedly, “You really think so? Hm, maybe you should ask what his favorite number is.”

Wilbur wanted to close his eyes and rest, but he didn’t want Tubbo or Ranboo walking back in seeing him talk to himself. “Mhm, that’s a… good idea.” Wilbur yawned near the end, his adrenaline crash hitting him rougher than he expected.

“Are you okay?”

Wilbur nodded then remembered that Ghostbur couldn’t see him, “Yeah, yeah. Just a… yeah, I’m fine.”

Ghostbur’s confusion showed in his tone, “I’m not sure what the word for it is, but you seem pretty… the word isn’t sad, because it’s not exactly an emotion, but it takes over your head like the sad thoughts would.”

Wilbur sighed, “Tired?”

“Yeah! I’ve heard that sleeping helps when you’re tired. Not sure though, I haven’t tried it out myself. Maybe you could ask Tubbo and Ranboo.”

Maybe the exhaustion was making Ghostbur… not exactly funny, but somehow adorable in a way that made him want to giggle along with him. “I’ve… I’ve tried sleep… pretty nice.”

“So if you’ve done it before, why aren’t you sleeping now?”

“Supposed to be polite and shit. Not polite to fall asleep in someone else’s house.”

“But didn’t you fall asleep in Techno’s house?”

Wilbur made a confused noise, “Nah, I fell asleep in Phil’s house.”

Ghostbur huffed, not understanding the situation, “But Phil is a someone else, so therefore, you already slept in someone else’s house.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Oh, Ghostie,” Wilbur heard footsteps walking along the spruce floor, and stopped whispering to his counterpart. 

Tubbo peaked his head out, holding a silver bucket in his hands. He walked towards Wilbur’s direction, looking calmer than before as he sat down next to him and grabbed a rag from the medkit. 

“What’s all that noise?” Ghostbur asked.

Wilbur needed to lay down some rules for communication for Ghostbur, but he decided not to do it while Tubbo was there. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah.” Wilbur raised his eyebrows, expecting some kind of explanation, but he supposed it wasn’t his business. Tubbo dipped the rag into his bucket of water and gave the rag to Wilbur. “Hold it where it hurts the most.” Wilbur held it to his chin, both him and Ghostbur giving an exhale of relief. 

“It doesn’t feel as good as the stuff from before. Can we go back to that?” 

Tubbo gently grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the rag and Wilbur winced from the pain before realizing that his hand wasn’t even burned. When he dodged one of the fireballs he must’ve scrapped his hands on a wall along the way. Tubbo laid Wilbur’s hand down, grabbing another rag from the medkit and dipping it into the water. 

“This might hurt a bit,” Tubbo stated as he dabbed the wet rag onto Wilbur’s hand. Once most of the dirt was cleaned, Tubbo looked closely at the skin and let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t see anything inside your hands so that’s good.”

“Wait- Ranboo told me there were veins and blood inside hands. Did you lose those somehow?” 

Wilbur barely held back a giggle, “Yeah, that’s good.”

Ghostbur gasped, “No that’s not good! Your hands won’t have any circulation!”

Wilbur laughed but tried his best to cut it off short with a cough after seeing Tubbo’s concerned glance. 

Tubbo looked skeptical as he placed a hand on Wilbur’s forehead. “Have you been coughing a lot?” 

“Not really, just happens every now and then.”

“Hm. Let me have the rag for a second.” Wilbur gave him the rag as Tubbo redipped it into the water. “Continue holding it to where it hurts, but hold it with the other hand.” Wilbur nodded and did what he was told. Tubbo grabbed the now free hand and cleaned it like he did the other one. Some dried blood came off which caused Tubbo to frown. 

Tubbo fished around the medkit before he grabbed a small tube. It had a label Wilbur couldn’t read, but he wasn’t too worried about what it was. He taught Tubbo all the medical knowledge he knew during one of the first wars. He would’ve told it to Tommy, but he didn’t have an interest in it. 

Tubbo uncapped the tube and rubbed the semi-transparent paste onto Wilbur’s hands. He winced at the pain, but Tubbo kept going. 

“Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur,” Ghostbur hissed. Wilbur wished he could comfort Ghostbur, but he remained silent throughout the ghost’s pleas.

Tubbo grabbed a roll of gauze and started carefully wrapping it around Wilbur’s hand so it would hold itself together. He tucked in the end and gestured for Wilbur’s other hand. Wilbur complied and tried to hold the rag in a way that didn’t touch any of the bandages that were already done. Tubbo raised an eyebrow, “Where are your gloves?”

“Most likely in my pocket…” Wilbur mumbled as he hung the rag on the side of the bucket. Tubbo continued rubbing the paste onto Wilbur’s hand, then wrapped the gauze around it as well. After searching his first pocket with no success, his second one had both gloves in there. He sighed in relief and put on both of his gloves once Tubbo put his hand down. 

Tubbo gently grabbed the bottom of Wilbur’s chin and tilted it upwards. He made a sound of worry then let his hand fall from the man’s face. 

“I don’t know how to handle burns,” Tubbo quietly stated. 

“That makes two of us,” Wilbur shrugged. Although he was slightly disappointed that Tubbo didn’t learn how to, he couldn’t blame the boy either. 

Wilbur started to get up when Tubbo brought Wilbur back down using his arm, but instead of yanking him backward, it gently brought him to the wall he’s been laying on. “What are you doing?”

Wilbur slightly tilted his head, “I’m leaving?”

Ghostbur whined, “Aww, but we didn’t even get to have any fun.”

Tubbo looked at him with disbelief, “We haven’t even treated your burns yet, you can’t leave.”

Wilbur groaned, closing his eyes in frustration, “You’re not my dad.”

“Don’t worry, he should be here soon. Well- him or Techno.”

Wilbur sat up immediately, “What!?”

Tubbo’s casual expression shifted into one of worry, “I said that Phil or Techno should probably be here soon. Did you hit your head too?”

“No no, I-” Wilbur’s mind flashed with his and Techno’s fight. He didn’t even say goodbye to his father before he left. He’d be lucky if either of them would even look him in the eye, let alone help him medically. “I just have to go.” Wilbur shakily stood up, exhaustion filling his mind. 

Tubbo’s voice turned shaky, “Wilbur, just talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Wilbur?” Ghostbur was quiet compared to how loud Wilbur’s mind was.

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, “It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine. It’s all just fine, and I’m good to leave!” 

Wilbur moved towards the exit before Tubbo stood in front of him, blocking his way out. “Wilbur, please, at least let us treat your burns. I- I know you hate me but you don’t need to leave so soon.”

“Wait, you never told me you hated Tubbo,” Ghostbur’s voice creaked with melancholy. “Is there anyone you like? I- I don’t like jumping to conclusions, but first, you don’t like Techie and now you don’t like Tubbo either. D-Do you also not like me?” The last words wavered more compared to Ghostbur’s typical tone. 

“It’s not like that- it’s- it’s more than just that.”

Tubbo looked confused, and Wilbur was reminded of past betrayals and moments of heightened caution. He was reminded of young Tubbo, hesitant to take a stand, his voice now booming with strained determination. Tubbo yelled, tears on the verge of spilling, “Then tell me!”

Wilbur spent so long in limbo he forgot that people might still have attachments to him. He almost hoped that everyone would forget so that he could go back to being himself without any problems. “Tubbo…” Wilbur stepped forward slowly, showing Tubbo he wasn’t going to do anything sudden, and in exchange, Tubbo watched his every move. His eyes occasionally darting to other parts of his body. When Wilbur was right in front of the boy he stopped walking. 

A moment of silence was exchanged between the two before Wilbur bent down slightly and hugged Tubbo. At first, Tubbo didn’t reciprocate, but seconds after, he slowly put his arms around Wilbur. The grip was weak, probably to give Wilbur time to pull away, but he soon tightened his arms around Wilbur, exhaling in relief. 

“W- Wilbur?” Tubbo’s body shook with a sob, but he mostly tried to keep his cries quiet.

“Yeah, Tubs?”

“Are you j- just gonna leave again?” Tubbo’s voice broke at the last word, his composure only lasting so long. Wilbur squeezed tightly in response. 

“Why…  haven’t you responded yet?” Ghostbur wasn’t crying yet his voice mimicked the sadness in Tubbo’s. 

At least a minute stretched between them before Wilbur pulled away. Although he wanted to view Tubbo as a pure equal in the situation, he couldn’t help but give him pity once he saw the boy’s red-rimmed eyes. 

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to get so emotional,” Tubbo sniffled and whipped his face into his sleeve.

Wilbur put a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, “It’s fine. You’re allowed to have your emotions.” Although he didn’t mean to, his voice softened into a warmness that he rarely presented.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Ghostbur’s hesitance spoke more than his words ever could.

Wilbur took a deep breath in, “Tubbo, you’re not an idiot so I’m going to be honest with you.” Tubbo slowly nodded. “I… I can’t really promise myself staying.”

“...okay.” His voice harmonized with Ghostbur’s.

“Okay.” Wilbur gave Tubbo’s shoulder one last part before removing his hand. 

“Just-” Tubbo’s words came out slower than they normally would have, “Next time you go and… get a life taken away, just please say goodbye before you do it.”

Wilbur gave Tubbo a confused look, “I- Tubbo I just meant I can’t stay at the mansion.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He did mean that he couldn’t stay at the mansion, but what he heavily implied was one of his main thoughts at the moment.

But Tubbo took this lie gratefully, “Oh! I- Oh wow, I really took that the wrong way.” They both awkwardly laughed to themselves.

They stood like that for a little, when Tubbo’s expression suddenly shifted, glancing at a couple of the boxes around them. He bit his lip nervously. “I uh, need to go do something real quick.” he rubbed the back of his head, “I’ll be right back!”

Wilbur nodded in response, as Tubbo walked to a nearby box that Wilbur couldn’t make out the words on, and picked it up. He walked out the door, his posture certainly a little more sheepish, and Wilbur was left alone.

“What happened? Where’d Tubbo go?” Ghostbur asked, his voice quiet, yet less sad than before, “And what was that nice feeling?”

“Hm?” Wilbur asked.

“That nice feeling, like being close to Friend, or… Like safety, wrapped around me?” Ghostbur tried.

Wilbur inhaled, “Oh.” he said. That made sense, perhaps. Ghostbur had felt the relief from the wound being treated too. “I hugged Tubbo.” Wilbur said, feeling a little awkward saying it out loud, “You must’ve felt that, somehow.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s really nice!” Ghostbur said excitedly, “Can I feel everything you feel? How exactly does all of this work?”

“I’m not… Certain.” Wilbur replied honestly, “But perhaps.” his voice turned a little quieter at the last part, as he thought of the implications of that. Because if Wilbur getting hurt, would keep hurting Ghostbur in return, that made the entire thing so much more difficult. It was simpler, when it was just Wilbur, piecing himself together, and taking what belonged to him, despite what it would cost him in the end. But if this voice, that held a tight involuntary grip around Wilbur’s mind, would be affected by all of it too, it made decisions so much harder. It made Wilbur’s plans so much harder because some things couldn’t just be explained away, and the mere thought of those painful screams from before, made Wilbur shiver.

And a brief thought was clear to Wilbur in that moment even if he didn’t say it out loud. He needed to get Ghostbur out of his mind, whatever that would mean. Wilbur needed to keep all of this to himself, because if he ever wanted to complete any of his plans, then dragging around a ghost like that… Someone who remembered so little, yet experienced things just as vividly, would make everything Wilbur wanted to do impossible.

Wilbur heard Tubbo shuffling around with things upstairs when he saw his chance to leave. He had things to get done, and a mind to quiet down. He rushed to the front door, turned the handle and opened it, just about to run outside, when he saw them.

A nervous Ranboo, hunched over, behind a figure that stood tall and confidently. Someone who looked at Wilbur with an expression of cold aggravation. Wilbur swallowed something in his throat. “Hello, Techno…”

[amintyworld]

Oh! Oh! For the mutual thing, in relating to tss, who would be a light side and who would be a dark side? Would any of them kinda be like Virgil who changed sides? Or maybe opposite? If you wanna go further, what would they represent too?

Alright Anon, I hope you know you inspired something amazing. Mutuals, I have here Sanders Sides OCs with each and every one of you in mind, including Icons (which is why this took a while to finish). Anyway, I hope you enjoy them and feel free to draw or write with them, and maybe come up with some ideas or designs for my own (Because I couldn't figure out a good fit to make a OC for me). Here we go, and I hope you guys enjoy! <3

Let's start out with the creativity twins (Two sides of creativity):

@h-ad3s - Instinct (Dark Side)

• Instinct represents the wild, spontaneous side of creativity - like painting or writing your feelings out, when you do something just because you want to.

• Very Impulsive at times, and because of their reckless nature can get the (what do you call it? Thomas part?) 'Thomas' in trouble a lot, leading to everyone pegging them as a dark evil troublemaker

• As with their twin, Instinct can turn into a animal at will - theirs is a raccoon.

• Found late at night rummanaging through or sleeping in garbage. 'Why, Inst? You have a bed!' 'Because. The funny smells calm me, plus I wanted to.'

• Has eaten glitter, glue, bar soap, and even a ceramic mug (No one knows how they ate the mug to this day.)

• But, when feeling sad or someone else is sad, they usually are found in raccoon form cuddled up in Protection or Imagination's lap, sleeping.

@dee-ree-vee - Passion (Light Side)

• Passion represents the creating for creation's sake side of creativity. They create not based solely on emotion, but because it brings them happiness to create. Passion represents just happiness and drive for any hobby, and the drive to improve. As well as, you guessed it, passion in Relationships as well - weather it be platonic, familial, or romantic.

• Despite being told to stay away from Instinct because they're dangerous, and that they were the 'better creativity', they still try to chat and connect with them because of their past closeness feeling like family.

• They can turn into a cat at will like Instinct, and usually use the form to sneak out and meet Instinct in the 'Creativescape', a middle between the darkscape and the mindscape, where they are crowned ruler.

• They love free time of any kind, and enjoy the constant creative drive with weekends or holiday breaks, and are usually the ones who come up with gift ideas or little surprises for Friends, Family, or SOs.

• Can get overwhelmed by expectations of always doing things right and never making a mistake, in that way being slightly jealous of their twin.

• Their favorite thing to do is help make dreams with Imagination and fight off nightmares, sometimes even Instinct joining to help.

@lightyagamisqueen - Protection (Dark side)

• Protection represents Fight or Flight as well as Anxiety, but also white lies at times to take the pain away, to protect. The lies leading them to become a Dark Side.

• Has a very hard time relaxing, leading them to get burnout quite often from their overly taxing job, and Instinct, being the only other Dark Side and who knew them well would always be there to comfort when it all became a bit too much, or when Protection was so emotionally tired they broke down and cried.

• Likewise, Protection knew Instinct too well to always be there to hug and hold closely when they felt so abandoned and alone, even confessing to them once they wish they could stop the impulses but it hurts them physically to do so, and Instinct showed them their scars.

• Protection protects and stays up often at night in the real world to protect from monsters in the closet and to hold the 'Thomas' tightly when they got too scared. They live off of coffee and redbull.

• Once didn't sleep for almost two weeks for a cram finals session, and Instinct had to help them recover.

• Cannot watch horror movies, and usually gets overly anxious and worried walking home alone at night, especially in the city.

@pastel-candies - Inner Strength (Light Side)

• Inner Strength represents Hope, and Strength to keep going when things get hard, as well as Positivity and a co-gatekeeper of emotions, the other being Inner Child. But, while Child's emotions are more fuzzy and less prominant, Inner Strength's are more intense, leading them to get very emotional at times. Also they represent ignorance, pushing bad emotions or negative thoughts away, thinking they're just getting rid of them and not realizing they're repressing.

• Has plant powers that are tied to emotions, meaning if they're happy, plants will grow around them, if they're sad or angry or upset, they turn into not just killing plants but also slightly life sucking when every other side gets close.

• Is the slightly more 'moral' one than the rest in being the one to get scared and think Instinct and Protection are being more hurtful than helpful and kick them out.

• Has their own little garden with a specific flower in their room that isn't fazed with her emotions, being infused with all the emotions that were too intense to handle, good and bad. They talk to the flower and vent when things get tricky.

• When the 'Thomas' is upset, Strength usually works with Protection sometimes when things get really low, but mostly the two switch off depending on the situation.

• Lately is having regrets and confusion over kicking the other two out, but doesn't know if inviting them back will hurt the 'Thomas'

• Is protective of Passion, Reason, and Inner Child and will do anything to make sure they're safe.

• I imagine them wearing a flower crown, I dunno-

@the-duke-of-deodorant - Reason (Light Side)

• Reason represents and helps with the process of memory and new information, as well as the leader in solving any problems, math or otherwise.

• Reason values the truth above all else and makes sure the 'Thomas' knows the truth of any situation, despite and emotions they have at the moment, leaving them and Strength to butt heads a lot.

• I picture them with a black and white checkered tie...

• Geeks/Nerds out with Passion about Star Wars, Star Trek, etc. They often binge watch many movies and shows, and.. Even have their own code?

• Tries to be there during the emotional fallout Strength gets in, and usually is talking through their door, sometimes Strength's hand sneaks out when the door opens a bit for Reason to grab.

• Teaches Child about the world, leading them to grow into a pretty stable teenager, and the two share a very familial bond.

• Doesn't really understand the whole fear of Dark Sides and visits sometimes, even once helping out Protection during their burnout.

• Is prepared - always has a first aid kit handy and helped Raccoon Instinct when they got a nail stuck in their paw and couldn't transform back.

@antisocialdragonenby - Imagination (In the Middle)

• Imagination is the main gatekeeper of all dreams and daydreams, and has complete creative control in the Creative scape, making anything they imagine in their mind come to life there.

• Could have been ruler of the Creative scape but turned it down, claiming it wasn't their style. Instead they live in a treehouse and chill.

• Probably the most calm in a crisis.

• Out of the Creative scape, they have a cloud they ride on and use for many things - spying on others, viewing past dreams, and viewing made up scenarios or dream scenarios they have, as well as just a hammock to nap on.

• Is well trained with their powers, and uses their imaginative strength to fight nightmares in the dreams that seem to be finding their ways in randomly.

• Is usually the one to go to for advice or just to rant to, closely followed by Reason. This is how they find out about everyone's problems, fears, and turmoil - like how Protection thought they were the ones who caused the nightmares, and Imagination calmly explained that it had nothing to do with them, that they just appear, and that it's their job to help.

• They're fun to hang around and go on adventures with. They like specifically going on adventures with Child, but will tag along with Passion and Instinct from time to time

And finally, @if-i-had-a-spoon - Inner Child (Light Side)

• Inner Child repesents your childish side, as well as childhood memories and emotions. They're the only and first side to grow up from a child when the 'Thomas' is a teen, to a teen when the 'Thomas' is a adult. As a result they're babied sometimes and always treated as the youngest.

• They love looking at older memories and remebering them, although they panicked, figuring out the memories faded as they got older.

• Always a fan of candy, and squeals at cute pet and baby clothes, even making small accessories and gifts for Raccoon Instinct, whom they called 'The trash gremlin' when they were a toddler, and for Cat Passion, whom they just called 'Pretty'.

• Always tries to hold onto stuff from childhood, especially the "Thomas" 's old teddy bear, which they have a copy of for comfort.

• Now, as a teen, they love to write poetry and draw little baby animal sketches, and listen to MCR.

• Responsible for reminencing during random times.

• Although they look young, they're just as capable and smart as the others, fighting for the 'Thomas' to be truly happy, and to be there for everyone, light or dark side.

• I picture them with light purple headphones...

And that's everyone! I hope you guys like them!

[qvill-s]

Please could you do an Ashe x injured reader? If you have time :)

NOTES: of course bb !!!  it really do be ashe loving hours right now 😳

ashe + an injured s/o right under the cut !!!

“It’s not too bad,” you tell him quietly, speaking through gritted teeth as you try to reassure him of the state of your well-being. You want to call out to him, to call his name, but something in the way he pointedly avoids your gaze as he helps you to sit on the edge of your bed traps the word on your mouth, heavy on the tip of your tongue. You reach out to touch his shoulder instead, barely brushing against the fabric of his nightshirt before he turns away, and the sound your hand makes as it hits the mattress seems to echo throughout the bedroom. He’s not looking at you.

He’s disappointed, you know, but you don’t blame him. He’s asked you, pleaded with you, even, to stop heading out to the tavern on the nights that sleep evades you. You’ve tried, of course, for him, because he asked, because he cares enough to stop you, but when you lie sleepless in your bed, tracing patterns in the freckles of his cheeks and watching him dream beside you for the hundredth time, the call of a good fight becomes too strong for you to ignore. As you hear the familiar sound of a bottle of salve being uncapped, you wonder when it began to call you so enchantingly, so alluringly, drawing you in with a siren song of heavy fists and bruised skin.

The first brush of the cool salve against your knuckles chases you out of your thoughts with a hiss. He pauses, cradling your hand in his palm, brushing the meat of your thumb with the tips of his fingers. “Sorry,” he murmurs lowly. It’s the first thing he’s spoken since the tavern and the long walk back. 

Your heart lurches in your chest, near jumping upwards to lodge itself in your throat as it tried to escape the fist that tightens with every passing moment. He has nothing to be sorry for. He had no reason to apologize, to breathe out a sorry in the way that he did and soothe the ache in your body with nothing more than a word, not when you were the reason behind his upset, not when you were the cause of his furrowed brow and stony silence.

He continues with his ministrations, wiping the salve and bandaging the cuts in a silence that you don’t dare to break. You both know the drill, both well practiced in the song and dance of you getting hurt and leaving him to pick up the pieces. He'll patch up all your wounds, bandage and tend to every reddened cut of skin, cool every bruise, and check for broken bones. Then, the two of you will talk. He will level you with a look of concerned disappointment, ask you again to promise him, really promise him, that this time you'll stay. You will say yes, your gaze trained on his nose because you can't look him in the eye when you lie to him.

Except... that doesn't happen.

He says nothing when he finishes, packing everything up into its little basket and putting it in the cupboard, when he makes his way to the other side of the bed. He tucks himself in, pulling the covers up to his chin, and turns to his side. He's not looking at you.

He's still not looking at you, and you're at a loss for words because you're quickly becoming more and more familiar with the sight of his back than his face. You realize that perhaps tonight was the final straw, the last trial that his heart could stand, and you—

You're afraid to lose him.

You think of all the nights he's had to take you back home, bruised and bloody of your own volition, the nights he's asked you why and was only met with silence, the nights he's asked you to promise him you'll stay only to find it broken a few days later. Despite it all, he treats you kindly, softly, like the beautiful soul he is. His touches are still gentle, his words stripped of their barbs, even when he's angry with you and he has every right to be nasty and petty. He could leave you to patch up your own wounds, leave you to heave stuttered breaths in the dark alleys of the town and choose not to find you, but he doesn't. And it makes all the difference.

You don't deserve him, goddess knows you don't, but you don't want to lose him.

You get into the covers behind him, inching ever closer until you can wrap an arm around his middle. You can feel him tense beneath your arm—it hurts, but at least you know he's awake—and you almost lose your resolve. But you keep going, pressing closer and tighter as you whisper, "I'm sorry."

"Are you really, this time?" Before you can say something, a confirmation, another apology, anything, he adds, "Or will I wake up tomorrow night with you gone again?"

You blink away years against his back. "I—"

"I've given you time." He says your name, a tired, exhausted sounding thing, "I know it's hard, to lose everyone in the way that we did, the way you did, and you need time to yourself. But I can't— I can't—"

He cuts himself off, taking a deep, shuddering breath that you can feel pressed against his back. His shoulders shake, and you wish you realized how he was being affected by all of this instead of focusing so intently on your selfishness and your own problems. In this moment, however, in the here and now, you can do little else but tug him closer and hope that it's enough.

"It hurts," he whispers in a voice so soft and low that you almost don't catch them leaving his lips, "to see you like this. To see you hurt yourself and not know why." He turns, and finally, finally, he looks you in the eye. Your breath catches in your throat, and you find that the moment is more than you could've hoped for as the tears you were fighting back manage to slip through your iron grip.

He raises a shaky finger, brushing away the first of the wetness that slips down your cheeks. He moves his featherlight touch—gentle, as always—across your skin, tracing around a bandaged cut above your eyebrow.

"I'm sorry," you say, a watery rendition of your previous statement, "I wish I..." You gesture vaguely at the two of you. You wish you'd have known. You wish you saw past your own ego and your own suffering to see that he was right there beside you, supporting you with all that he has.

After a moment of silence spent staring into eyes of softened green, you say, "I promise. I won't go anymore." He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, you hurry to tell him, "I mean it this time."

He eyes you carefully, searching for another indication of a lie. It hurts, to see him so doubtful in your words, but you know it's warranted. You haven't given him a reason to trust you these past few weeks. Still, you try to show him that you mean it, that you really mean it this time, by holding his gaze in yours, trying to tell him all the things you can't find the words to say.

So when nods, you thank the goddess that he's still willing to try, to give you another chance, to leave his heart in your fragile hands and trust you not to hurt it.

[imperfekti]

Tenipuri Party: Tezuka Kunimitsu profile translation

TN:

In the absence of an official English version, this translation is intended to help those who can’t read the material in the original language. Please support Tenipuri by getting your own copy of this book - it is worth it! There are various ways of purchasing it even for those not living in or visiting Japan.

The pictures I have included in this post do not show full pages.

On the translation: this time I’m aiming for a more direct, “Japanese-sounding” translation to share the mood of the content more as it is. This will probably cause some sentences to appear weird in English.

On Tezuka’s style of speech: his word choices and sentence structures are mostly polite and serious.

I’m still working on Japanese, so there might be mistakes. Please let me know if you spot any translation errors so I can fix them here!

Tezuka Kunimitsu

U-17 German representative player Seishun Gakuen Middle-school player

Beyond the imagined future - the released challenger!!

Message

“For the support every day, I’m grateful. For the sake of becoming a professional, and for the sake of my tennis, I intend to earnestly keep confronting myself. I think you are the same. In the future as well, together. Let’s go without carelessness.”

Extra prize: A voucher for two at a high-class mountaintop hotel “An undeserved honor. I’m focusing on tennis right now, but… If I can make the time, I will gratefully use it. For two, huh…”

Profile

[DATA] Middle-school 3rd year / October 7th (Libra) / Blood type O / 179 cm / 58 → 61 kg / Left-handed

Special techniques: Drop shot, zero shiki drop shot, Muga no kyouchi, Hyakuren jitoku no kiwami, Saiki kanpatsu no kiwami, Tenimuhou no kiwami, Tezuka zone, Tezuka phantom, Zero shiki serve

Playstyle: All-rounder

Family: Grandfather, father, mother

Father’s occupation: company employee (business) (grandfather is a judo instructor for the police)

Hobbies: Mountain climbing, camping, fishing

Favourite saying: The enemy is within yourself

Favourite color: Green or blue

Favourite food: unacha (a dish with eel carefully broiled in soy-based sauce), Räucheraal (TN: smoked eel)

Favourite book: German-Japanese-German dictionary (to carry with him)

Favourite music: Classical (Beethoven)

Preferred type of person: Trying not to think about it at the moment.

Preferred date spot: Zugspitze

Most wanted item: A mountain model kit

Things he’s bad at/with: Being idle, colourful cakes

Elementary school: Seishun Dai Daiichi Elementary School

Committee: Student council president

Strong subjects: World history

Weak subjects: None

Often visited place in school: The library

Uses allowance on: Books

Skill outside tennis: Woodworking, preparing fish for cooking

Routine during tournament: Keeping a diary in German, watching foreign comedy-dramas.

Favourite anniversary: 23rd August

Preferred travel destination: Macchu Picchu ruins and Huayna Picchu

Present for a special person: Writing a letter of gratitude

Scenes

Injuries, seizing the nationals… Tezuka Kunimitsu overcame numerous challenges that waited for him and seized glory. But he is not a man who would be satisfied with that. From now on too, I want to pay attention to the steep path of him who moved over to Germany.

(Quotes on pictures:)

“I will not lose.”

“Saiki kanpatsu no kiwami!?”

“And then Seigaku’s era will begin once again!”

“Now, let’s go without carelessness.”

Indeed, it should perhaps be called a “Tezuka zone”.

“Hyakuren jitoku no kiwami!?”

This boy’s tennis is certainly Ten’imuhou no kiwami!?

“No matter who I will end up fighting… I will win!”

The German representatives’ strained atmosphere connects to rapid development (*1)

Tezuka-senshu (*2) becoming a German representative was a shock. Did you not have worries about this decision?

If I said no, it would be a lie. However, as to what is important for me as someone aiming to become a professional, I judged it to be fighting as a German representative and based my decision on that.

Specifically, the currently important thing for Tezuka-senshu is…?

Most of all, it is actual experience of fighting at a higher level. At the German training centre, I have the fortunate chance to rally with top pros like Volk-senshu. Even in practice, they are always making hypotheses as to which shot they should hit, what kind of a play they should make in any kind of match circumstances when they are standing on the court. Having put myself in such a strained atmosphere, I can truly feel my level of experience rising rapidly.

Any bewilderment at facing your former comrades…?

Whoever will become my opponent will not be a problem. But, at first, I thought I was feeling sorry. However, at the time of fighting Japan in the exhibition match, I came to realise my heart was throbbing about competing against them. But just fighting as sworn friends, it is not to elevate ourselves. Rather, by putting a net in-between and confronting each other, the light can come from a new angle and hasten growth - that is what I believe right now.

Then, what is Tezuka-senshu’s current objective or dream?

Upon seizing the world, to hold up the flag of Germany that showed in me, a foreigner. If the opponent for that match were to be Japan, there would not be higher joy.

In a well-ordered and non-negligent environment, pleasant days go on

Have you already grown accustomed to life in Germany?

Yes. Everything proceeds very systematically, so in that sense, it sometimes feels like it is actually even more pleasant than in Japan.

What things for example are like that?

Everyone is already gathered around 15 minutes before the set meeting time. The notion of ecology is growing, so most customers carry eco bags for their shopping, and the separation of waste is enforced thoroughly. Everything is done logically, and it’s an environment without negligence.

I see. It suits the serious Tezuka-senshu perfectly. Then, how do you spend your days off?

Touring antiquarian bookshops is currently my biggest enjoyment. From Goethe to Ende, I have been able to acquire several original texts that I couldn’t in Japan. Also, when time and money allow, I try to go to classical concerts.

What about the German language?

The German language too is a very systematic and logical language. There are very few exceptions, as long as one memorises the basic grammar and idioms, it is quite effective to use. Of course I still lack study, and there are many points where I lack experience, but words are not the only means of communication. Rather, sometimes it is facial expressions that speak more eloquently.

Facial expressions…?

Yes. Facial expressions.

Message for Tezuka Kunimitsu

As expected… should I say. Congratulations. (Inui)

YEEES! CONGRATULATIONS!! (Kawamura)

You should still be able to grow one rank higher. Put effort into your training. (Volk)

I will definitely not forget the thing that you taught me. Let’s meet on the court. (Fuji)

I’m glad you seem to be doing well in Germany too. Eat your meals properly! (Ooishi)

Tezuka-buchou-senpai, congratulations. We are protecting Seigaku. (Kaidou)

I’ll win one day, both in popularity and tennis! (Momoshiro)

You’re not planning on ending it at this? I’m waiting for the next opportunity to fight you. (Atobe)

Congratulatioons. But I’ll overcome you soon. (Echizen)

Are you doing well Tezuka? Send something tasty from Germany! (Kikumaru)

This guy is in 4th place!? Gimme a break! You can go higher than that! (Siegfried)

Party talk

Q: Who would you like to inform about this time’s rank and feelings? A: My family. My grandfather too is always supporting me.

Q: You are being served a lot of food. A: Ooishi. I’m grateful, but it’s already enough. I’m eating sufficiently… I tasted Japanese unacha for the first time in a while.

Q: You can also take part in an improvisation skit competition. A: … No, thank you. I was able to enjoy it quite a lot just by watching.

Q: You got excited with Bismarck-san, though... A: … I was merely unilaterally lectured about how to flirt with women.

Q: Who did you come to the venue with today? A: With the German representative senpai. In addition to training, we measured the time and ran to the venue.

Q: Oh? Is there something the matter with Echizen-kun? A: No. I just thought he seems to have gained experience and grown somewhat.

History

Age 0 October 7 Birth

Age 5 Makes a mistake in dance moves in a kindergarten’s play

Age 10 June Climbs Switzerland's Matterhorn with his father

Age 11 Summer Meets Yukimura and Sanada after the Jr. Tournament, has a match Goes fishing with grandfather, catches a sea bream

Age 12 March Graduates from Seishun Dai Daiichi Elementary School

April Enters Seishun Gakuen Middle School Is hit on the elbow with a racket by a senpai in the tennis club Is told to become "Seigaku's pillar of support" by Yamato

Age 13 November Displays a sketch of mountain grass in the culture festival

January Goes to the first shrine visit of New Year with the club’s 1st year members, makes a vow of conquering the nationals

April Becomes a 2nd year Becomes the vice captain of the tennis club

June Participates in a bread eating race in an athletic festivals, places second

September Gets lots of recommendation letters and becomes the student council president

Age 14 Declines the Jr. Senbatsu invitation Around autumn Has an uncomfortable feeling in his arm

October On the field trip (Taiwan), buys tea utensils for souvenirs

November At the Allied music festival (*3) , participates in the class chorus as a musical conductor

February For the first time in his life, forgets something

April Becomes a 3rd year Becomes the captain of the tennis club

May Wins Tokyo preliminaries championship Is mistaken for a teacher at Kawamura Sushi Has a match with Ryoma on courts underneath the railway

June Wins prefecturals championship Declines offer from the special overseas JFH program Goes to the drawings for the Kantou tournament

July Is invited to Hyoutei’s opera appreciation party as the student council president but declines Start of Kantou tournament In the first round against Hyoutei, loses to Atobe in S1 Goes to Kyuushuu for rehabilitation

July 27 Wins Kantou tournament championship

August 14 Drawing for the nationals, returns from Kyuushuu

August 17 Start of nationals Faces Higa in the 2nd round, wins against Kite in S1

August 19 Quarterfinals against Hyoutei, wins against Kabaji in S2 Semifinals against Shitenhouji, wins against the Chitose-Zaizen pair in D2 Yakiniku battle, is one of the last members remaining

August 23 Finals against Rikkai, loses to Sanada in S3   Wins nationals championship Goes to the victory celebration at Kawamura Sushi

Age 15 (*4) September Is invited to Rikkai’s ocean festival, makes guest participation in a play

October 12 Climbs Kitadake with father

November Participates in U-17 camp Wins against Kaidou in the “friendly fire” matches Learns about a fishing mobile game from Marui and Kirihara In the court shuffle between 3rd and 5th court, wins against Yamato Abandons the match against Fuji midway, departs for Germany Aiming to become professional, participates in the German representative team

December Participates in the U-17 Pre-World Cup drawings U-17 Pre-World Cup starts In Vs Japan, wins against Irie-Atobe pair in the second match U-17 World Cup starts Is drawn into a fight about food by Siegfried, eats Japanese food together Wins against South Africa and Canada

Plan

(Pictured: two documents of mountain climbing plans, including itinerary, packing list and map.)

“This is from when me and father climbed during consecutive holidays. When climbing mountains, let’s make plans properly and climb without carelessness.”

Fashion

It seems he didn’t bring much clothing with him from Japan. I will give you something next time. (Volk)

With Kunimitsu’s hair style, clothes from any country would suit him. (QP)

Wearing clothes you received just like that. That’s like you. (Fuji)

Whether the person in question is aware of it or not, wearing a waistcloth is quite stylish. (Kite)

“I am not a person who is particular about clothes, but only when it comes to shoes, I make it so that I can play tennis in them.”

Room

Bedroom of the room I’m staying in in Germany There’s only bare minimums like the bed and desk that were part of the furnishings. But I’m thankful that letters and daily necessities have been delivered from Japan. Overall, I like the things made from wood and seeing the townscape from the window.

TN:

*1 張り詰めた, haritsumeta. Strained, stretched, tense. Not strained in the sense of anxious or having problems. It seems more like everyone is ambitious and focused.

*2 選手, senshu: player, athlete. I chose to leave this as it is since the interviewer uses it all the time as an honorific, and couldn’t figure out a natural expression in English.

*3 連合音楽会, rengou ongaku kai. This seems to be some kind of an annual music event that at least schools participate into.

*4 It seems like a mistake that age 15 is placed at September, not October.

[aurorapillar]

Title: a bird cage, faded in colour

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Characters: Chuuya Nakahara, Dazai Osamu, Mori Ougai (mentioned)

Summary: Chuuya is no stranger to pain even before he joins the mafia, but once Corruption awakens it becomes his constant companion

Even before he joins the Mafia, Chuuya is no stranger to pain, he crawls out of the wreckage of the lab worn and hurting, his body covered in bruises and his head thick with fog. Everything aches, but just for that moment he reveals in it because it's proof that he's alive.

The next couple years that follow have their fair share of pain as well, it's not always easy for him to find food on the streets and there's many a night he goes to bed with his stomach growling in anguish. He pushes through it though just like he pushes through the pain of the bruises and broken bones he receives, his ability is strong and he's found himself to be much more durable then the other street kids (just more proof he's not human, a voice in his head whispers, bringing with it a different kind of pain), but still there are occasions he knows it's better to just take the hits, to not draw unnecessary attention to himself by drawing upon his power. In a way, it's the feeling of being weak, of having to be cautious, that hurts more than any of the physical injuries he gets at those times.

After joining the Sheep, the pain in Chuuya's day to day life goes down drastically, there's strength in numbers and with a group of them working together it's easy to obtain the things they need; no longer are there any nights spent hungry or huddled up in a ball trying to stay warm while the wind whips through a too-thin shirt, anything they need they take. He's stronger now too, there's no need for him to retreat from or submit to anyone anymore, he's able to throw caution to the wind, dominating anyone who tries to go against them without going so much as a bruise.

Good things don't always last though and when Dazai and the Port Mafia first enter his life they bring with them fresh pain. He's grown used to being in control and so when Dazai's fingers wrap around the back of his neck, snuffing his ability out like one would a candle, he once again feels the old familiar pain of weakness creeping upon him.  Being forced to cooperate with the stupid waste of bandages only drives that pain in deeper, but Chuuya's not one to just lie down and suffer, he pushes through does his best to cause his temporary partner as much frustration as he can in revenge for the pain.

When all is said and done though, none of the hurt he's felt up to the point prepares him for the pain of betrayal. The knife wound in his gut is agonizing, but it doesn't compare to the sheer pain in his heart as those he considered friends glare at him with hostile expressions and speak of killing him.  

(It hurts, it hurts so much, but still, he forgives them, it's not their fault)

Joining the mafia brings with it a new set of pains, he's not the only ability user around anymore and for all his skill in fighting he's never had formal training before, more often than not he falls into his bed at night feeling bruised all over from being slammed into the mats. It's a good sort of pain though and he's a quick learner so it's not long before he leaves trying with only the pain of tired muscles rather than a beating.

(He can't do anything to train away the pain of Mori's punishments on the few occasions he messes up a mission though, can't use his ability to defend himself from it, all he can do is submit and remind himself that even he didn't have much of a choice, he still chose this life)

Sometimes the pain comes in his dreams too, it's never anything too bad, just the poking sensation of needles and bruising grips on his limbs, but there's always a painful sense of fear accompanying it. He's never quite sure if they're just dreams or memories, never can understand any of the words spoken in them, but he always awakens drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

Those dreams go away mostly after he discovers Corruption, something he would be grateful for if it hadn't brought new troubles with it. With Corruption's awakening pain becomes a never-ending presence in Chuuya's life, the first time he activates it, it feels like he's being ripped to shreds and even after Dazai shuts it off all he can do is collapse on the ground in agony as blood trickles out of his mouth and eyes.  

(He's never quite sure if the sound of Dazai crying his name in terror as he falls unconscious is just a pain cause hallucination or if it really happened)

It takes him a week to wake up afterward and several more for the burning pain to disappear, and even then there's a dull ache in his bones that doesn't disappear. He mentions it to Mori's once during a checkup, but the man merely hums thoughtfully and tells Chuuya it will most likely fade, before adding that sometimes people need to suffer for the good of the organization.

(It doesn't fade, but Chuuya never brings it up again.)

He desperately wants to never use Corruption again, but Mori's is not one to ignore any tools in his arsenal and so a warehouse is set aside for them to test it in, Dazai always nearby to shut him down before he goes too far out of control.  The first time he uses it on a mission is ironically of his own choice, the relationships he builds are of great importance to him and the sight of his dead friends during the Dragon's Head Conflict makes him angry enough to not care about the pain.

His actions net him an executive position and gives birth to the powerhouse duo Double Black, it's an exhilarating prize but at the same time a curse for he's proven the usefulness of Corruption and guaranteed he'll have to use it again.

And use it again he does, though thankfully not as often as he had feared. Whether it's out of consideration to Chuuya, or more likely just out of logic, Dazai always figures it into their plans as only a last resort, it's only under Mori's direct orders that they ever start off with it.  

No matter how many times he uses it though, the agony of it never lessens; every time he activates it while his body carries out its rampage he remains trapped within his own mind, writhing in agony as his power tears him apart from the inside. It's only when Dazai activates his ability, shutting it down, and he's able to collapse into unconsciousness, that he's granted a reprieve.  

Each time he uses it the lingering ache gets worse, no longer is it just a dull ache in his bones but a burning pain in his nerves and chest, he never says a word though just learns to work through the pain. There's no room for useless people in the mafia and he doesn't want people to think his pain makes him a liability, doesn't want to risk his position. He'll take to the physical pain over the pain of being alone again any day.

(He never even tells Dazai about it, he's come to trust the other boy with his life and loves him like a brother, but he's well aware of how cruel he can be. He doesn't want to risk his mockery or even worse risk being seen as weak.)

When the day comes that Dazai leaves the mafia, it is both a new pain and a relief to Chuuya. On the one hand he was angry, Chuuya was creature of loyalty, even if he hadn't really wanted to join in the first place, the moment he'd become part of the organization he'd devoted himself to it; Dazai didn't get to run away after he'd put so much effort into making Chuuya join, he didn't get to betray the mafia just like he'd made the Sheep betray Chuuya, it wasn't allowed!

(And maybe, just maybe, there's a small part of Chuuya that's hurt he didn't invite Chuuya to come with him, to leave a place where sometimes he felt more like a weapon than a person. He doesn't know how he'd have answered if Dazai had invited him, but he'd thought that maybe Dazai had also thought of him as family, so the fact that he hadn't hurt)

On the other hand though, with Dazai gone, Mori couldn't make Chuuya use Corruption, not when no one could stop him. As much as Mori's made Chuuya felt like just a weapon at times, Chuuya knew that he had plenty of value outside of Corruption, enough so that Mori wouldn't throw him away as a suicide attack.    

With Dazai gone he'd be free of a bunch of pain, he'd no longer have to deal with an annoying waste of bandages, and he'd finally get the chance to make a name for himself outside of Double Black.  When he thought of it like that, the situation really wasn't painful at all! And if it took a bottle of expensive wine for him to fully convince himself of that, well, no one but him had to know.  

Of course, Dazai had to ruin it by showing up again four years later and pick away at the scabs covering all that pain, still, as annoyed as he was at being outwitted by Dazai yet again, it had been nice to fall back into their old habits of bantering with one another. He remembered Kouyou commenting once not long after they'd first been partnered that they squabble like a pair of siblings and the horrified looks they had both given her. Truth be told it had made Chuuya kind of happy, he certainly hadn't thought of Dazai as anything like a sibling back then, but it had been nice to interact with someone his own age who didn't fear his ability and would say whatever they wanted right to his face.

Those days were long gone though, the two of them were on different sides now, there would be no more team-ups where they spent just as long attacking each other with insults as they did taking out the enemy instead they would be each other's enemy. Or at least that was what he'd thought but then The Guild had attacked and the weretiger had proposed their organizations form an alliance, and suddenly he was back to fighting side by side with Dazai again, even if it was only for one night.

They had easily slipped back into their old roles, Dazai insulting Chuuya's appearance (and not for the first time in his life Chuuya wished he had a mind-reading ability so he could figure out if Dazai really thought his outfit was bad or if he was just messing with him; then again, Dazai's mind would probably be a terrifying thing to read) and Chuuya would sling back whatever insult he could think of to try and get a rise out of him. He knew he was going to be remembering the slight fear in Dazai voice when he'd threatened to send his address to all the women he'd made cry, for years to come.  

Of course, it was just their luck then that one of the Guild members would be conscious and attack them as soon as Chuuya reached the doorway.  Once again they switched back into their old roles as Dazai strategized and Chuuya attacked, but none of their attacks had a lasting effect and Chuuya couldn't stop the feeling of dread as he realized what their only remaining option was.  Not having to use Corruption even once during the past four years had been wonderful and now, despite what Dazai said about leaving the choice up to him, he really had no choice at all.

Stripping his gloves off, Chuuya approached the creature while chanting rhetoric stanzas that would unleash his ability,

"Oh granters of dark desire, do not wake me again!" As soon as the words were finished pain shot through his whole body, it was likely the pain hadn't increased from the last time he'd used Corruption, but four years without doing so certainly made it feel like it had.  Part of him wanted to scream, to beg Dazai to stop him already, but he had no voice with which do so right now even if he wanted to so instead he focused his attention on the fight, trying to ignore the way the tearing pain in his chest and the blood creeping up his throat and seeping from his mouth. It seemed like an eternity before the creature was defeated, one of Chuuya's gravity balls finishing it off after the damage Dazai's bomb had caused, and really why hadn't heard used that earlier, the stupid waste of bandages.  

With the creature defeated, he waited for Dazai's touch to end his ability and free him from his mad rampage, but moments passed and nothing happened and all the while his body continues to toss around gravity balls, destroying the landscape around him while the pain his body was in increased. Finally after what seemed like an eternity a familiar hand grasps his wrist.

"The enemy has been eliminated. Take a break now, Chuuya." Dazai's familiar voice washes over him and he collapses bonelessly to his knees, coughing harshly as blood dribbles down his chin onto the ground.  

“I told you to stop me as soon as it was over.” He manages to gasp out between coughs, his whole body is an all too familiar mess of pain and he hates it.  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dazai crouching down next to him, an infuriating grin on his face.

“I was going to, but it was entertaining, so I had to watch.” He comments, his grin never falling and as agonizing as it is to do so, Chuuya turns his head to glare at him,

“I used Corruption because I trusted you.” He growls out, trying hard to hide the hurt in his voice the Dazai’s words had caused; knowing the man as well as he did, it was a 50/50 chance on whether he was joking or serious but that didn’t make the fact he’d let Corruption stay active longer then he needed to any better. He didn’t have the energy to stay angry at his old partner at the moment though, he could already feel his senses beginning to dull as unconsciousness crept in on him.

Raising a fist, he punched Dazai in the chest, though with his current amount of strength it turned into little more than a light tap,

“You... better take me...to the extraction point.” He manages to gasp out before he can’t keep himself upright anymore and tips over, Dazai’s soft assurance that he will, the last thing he hears before blacking out.

(Several hours later when he awakes alone, in pain and in the exact spot he had been, he curses his own foolishness.  Curses how he’d let their easy banter and teamwork lull him into thinking that things were somehow back to the way they used to be, he’d let himself forget for just a bit too long that they weren’t partners anymore and that he couldn’t count on him the way he used to.  And as he lays there on the ground, still too exhausted to move, he thinks that maybe false hope is the worst pain of all)

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

🏰⚔️ DMODT- 12 full... ya'll see why I couldn't add this to 11

Darting through the castle, Eren felt as if he was being watched as he rushed through the halls. Having spent days researching, then spending a few moments with Levi each day, his fondness for the man had grown. He found himself not growing angry when Levi ordered lunch to be brought to him, or called by to see how his reading was going. He wasn't allowed to research today, throwing his routine out of whack, as they were having a friendly tournament upon the training oval. The court mages had spent the night setting up a magical arena, complete with seating and banners of blue for Eldia. Both Levi and Erwin were going to be competing, which scattered his nerves. The cherry on top being Mikasa also competing. Even if the Eldia forces may be taking it all in good fun, Marley probably had no idea what fun was. Staying up late to lament the possible fates of his friends, had caused him to oversleep. That an a particularly steamy dream about Levi. Breathing easier as he escaped the castle confines, he raced over to where Armin was waiting for him "I'm sorry!" "You're late, Eren!" "I know, I know. I'm sorry" Reaching Armin, his friend immediately noticed the brooch on his shoulder. His friend reaching out to touch it, as Eren slapped him off "Leave it alone" Armin pouted "It's pretty" "I know it is, and it was also a gift" "Oooooh. Someone's got a secret admirer" Eren rolled his eyes, linking arms with Armin in order to drag him off towards the arena "It's not like that at all. It was payment for a favour" "From who?" "None of your business" "Ereeeeen. You know I live for gossip" "There's no gossip here. Just a magic thing" "You're so lucky. I would love to know magic" "It's not as fun as you think..." Eren's mind went to the statues of the bandits... He still wasn't ok with what happened "I can't believe you. Most people would kill for that power" A power he couldn't use. Yeah. Right. He and Levi were still dancing around the topic of what came next "Enough about me. Have you seen him yet?" Armin stumbled, shooting him a glare "I don't know who you can possibly mean. I have seen Mikasa, though. She's in full armour" "It's best she is. This might be for fun, but that's only if no one dies" "Mikasa won't die. And I think she's eager to show you what she can do" "Don't say it like that..." "Say it like what?" "You know damn well" "I'm just saying, this is the first time you'll see her combat skills properly. She's really quite amazing" "Oh! Do you know two guards, called Jean and Sasha?" "I do. They're kind of my friends. What happened?" "Nothing happened, but Jean is a dick" "Jean reminds me a lot of you" "You don't know me at all. I'm nothing like that horsefaced arsehole" "How do you know he's a horsefaced arsehole, if nothing happened?" "Don't you use your logic on me. The day is beautiful, let's enjoy this" "I'm so happy they're doing this..." "You just want to see your precious blonde knight" Armin spluttered, ultimately not denying so, before falling silent. Taking their seats, Eren was able to get them better seats by being a mage. Though they weren't exactly great, they were the third row back, and on the bendy bit of the row, the arena being a giant oval in shape. Eldia banners of deep blue alternated with Marley banners of blood red, both fluttering in the wind. It was all far more grand than Eren had thought it would be. Citizens had come from town, with aristocracy taking the best seats in the front row. Personally Eren didn't want to be in the front row. Now with horses, swords and possible blood flying. Even in the third row, he had an almost death grip on Armin's hands. He didn't want anything to happen to Mikasa, and he doubly didn't want anything to happen to Levi. Erwin... was nice and all, and while he didn't want anything happening to him, he was definitely third on the list "Eren... your hands" Looking to Armin's lap, he realised his was creating sparks. Hastily he forced himself to let go "Sorry! I can't control this stupid magic of mine" "It's fine. It didn't hurt, but do we need to be so worried?" "I can't help it. Mikasa could be hurt" Thank god for Mikasa. He couldn't openly admit his worry for Levi "She'll be fine. Oh, look. It's starting" "Starting" meant a trailing speech from Zeke on the greatness of Marley. Levi standing beside the man with a forced smile on his lips. For someone so antisocial, Levi must have been uncomfortable as fuck. He hoped the alpha could tell he was there, and that he wasn't alone... even if things were weird and he didn't know what to call this thing between them. Both Marley's and Eldia's competing soldiers walked onto the field in full garb. Armin excitedly pointing out Mikasa, who wore a fierce look on her face. There were quite a few female soldiers on the Eldia side, where Marley only had the tall woman who followed Zeke around. Clapping with the rest of the crowd, Eren's heart was in his throat. The first round of the tournament was horse skills. Mikasa doing marvellously, as he'd expected. Only a few soldiers took place in the demonstration, as they weaved in and out of obstacles, while performing jumps and collecting ribbons held in the air by magic, and all within a certain time limit. When the event was over, a large blue shower of sparks burst above the stadium, signalling the first round went to Eldia. Eren's nervousness started to bleed away. No one had been hurt, and they'd all looked incredibly graceful upon their horses, even while in armour. The next round was horseback fighting. For some unknown reason, Mikasa didn't take place in it. Which was probably why Marley won that round, and an Eldia soldier had to be stretchered off the field as he'd been thrown when a sword was swung at the legs of his horse. The third round was archery, first on foot than by horse. Competitors shooting at magical targets. Arrows and bows were still a tender topic for Eren, so he didn't end up watching the round at all. He didn't want to suddenly turn any of the soldier to stone. The forth round was the longest. Two fighters stood in the middle of the arena, one from Eldia and one from Marley. Eren didn't know what to call it, but as one soldier fell, they were replaced. The wounds non-lethal, but everything else seemed to go. Marley wasn't afraid to fight dirty, their soldier taking down three Eldian's before finally being taken down by and Eldian. Back and forth competitors fell, each fight aggressive and beautiful like a dance. When the last Eldia competitor came out, Armin nearly jumped into his lap "I can't watch!" It was hard to tell, but for Armin to be so scared, it must have been Erwin. The figure was far too large to be Mikasa "He's going to be fine" "But he's up against Zeke's body guard, Yelena!" "He's going to be fine. Stop hiding" Erwin and Yelena seemed to be pretty evenly matched. Their fight has everyone on the edge of their seats. Unlike the previous competitors, they made the most of the arena. It was positively thrilling, only ending when both Yelena's and Erwin's swords broke. Eren was in absolute awe over it. He'd never be on the same level as the pair of him... and that sucked. His amazement soon turned to self hatred. If he hadn't been born an omega, he might very well be out there. He might be aiding in the fight for Eldia, and not being protected by everyone around him. Coming back to the centre of the arena, Zeke was all smiles as he clapped "Ladies and Gentlemen, it would appear to be a draw! Both our countries are indeed brave! To close the event, Prince Erwin and I shall face off in a friendly battle. No matter who wins or loses, we, your princes, vow to bring glory on our kingdoms!" Oh... fucking fuck-fuck. Zeke was too much of an arsehole to take a loss well, and Levi... could Levi even swing a sword. He must have been able to... and the man was strong... but he was only human. Closing his eyes, he prayed harder than he'd ever prayed before. He didn't want Levi hurt. He didn't know what to do if the man was... "Eren?" Opening his eyes, Eren realised he was being stared at "Prince Zeke... look" At the end of the stairs down to first layer of seats, Zeke stood staring at him. Pointing at him, the man beckoned him down. Flushed with embarrassment, Eren was shaking as he rose from his seat and approached Zeke, bowing once close enough "Sir?" "A kiss for good luck" He didn't want to kiss the man! Not in front of everyone. This had to be divine punishment! "S-sir?" "You must give me a kiss for good luck" His threat went unsaid. He'd be insulted if Eren didn't. Leaning in, Eren's lips brushed Zeke's. Nearly choking as Zeke pushed his tongue into his mouth. It felt so wrong... but he still had to keep calm and smile as the kiss broke. Giving him a wink, Zeke turned and drew his sword, holding it high as he walked back to the centre of the ring. Racing back to his seat, there were far too many glares directed his way "What was that?!?" Dropping into his seat, Eren grabbed Armin's shirt to wipe his mouth off with "Revolting" "You and the prince?" "There's no "me and Zeke". He's taken an interest because I'm an omega. He thinks I'm something to fuck" Armin tugged his shirt back, softly admitting "I didn't think about that" "Don't let it concern you. Nothing has happened with that man. Let's just watch the fight" "I'm still sorry" "You don't need to be. You're not like that, and our prince isn't like that either" Armin giggled "No. Can you imagine Prince Erwin kissing anyone? He'd probably glare the whole time" "How dare your lips be against mine" Eren snorted, resting his head against Armin's shoulder. Levi wouldn't fall to Zeke... Hiding against Armin's shoulder, each time his friend gasped or jumped, he flinched. Peeking through his fingers, the fight between alphas was frightening. Levi was incredible to watch, but it was all so scary. Being an exhibition rather than an actual battle, they were using training swords. But a training sword could still break bones, and leave nasty bruises and scrapes. Choosing the wrong moment to hide his face completely Eren almost screamed at the pain that assaulted his chest. His magic flaring as he gasped and coughed. Immediately alarmed, Armin was pulling him from his seat, and from the arena. Eren in too much pain to thank his friend, and exceptionally grateful that Armin had heeded his warnings over how volatile his magic could be. Dragged outside the arena, Eren collapsed onto the grass. His coughing growing into hard hacks, as he started to claw at his throat, feeling as if something was stuck there. Kneeling in front of him, Armin grabbed his hands "Eren?! Eren, what's happening?!" How could he communicate? He couldn't get a breath in. Pulling his hands back, he less than gently shoved his right hand in his throat, catching the feeling of something with the tips of his fingers "Oh my god. Are you choking?! Here, move, let me" Pulling his hand free, Armin held his mouth open with one hand, while he moved to remove whatever was choking him. Drooling and with tears in his eyes, Eren seriously felt as if he was dying "Holy fuck!" Hacking harshly as whatever Armin was drawing out, he nearly passed out from relief once it was free. That wasn't an experience he'd like to ever have again. Gasping for air, he rasped out between pants "What... the... fuck... was... that...?" "I... I think someone tried to poison you" Falling back to sit on the grass. A few very long moments passed between Eren and Armin. Eren's chest and lungs still hurt like a bitch, so he had to be careful not to take deep breaths. Finally recovering enough, he reached out and took the stem from Armin's hold "Belladonna?" He already knew the answer. Even without the flowers or berries, he'd know the plant anywhere "Yes... Eren..." "I'm ok" "You... Eren, you could have choked to death!" "It... was probably my magic" Armin's eyes widened "Don't look so surprised. I can't control it yet" "But why?! Why would you do this to yourself?!" "It's not intentional. My dislike and anger at Zeke for kissing me, probably lead to my magic reacting..." "Wow..." Both teens stared at the herb. Eren had no idea why it'd happened, but wasn't eager to scare Armin any more than he had "Thank you. If you hadn't got me out of there, people could have been hurt" "I... you were casting sparks again. And your coughing..." "My lungs aren't great, Armin. Come winter, I usually fall quite ill. They can't do anything about it, there's just too much scar tissue or something. It's not worth worrying about" Armin let out a soft cry as he launched himself on Eren "I'm sorry! We never knew you were suffering. You always seemed so happy when you came to play. I never knew how bad it was for you" "Hey now. No. I didn't want you and Mikasa to worry. You both make me so proud. You're both truly amazing and I'm proud you guys are my family" "I'm still sorry!" "Armin, it's ok. I'm ok. I was sent to a sanctuary remember? The one I was at was a little old fashioned, but you would have loved it there. It was a good life, and a safe life" "I missed you, Eren!" "I missed you too" With Armin squeezing him so tightly, Eren tried to withstand the pain. He wasn't feeling any better, and people were starting to leave the arena "Can you help me to my room?" "Oh? Of course..." * Zeke was lucky they'd been using training swords, or the man would have lost his head. Calling Eren out like that, then fucking kissing him... it'd done all kinds of things to Levi's alpha that left him less than amused. He could feel Eren's upset and discomfort over the incident, and that fuelled his anger during their fight. Despite being bigger than him, Levi knew how move his body in a way that was no match for Zeke's large frame. He'd nearly claimed victory, when Zeke swung a low and dirty blow, first blinding him with sand than smacking him in the ribs with enough force that he was sure something was broken. The look of disgust on Zeke's lips when he'd managed to remain standing had almost made the hit worth it. The man knew he wasn't going to go down easily, and now Levi had called him out on it in front of everyone. Soon after that, Zeke announced it a draw. Ushered from the field by Erwin, Levi was still simmering with rage. If only they could poison the stupid prince and be done with this shit. He couldn't calm down, and he had the overwhelming urge to seek out Eren. Instead, he was forced to sit by Erwin as his armour was removed. The alpha wincing as his tunic was rolled up reveal a three inch long split across his lower ribs on the left side. The colouring already a deep dark purple "You've broken your ribs" Levi rolled his eyes "No shit. That arsehole has a lot of strength for a pin-dick" Healers were already coming into the tented area, Erwin stepping back "Go find Eren. Make sure he's not too rattled from what happened today" "And you?" "I'll be fine" He really was more worried about Eren than he was himself. Taking his scolding from healers, he forced himself to be patient, knowing that in the opposite side of the arena, Zeke would be being healed for the exact same thing... no one had ever said that he fought fairly in battle... With the healing spells in place, Levi shrugged off the offer of help as he returned to his quarters. Erwin hadn't returned, nor had Levi been able to catch a glimpse of Eren in the crowds around the arena. Politely declining tokens of affections, and declarations of love, he would have liked nothing more than to yell at all of them to fuck off. He needed to know Eren was ok, and that Zeke hadn't physically hurt Eren in some way. The man had been smiling like the cat that got the cream, when the kiss had broken. As if he knew there was something happening between himself and Eren, despite there not yet being... Reaching his chambers, Levi peeled his clothes off, before forcing himself to ignore his need to shower. He was supposed to be resting, and allowing the magic to set his ribs back in place properly, but through his bond to Eren, he swore he could feel the kid in pain. Easing himself down on his bed, it was only a few moments before he was proven right. Supported by Erwin, Eren was curled in around, hunching to cover the left side of his chest "I found him. Armin was helping him back to his room. He foolishly thought he could skip being healed" Levi shot up at once, before immediately regretting it and sinking back down against his pillows "Left ribs are bruised, and Armin was quite distressed. Apparently he also coughed up belladonna" Eren let out a long sigh, his scent was just as pained as it was annoyed "He's overreacting" Led to Levi's bed, Erwin sat Eren down on the edge of it "You coughed up belladonna?" "It was probably my magic being a dick. I was on my way to my room to rest, when I was kidnapped by Fluffybrows" Levi wanted to laugh at the expression on Erwin's face. The man not pleased that Levi's name for him had caught on. But he couldn't bring the smile to his lips, and he'd spent the fight thinking how much easier it would have been if Zeke was poisoned, only for Eren to actually cough up a poisonous plant "I'm fine... my lungs and throat are agitated from the plant, but I'm ok" Erwin sighed and shook his head "Neither of you are ok. Levi, you're to stay in bed until your ribs have healed completely. Eren, you are to make sure he does. Levi, Eren has significant bruising, make sure he doesn't cough up blood" "So you're basically make us watch each other?" "Yes. I'll take care of what needs to be done. You two, please just figure this out" Eren nodded, looking to his hands as he did "Can I ask that you please let Armin know I'm ok. He was really distressed" "I'll see to it. I expect better from you two" Erwin swept from the room, Levi waiting until he'd slammed the door behind him, before sighing "I hate it when he goes into "dad" mode" "I know. It's not a great feeling... were you really hurt?" Eren seemed so sad, that Levi felt he had no choice but to be honest. Pushing himself up, to pull down the furs of his bed. Exposing the site to Eren "He laid a blow against my ribs. Magic is already in place to heal it. You?" Pulling his shirt up, Eren nodded. The purple bruising looking horrible and undeserved on Eren's soft skin "It's just bruising. No breaks like you suffered. I... I was so scared when you were fighting Zeke" Lowering his shirt, Eren was shaking ever so slightly as he wiped his palms on his pants "Did he hurt you? When he kissed you?" The teen shook his head "No. But it felt wrong. It made me so mad and I felt sick to the bottom of my stomach. He had no right to do that" Clenching his hands, Eren's fists clutched his pants "No. He didn't. I suspect he did so to annoy me. I feel he must think there is something going on between us" "But there isn't! It's one thing to insult me face to face, but it's quite another to force a kiss on me, where I couldn't refuse him" Lifting the blankets beside him, Levi desperately wanted to comfort Eren. Perhaps as a means to make himself feel better, but to also reassure the teen that they were both ok. He knew how choking felt, thanks to Eren's magic, and it hadn't been fun or great... but he hadn't coughed up a potentially lethal plant, or part of one "Come here" Patting the spot, Eren looked to him in confusion "I'm not going to bite. You look like you need a hug" "Are you sure?" "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't. Just make sure to take your boots off" Eren toed his boots off, before shyly climbing up to sit beside him on the furs, rather than the space he'd made "Thank you... a hug would be really nice" "Then come closer" Coaxing the omega into his hold, Eren felt amazing against him. The omega not asking permission as he hid his face against Levi's neck "I was so scared something would happen to you" "I may not look it, but I'm actually rather battle hardened" "I know. I mean. I've heard rumours, but Zeke is a beast" "He does rather lack in the social graces expected of someone with royal blood" "He makes me so mad" "Then how about we talk about something else?" "I don't know what to say?" Ignoring the pain in his left side, Levi moved to cup Eren's face with his left hand. The teen's cheek wet as he guided it from his neck. Rubbing the tear streak, he smiled at Eren the best he could "You do not need to cry. I'm just fine" "I feel today has been too much for me... I'm trying my hardest not to think of him, but I still feel his lips on mine" Levi's alpha didn't like that one bit. His jealousy flaring as his anger toward Zeke returned in a blazing inferno. He'd scared Eren with such an action. Eren, who's lips only his should be touching. Before he could think, he pushed a solid kiss to Eren's lips. A little awkward on both sides, Eren slowed kissed him back, before breaking the kiss. Levi shocked he'd actually kissed Eren "I'm sorry. I didn't think..." "No. I'm ok..." "No. You were just saying how you could feel Zeke... and I wanted to..." "You don't need to explain. I mean. Some warning would have been nice, but your kiss was much nicer" "I really didn't meant to make you feel pressured" "I didn't. I don't..." The redness in Eren's cheeks was quite cute, as was the way he bit his lower lip. Levi drawn in by the allure of such plump and sweet lips "Do you mind?" "No..." As his lips found Eren's again, Levi moved his right wrist up to scent mark Eren's neck. He was skating on dangerously thin ice, but he couldn't stop himself. After a month of stubbornly deny his uses as anything other than a pawn, then a month and half of trying to hide he'd mounted Eren, he was now having to admit he'd been wrong about the kid. Eren was hard working. He was honest and friendly to all those he came across. The small visits which involves checking on Eren's progress in the library, had become a highlight in his day... he was on thin ice, and rapidly developing some kind of feelings for the teen. As the kiss broke, Eren was desperate for more. His lips smashing against Levi's as the omega moved into his lap, sitting across just above Levi's knees so as to not cause pain in the alpha's chest. Inside of him, lust was starting to form in his belly. His heart racing with each kiss, as his dick began to harden. Breaking the kiss, he searched Eren's face for some kind of meaning, his left hand sliding down Eren's cheek as he moved to run his thumb over Eren's lips "Eren..." "Master..." A thrill ran through his whole body at that one word "I... I can't offer you a relationship" "I know. But right now, all I can think about is your lips against mine, and your hands across my body" Levi's voice was husky, the alpha coughing slightly to clear his throat. He could smell Eren's permission, and the sweetness of his body "Take your shirt off. I want to see you" Eren nodded, his hands shaking as he moved to comply. The bruising on his side, had faded significantly in the last few minutes. Magic really was kind of amazing. Dropping his shirt off the side of Levi's bed, Eren sat there. Patient as Levi's hands moved to run up the omegas sides "You're beautiful" Speaking without meaning, he didn't take the statement back. Like Eren's skin, his nipples were soft and brown. Bringing his hands down, he tugged at the draw strings of Eren's pants, Eren moaning as his hand brushed over the teen's tenting erection "I want to see you" Nodding, Eren rose, stepped off the bed to strip as Levi shimmied his underwear down. Both of them more than a little nervous as Eren climbed back into his lap. For an omega, the teen was well built. A small amount of puppyfat still clung to the boy, but it wasn't unappealing in the slightest. With the omega's pants gone, Levi's hands ran over the teen's hips, slightly wider than normal given his secondary dynamic and ability to bear children. Taking Levi's left hand in his right, Eren nuzzled into his palm, before finally making eye contact again "I want to kiss you and to feel you" "You don't need to ask permission" Leaning in, Eren's hands mirrored his. The fingers The kiss starting small, before Eren deepened it with a moan. Interlacing their fingers, Eren wriggled up his a lap a little. The omega slicking like crazy as Levi hissed into the kiss. Feeling Eren's erection rubbing against his, only made him want to hurry up and be buried inside his omega... the omega. Sliding a hand down Eren's side and back, his hand slipped lower, fingers dipping between his arse cheeks, and finding the object of his explore. Having never done this, he slowly rubbed at the loosening ring of muscle, Eren mewing into his mouth. He was obviously doing something right. Working his way into Eren's heat, Eren opened beautifully for him. The omega's face dropping to his shoulder as he panted against him. The teen's hands working both of them as Eren rolled his hips to grind down on Levi's fingers, whimpering when the digits were pulled from his body "Are you ready?" Nodding, Eren sat up straighter, his eyes so filled with lust and arousal they appeared black. With a slight slip and a growl, Levi failed on his first attempt, Eren so wet that he was forced to take himself in the hand, as the teen rose to make it easier. Lowering himself down, Eren let out a long breathy moan, which Levi agreed with completely. He felt no pain at all from his broken ribs and bruising. He felt nothing but right. Clumsily, Eren changed position, before beginning to ride him. His hands on Levi's shoulders for support as he started to chant some prayer to the gods. It was only a few moments before Eren came, his lips parted as he tensed, as if trying to draw Levi deeper. He'd never seen anything as beautiful. Growling, he firmly took Eren by the hips, holding him just above him as he thrust up, his knot racing to form "Eren, do you want me to knot you?" The teen nodded quickly "Please... please, master. I need it... so badly" Driving into Eren twice more, Eren gasped as Levi's knot caught, Eren's second orgasm washing over him, as Levi came so hard he screamed Eren's name. Sparks of magic flared around them, Levi feeling a flood of warm tingling that he instantly knew to be Eren's magic. Rushing into him, it filled every part of him, relieving all aches and pains, even the ones he'd had for years. Falling into each other's embrace, Eren nuzzled into his neck, the teen rocking against him as Levi continued to thrust lightly, his seed still rushing to fill the teen. Fuck. It felt like a volcano had erupted from his balls. The pair of them remained like that, panting and fighting to regain their breaths, until Eren sat up. Whining softly as Levi's knot jostled, the teen's hands went to Levi's chest, before Eren's right hand dipped further. Mumbling something, Eren drew across Levi's lower stomach with his semen "What are you doing?" "Saying a prayer for you. Semen has powerful properties in magic" "Oh yeah? What are you praying for?" "For strength for you" "I'm already strong" "I know you are. This is more for mental strength" "Are you saying you're going to be hard to deal with?" "No, silly. It's a prayer to give you strength with no matter how you deal with. Not just me" Finishing his drawing, Eren smiled happily. No where near as embarrassed over what had happened as Levi had thought he would be "Are you ok?" Eren nodded quickly "I can't remember the last time I felt so ok. I could feel my magic rushing into you. Your side has healed already, and the bags beneath your eyes are gone" Levi peered down to his ribs, Eren indeed right. The wound healed without the slightest trace of ever being there "Magic really is something" "Mhmm... I found a few books, that I'd like you to learn from. With your permission" Levi let out a soft chuckle. Only Eren could sit in his lap and ask such things while looking thoroughly fucked "Did I say something wrong?" "No. Not at all. I don't know how to read those books" "Only omegas can. And I haven't seen the books themselves, they're held in the royal gallery beneath the castle" "There's a gallery beneath the castle?" "You really should know more about your own castle, but yes" If they were down in storage, wouldn't that make them dangerous? His alpha jumping right in to tell him "to shut the fuck up with this thinking business, when he had such a young and supple omega in their lap"... "Don't worry. I can see you thinking. I don't intend to act without your permission. You are my master after all" "We will look at the together. But I do not have time for classes now" "No. Not with Zeke" Thrusting up at Zeke's name, Eren's eyes widened "Fuck... I know I should feel ashamed, but I feel content. As if being in your lap is the greatest thing in the world. I can feel your life force, and I can feel my magic" "Does that mean you might be able to bring those sparks of yours under control?" Rolling his hips, Levi loved the way Eren's mouth hung open as he squeaked out mews "Mmm... I'll show you a trick, if you stop teasing" Levi stopped, and Eren pouted "You said to stop teasing" "This is true" Moving both his hands to sit palm to between them, a small glow began in Eren's left hand. Letting it turn into a light about as big as a candle light, the teen took his right hand, drawing the flame into a long thin line. When the line was about a metre long, Eren blew on it softly, extinguishing the flame a long fine sword now sat in Eren's hands "How the fuck did you do that?" "Carbon is in the air, and iron is in the blood and traces linger in the air. Sitting here, it came to mind as I looked at you. I've never accomplished anything like this before" Carefully, Levi lifted the sword from Eren's hands. Being so thin, it was hardly sturdy, but he could see how proud Eren was of himself "This is amazing" "I know. We truly must be sexually compatible for you to be able to bring my powers under control so easily. Even with my bracelets, I never had such control before" "Speaking of your bracelets, I noticed you no longer wear them" "Since the vow, my magic has actually need a lot better. I suppose you can't imaging so..." "Honestly, I don't know how I would have coped before" "It was... tricky. May I?" Taking the thin sword back, it glowed as Eren moved to shape the metal into something new. He knew there was only a finite amount of iron in the human body, and no way was it healthy to lose so much. It was truly incredible to watch the sword be shaped into something circular. Eren seemed to almost come into himself as he worked. In just a few minutes, he'd turned the sword into a very wonky crown, which he placed on Levi's head "Ok. I might need to work on my magic" "Only "might"?" "Hush you. I suppose we need to dress?" Levi was confused "Dress?" "The thing you do when you put your clothes on" "We don't need to dress..." "You need to make a show of healing. It'll lift palace spirits" "And what will you do?" "Research?" "I can think of something else we could be doing first" Gathering Eren up, the omega wrapped his long legs around Levi's waist, giggling as Levi laid him down "Mmm... don't hold back" "As if I would, you truly are beautiful in your own way Eren" "As are you, my master"

[professional-anti]

Chapter Eleven: Magnus Bane

Okay, kiddos. Let’s go.

Jace and Clary leave the Brotherhood HQ, and Jace calls the cab driver a “brain-dead moron”. You know what, here’s the full quote:

Jace leaned forward and banged his hand against the partition separating them from the cab driver. “Turn left! Left! I said to take Broadway, you brain-dead moron!”

Oh, man, I’m so hot for Jace you guys. He’s so evil and cruel. I’m fanning myself. And the reason he wants to take Broadway? He wants breakfast. That’s it. It’s not a life-or-death situation. He wants fucking breakfast.

I like the idea of the diner they go to. A place where magical ppl can get together for some spaghetti. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I LOVE the idea of a secret (or not-so-secret) magical Manhattan. It’s just so unfortunate that Clare’s is so bad.

Clarinet asks Jack-Jack about Magnus Bane. Jack-Jack explains that he’s a warlock. Alec shows up. Clare is the foreshadowing master.

Clary freaks out about a guy in front of the store who looks like a demon. Clary. Girl. Come on. You know about this stuff already. It’s been like two days. Calm down. Apparently he’s a bouncer (for a diner) and is the warlock equivalent of a squib.

Honesty, I love this diner. They have blood on tap!!!! That’s so cool!!!!!! Plus, the people eating there sound way more interesting than our MCs.

[A] boy with spiky blue dreads was sitting next to a beautiful Indian girl with long black hair and gauzelike golden wings sprouting from her back.

Gotta love how the only people of color are basically set-dressing, though. At least Simon is Jewish, even with the messed up antisemitic crosses-burned-into-him dream thing. Clare’s Jewish, though, so of course she represents only herself and leaves everyone else out in the cold.

Alec shows up:

There was a kinetic, almost feverish energy to [Alec] that hadn’t been there before. Something about Jace sharpened him, brought him into focus. If she were going to draw them together, she thought, she would make Jace a little blurry, while Alec stood out, all sharp, clear planes and angles.

Oh, here it is. The “poor gay boy only comes to life in front of hopelessly straight crush” trope. Bc Alec has nothing better to do than obsess over Jace, a boy who is currently being rude to the waitress. Does Clare honestly not know how annoying rude boys are?

Isabelle and Simon show up. Apparently, even Isabelle’s perfume is evil:

Isabelle’s hair tickled [Clary’s] face, smelling of some kind of vanilla perfume. Clary fought the urge to sneeze. She hated vanilla perfume. She’d never understood why some girls felt the need to smell like dessert.

Haven’t I mentioned? Clary is the best girl to ever girl. Isabelle can’t even order right. Instead of getting something reasonable, like a large order of coconut pancakes (gross, Clary), “Isabelle fastidiously order[s] a fruit smoothie”.

Jace goes off to flirt with the waitress. Clary is confused bc the waitress is a Downworlder and aren’t they, like, totally evil? Isabelle and Alec assure her that the only kill the bad Downworlders. The rest they let live.

“Like letting spiders live because they eat mosquitoes, Clary thought.” Uh, not really. The Downworlders aren’t spiders. They’re just people, living their lives.

“So they’re good enough to let live, good enough to let live, good enough to make your food for you, good enough to flirt with—but not really good enough? I mean, not as good as people.” Isabelle and Alec looked at her as if she were speaking Urdu. “Different from people,” said Alec finally.

This doesn’t really seem like such a difficult question? Isabelle and Alec are just trying to cover up their bullshit.

“Better than mundanes?” said Simon. “No,” Isabelle said decidedly. “You could turn a mundane into a Shadowhunter. But you could never turn a Downworlder into one of the Clave. They can’t withstand the runes.”

So Shadowhunters judge others based on their ability to become Shadowhunters? Seems not at all racist. I’m so glad we had this chat. Jace comes back and explains that there’s just a shit-ton of hostility between Shadowhunters and Downworlders, so it’s not really racism.

Miracle of miracles, Isabelle reveals that Magnus Bane has invited the magical community of New York to his house for a party. God, I love parties.

There’s a whole day before the party, so Simon and Isabelle decide to go for a walk in Central Park. For some reason, this makes Clary feel a “murderous rage”. These emotions are seriously not healthy.

Back at the Institute, Clary goes exploring in the library and finds a photo of her mom and other Order of the Pheonix members-cum-Deatheaters Shadowhunters. Evil Giles shows up and points out Valentine, Luke, the Lightwoods, Jace’s mom, and himself in the picture. Clary mentions that Jace doesn’t look anything like his father. What could this possibly mean?

Honestly, the concept of a book about the children of villains isn’t terrible. It really just the complete ripping-off of Harry Potter that annoys me.

Oh, God. Clary gets back to her room (armed with a sleeping potion from Hodge) to see Jace looking at her sketchbook. I’m not even good at drawing, and my sketchbooks are still deeply personal. You can’t just look in someone’s sketchbook! It’s like a diary! WTF, Jace!

In fact, Clary tells Jace that it’s  basically a diary and that he shouldn’t look at it. This should be obvious.

Wait, I’m laughing:

“You could try not being charming all the time,” Clary said. “It might be a relief for everyone.”

BITCH, WHERE???

Jace offers to tell Clary a bedtime story. It’s the famous falcon story, the one that Clare used in her Harry Potter fanfiction. You know, where Jace’s father gives him a falcon to train, and when Jace loves it, his father kills it. Proof that Jace is Draco.

Somehow, Clary makes the connection that this story is about Jace only as she falls asleep. Whatever.

Isabelle wakes up Clary. Again, a famous moment:

[Isabelle] looked like a moon goddess. Clary hated her.

Bitch, Isabelle is a moon goddess, and I love her.

Yes, we have a makeover scene!! My secret weakness. I’m sorry, fellow patriarchy fighters. Makeover scenes are just so good.

Isabelle continues to be the coolest person in this book:

Her room looked as if a disco ball had exploded inside it. The walls were black and shimmered with swirls of sponged-on golden paint. Clothes were strewn everywhere: on chairs, spilling out of the closet and the tall wardrobe propped against one wall. Her vanity table, its mirror rimmed with spangled pink fur, was covered in glitter, sequins, and pots of blush and powder.

I want this room!

Clary gets a slinky black dress, fishnets, and boots. I want this outfit, too. When Isabelle does Clary’s makeup, Clary asks if Alec is gay. For some reason, this causes an intense shock in Isabelle:

Isabelle’s wrist jerked. The eyeliner skidded, inking a long line of black from the corner of Clary’s eye to her hairline. “Oh, hell,” Isabelle said, putting the pen down. “It’s all right,” Clary began, putting her hand up to her eye. “No, it isn’t.” Isabelle sounded near tears as she scrabbled around among the piles of junk on top of the vanity . . . She sat down on the edge of the bed, ankle bracelets jingling, and looked at Clary through her hair. “How did you guess?” she said finally. “I—” “You absolutely can’t tell anyone,” said Isabelle. “Not even  Jace?” “Especially not Jace!” “All right.” Clary heard the stiffness in her own voice. “I guess I didn’t realize it was such a  big deal.” “It would be to my parents,” said Isabelle quietly. “They would disown him and throw him out of the Clave—” “What, you can’t be gay and a Shadowhunter?” “There’s no official rule about it, But people don’t like it. I mean, less with people our age—I think,” she added, uncertainly, and Clary remembered how few other people her age Isabelle had ever really met. “But the older generation, no. If it happens, you don’t talk about it.”

Okay. So. I’m trying to judge this for when it was written. But, like. Is the homophobia necessary? It’s kind of like the ridiculous sexism in ACOTA/R. It’s a choice the author is making, for, like, no good reason. This is a case of a straight author needlessly torturing her gay character. But since this was published in 2007, I feel like this has been talked out, so let’s move on.

IT TURNS OUT THAT ISABELLE’S ANKLETS ARE WEAPONS. I LOVE HER. WE ARE GETTING MARRIED. WEDDING INVITATIONS TO FOLLOW.

Ugh, Simon short-circuits bc Clary is wearing a short skirt. Please calm down, sweetie. You’re embarrassing me. Wait, what is even going on here? Jace gives Clary a dagger, and, uh, this happens:

“I could give you a thigh sheath to put that in,” Isabelle offered. “I’ve got tons.” “ABSOLUTELY NOT,” said Simon.

I’m actually laughing. Lol for real. What does this even mean? Is a thigh sheath too sexy or something? Simon, can you chill for .2 seconds? This isn’t your body. Let’s all take deep breaths.

Clary puts the dagger in the outside pocket of her backpack because there’s no way having to unzip a backpack to get to the dagger could bit her in the ass during a fight. Then Jace reaches over and undoes her hair bc, uh, shipping moment.

I’m so grossed out by the fact that in a short while, they will think they’re siblings.

[goothemighty]

I had a strangely detailed dream DnD session last night.

Everything played out “in fiction”, with the dream based background knowledge of the “real world” setting. At least five players, six player characters, and one devious DM.

It was a short, startup campaign with low level characters that bizarrely started out with one player character betraying the group almost immediately and killing another player character.

This had apparently been planned in advance, with the traitor player and the DM in league from the start.

I’m guessing the murdered character was for a no-show player, or at least that’s what we were told originally, since the murder caught the rest of us(?) off guard.

I say us... there were at least two other non-traitor players, but I never saw their faces or gleaned their character classes. Dreams are like that.

Meanwhile, I was playing a Human Cleric of the Bardic god Finder. The “player” who got murdered was a Wizard and a practical joker, well loved by all and a good friend of my character. So yeah, bummer if a start for my Cleric. His best friend just got murdered, but at least he knows where to find the traitorous bastard who did it, and the rest of the party was just as motivated to find him as well.

So, fast forward through some dream haze, and our party finds themselves in a cozy town apartment, in mock ease across from our Traitor and a DM controlled Priest of the evil god Bane. Apparently the Priest of Bane had seduced our Traitor over to their side with promises of wealth and power (typical Zentarim ploy), and this we had two antagonists to deal with. “Pleasantries” and posturing are exchanged as we sit in comfortable chairs, none the les battle ready, with nothing but empty room between us and our swaggering foe.

Ultimately, “negotiations” petter out, and it’s clear a fight is about to be triggered. The DM, cementing the cocky nature of this Priest of Bane, ends discussions with the priest giving a deliberately mocking prayer to his evil god, thanking him for delivering us, the players, into his waiting hands. This was definitely meant to intimidate the players themselves, but halfway through his prayer, I remember; I’m a Cleric too.

Under my breath, as the DM read off his pre-prepared space of a prayer, I make up my own prayer to Finder for my character to say, under his breath as well, without drawing the attention of the evil priest or the DM. I wish could remember how it went, but basically, as a player, I was just psyching myself up by reminding my self and my character that he had just as much divine backup as the evil priest, if not more. It felt cool.

The fight broke out immediately with “Amen”s on both sides, and was frankly short. I think I did something to hamper our two foes, but the other two players delivered the DAMAGE. The evil priest was dead, and the traitor fled to the roof.

I pursued him, intending to end this, only to realize that the roof is where he had stashed all of the Wizard’s pilfered belongings, including his spellbook, which was now open and ready to be used by the traitor.

He was some sort of Rouge build, but apparently one with enough wizardly training to use spellbooks. We had surmised that he killed our friend in order to steal his magical items and spellbook, but I had neglected to consider that he would be able to use it on me. Our Wizard friend had cast a couple spells before he was murdered, so I knew there was some potent stuff in that travel journal sized tome.

However, as the traitor flipped though the book to find a deadly spell to use, his expression changed from one of grim glee, to confusion, to panic, and my character took the opportunity provided to cut him open and push him off the roof for good measure.

Mission accomplished!

As an afterthought, probably at the prompting of the DM, my character picked up the battered and blood stained spellbook to give a look through, curious about why the traitor failed to cast a spell.

Remember how the dead Wizard friend was a prankster? On every page, the spellbook was filled, not with spells, but with jokes! And terrible ones at that! From beyond the grave, the lovable goof had pranked his own murderer to death, a perfect ironic demise to the would be spell thief.

Roll credits!

I wanted to share this for a couple reasons.

1. Props to the dream DM. I can’t honestly take credit for any of his storytelling, since I never would of thought of half of that if I hadn’t had this dream. Don’t know how that works, but whatever.

2. I’ve never heard of nor would have expected a low level campaign to start with the player party being reduced by two fifths it’s size by a murder and a betrayal of PLAYER characters. Good sneaky nonsense from the DM and the two players!

I’d love to see/hear about other people doing things like this in their campaigns! It was also a good hook to motivate the remaining players, for revenge and honor among party members.

It’s actually a lot like The Italian Job, for the three of you who know that movie, and I kind of love that!

3. The whispered prayer to Finder was what made the dream stick in my head. To have a party Cleric, ready to fight his foes, completely ignore what an evil priest is praying in order to pray to his own not-evil god for aid is such a cool image in my head.

“Yeah, I can do that too, bitch.”

4. Also the fact that dream me didn’t even bother to make said moment known to anyone else is neat. It may not add a buff or anything if the DM is oblivious, but it’s a rad character moment for the player to keep for themselves.

It was also a moment of growth for my dream Cleric, since hadn’t spoken to his god since the murder of his friend. It fit as a resolution/acceptance of loss as well as a rising moment mere seconds before the campaign’s final fight!

Again, I never would have thought of this on my own, but I am totally going to use it, and you should too!!!

6. Finally, the Joke Book/Spell Book! Why a neat punchline!! It’s cool when the murderee gets to Don Giovanni themselves some revenge, especially in a way that is very THEM. But also... he did cast spells with that book at the beginning of the dream...

Finally: As I was waking up, I had reached the conclusion that our poor Wizard was in fact a much more talented spell caster than he had let on, able to cast Wizard spells entirely from memory, like Elminster the Sage, and only “using” the book to keep up appearances and not give away the extent of his skill. Alternatively, he could have been a Sorcerer or a Warlock, who simply disguised himself as a Wizard for appearances sake.

However, I have reached a new conclusion since my commute into work. I have read in plenty of Forgotten Realms novels where Evil or Disreputable Wizards will steal spell books from other masters of the art in order to increase their own library of spells. In fact, that is what the traitor did in my dream. What I didn’t consider until I was driving to work this morning was this: what if Wizards kept their spell books written in code?

My new conclusion is that dead Wizard friend was either a genius spell caster who liked to keep a lid on his real power OR he wrote all of his spells in code that, to anyone but himself, just looks like bad jokes!

I love this idea and definitely want people to steal it if it not already a thing!

Make your wizards FMA level code-smiths! I want to hear about wizards whose spellbooks look and read just like ordinary cookbooks and almanacs!!

Seriously though, use anything from this dream that strikes your fancy, as a DM or a player or even a writer! They weren’t my ideas really, so if you like it, use it!!

Then tell me about it, cause I wanna hear cool stories!!!!

[fireteam-cherrybomb]

Meet the Fireteam!

A series of introductions to the members of Fireteam: Cherry Bomb! (Sorry for the low-quality images, I did my best)

First up is Kindle, an Awoken Nightstalker and de facto leader of the Fireteam. She has the most experience in the field out of this team. She doesn’t actually understand why she was entrusted with showing two kinderguardians the ropes when she’s kind of a mess herself and doesn’t actually know what she’s doing most of the time. She’s recently started working with and training two other new guardians and is the baby of a Fireteam she was on when she was first rezzed and still runs with from time to time.

Overall, Kindle is a disaster of a human being with a thin veneer of having her shit together. When she’s not with a Fireteam, she tends to approach missions by going in the general direction her ghost, Matchstick (Match for short), tells her to, shooting wildly until everything in her general vicinity is dead, and improvising as she goes, breaking out the rocket launchers when shit goes really south.

With her Fireteam, she’s more of a calming influence. She tends to opt for a middle ground between Lyra’s “slowly and methodically kill enemies from a distance” strategy and Nova-8’s tendency to rush in blind and fuck shit up at close range. They exhaust her a little bit she loves them anyway.

Kindle is fairly introspective and enjoys finding ways to improve and enjoy herself outside of combat. She took up art at one point and loves drawing and painting landscapes of the places she’s been around the system. Io and Nessus were her two favorite places for a long time. She thinks the Dreaming City is beautiful and finds the Tangled Shore aesthetically pleasing, but hasn’t had the chance to draw anything from those spots yet.

Cayde-6 was a mentor and the first person she met when she arrived at the Tower after being rezzed. His death hit her really hard. After hunting down Uldren and his barons, she avoided the City and the Tower for a while. She threw herself into helping Petra attempt to maintain order in the Dreaming City, learning the history and secrets of the Awoken, patrolling the Tangled Shore, and hunting down escapees from the Prison of Elders.

She needed time to grieve and process what happened and determine what being a Guardian meant to her. Now, she’s back in the Tower, running strikes, working with her Fireteam and dedicated to serving and protecting the City.

Next up is Lyra, an Awoken Voidwalker and resident goth. She was first rezzed at the start of the Taken War and spent a lot of time fighting the Taken in the Cosmodrome and on Venus as a result. During that time, she decided to dedicate herself to a very...particular aesthetic.

She’s definitely more fashion-conscious when it comes to her gear than her fellow Fireteam members. She’s been known to turn her nose up at gear she finds ugly and spends exorbitant amounts of resources infusing gear that she likes so she can keep wearing it. She once spent a stupid amount of bright dust on new shaders from Tess. While she generally is okay with Kindle’s fashion choices, she despises how much Nova loves bright colors like pink and green and chrome. She prefers black and white with touches of gold or red.

Lyra is much less impulsive and less prone to rushing in than her fellow Fireteam members and could be the voice of reason as a result. Unfortunately, she is deeply sarcastic and a little bitchy, preferring to convey her displeasure through judgemental stares and haughty silences instead of through words (much to the chagrin of her Ghost, Penumbra). Kindle and Nova have a lot of practice ignoring these (much to the chagrin of Lyra).

She does genuinely care for her Fireteam, though she rarely admits it out loud. She isn’t the best at making friends herself. She’s introverted and a little solitary by nature, preferring reading over socializing. She is often dragged out of her research by the other two members of her Fireteam to get some fresh air or go on a mission. Her observant nature makes her a very thoughtful gift giver though, as she often knows exactly what to get people.

Lyra idolizes Ikora, and her judgemental silences turn much more awed in her presence. Working with her to fight Panoptes and the Vex threat on Mercury was a dream come true. While she found Cayde to be a bad influence and far too prone to goofing off, she was genuinely upset by his death, especially seeing how badly it hurt Ikora and Kindle.

Following Cayde’s death and Kindle withdrawing into herself, she did her best to support her friends and acted as the centering force for her Fireteam. She gave Kindle the time and space she needed while not letting her drift out of contact completely, and offered her support to Ikora in her own awkward and reticent way.

Finally, there’s Nova-8, an Exo Striker and the baby of Fireteam Cherry Bomb. Nova was first rezzed at the end of the Taken War, making her the youngest, and it shows in many ways. She doesn’t have the same experience with system-wide threats, and in general is much more cheerful and optimistic than the other two members of her Fireteam.

Nova generally maintains a very sunshiney demeanor, easily making friends and finding lots of things to be positive about. Some of this is done on purpose; she makes a concerted effort to be as peppy as possible just to irritate Lyra. Similarly, some of her dedication to making her armor bright happy colors is because she knows it clashes with her teammate’s style sensibilities. Occasionally, she’ll play up her naïveté to get a reaction. As a whole though, she is genuinely cheerful and sweet, especially to her many friends.

When it comes to battle though, she’s an absolute monster. She loves getting as close to the action as possible. Her preferred strategy is “get in and cause as much chaos and damage as possible.” Her Ghost, Molotov, wholeheartedly endorses this approach. She spent a lot more time training in the Crucible than the other two due to how much it allowed her to indulge in this taste for destruction. She enjoys invading in Gambit for similar reasons, but something about the game rubs at her, so she doesn’t take part in it as often as the other two members of her Fireteam do.

When she’s not fucking shit up on missions with friends, fucking shit up in the Crucible, or training to fuck shit up, Nova enjoys strolling through the Tower and the City and even the Farm talking and spending time with people. Every time she’s on Earth, she does her very best to pop by the City and the Farm and make rounds greeting everyone there. She loves making time to hang out and do something with everyone when she can get away with it, and at least a brief chat with everyone when she can’t.

Due to her time in the Crucible and their similarities in personality, Nova thinks Shaxx is the coolest person ever and they get on like a house on fire. Lord Saladin is less prone to indulging her taste for wanton destruction, but she still thinks he’s pretty cool. She’s friendly with Zavala but thinks he’s a bit of a killjoy. Cayde was her favorite out of the Vanguard when he was alive, and she misses his humor quite a bit.

The Red War was the first real threat Nova faced and her first real brush with death. It sobered her slightly, but she came out of it just as cheerful as before. After Cayde died, she found it much harder than before. Still, she does her best to keep things positive for her friends. She put a lot of effort into trying to cheer people up in any way she could, especially holidays like Festival of the Lost, the Dawning, and Crimson Days.

[sagiow]

Northbound

I took a hiatus from my creative hiatus to write a little Mercy Street fanfic, on the occasion of @jomiddlemarch‘s birthday. A very happy, poetic, romantic birthday, I hope!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413401 

The scenery spun by, shapes barely distinguishable in the darkness, and Jedediah Foster watched it pass, as in a daze. The day’s events had yet to make their mark, but he kept them at bay: tonight, he had one more important thing to deal with than the utter falling apart with his family, the complete collapse of whatever still held them together. Mary. He had to get to Mary.

How he had managed to get aboard without a dime, he could not recall. Yet here he was, sitting in a comfortable cabin, speeding north as the evening grew; his body growing limp from the exhaustion of travel and the rhythmic motion of the wagon on the tracks, but his mind racing on, one mantra repeating endlessly: please still be alive. Please still be alive.

He took out the much-cherished drawing from his bag, carefully smoothing the creases and wrinkles, and stared at it. In that moment, the world outside vanished, the train's roar dimmed, time stood still: all he saw was her calm beauty, floating from the white page, smiling peacefully. Was she still at peace? Did she still smile? Would she smile still at his arrival? Please still be alive.

This ghost haunted him, as she had since her departure, since Lisette had handed him the picture the next day. This serene Mary he doubted still existed, and would perhaps vanish before he could travel to Boston, or so he told himself these past weeks as he looked for excuses to stay away. As long as he had remained in Alexandria, he had lived with the regret of what could have been: their blossoming courtship, the growing affection between them, rekindled by her illness, only to be forcefully terminated by her exile and impending end. Regret was a heavy companion, but with distance and other occupation, he managed it somehow, never once resorting to the comfort of the needle, as he had feared. Every day the ghost grew fainter, the memory of her dimmed, and other preoccupations and prospects drove her further away. Every morning brought the possibility of a letter or telegram telling them her pain was passed, and some small part of him almost hoped to receive it, and let that page be turned once and for all, that chapter finished before it even began.

But the letter had never come, events had unraveled, and friends had provided the encouragement needed to put an end to the excuses and make that dreaded trip, and be confronted to her fate. And his, for he knew it now to be linked with hers, whatever it may be. He feared what awaited him, and his guilt-ridden mind conjured images of her body frail and wasted from her ordeal, her broken spirit barely twinkling through bright, fevered eyes. A ghost, indeed.

Regret at what could have been left him, and was replaced by remorse of what should have been. He remembered the dock: the curls clinging to her damp forehead, the darkness that rimmed her eyes, the shivers despite the heavy blanket: he should have brought her comfort. The confused mind, drifting so far away, already being ferried to the Underworld: he should have steered her back to herself, to him. The hand that had barely any strength to hold his, the pulse faint in her wrist: he never should have let it go. But he had. He had failed her.

Rationally, he knew that there was not much to be done that fateful night: defying orders to either steal her away somehow or jump ship to accompany her would have ended his military career, and ruined their good names. However, he could have done more through the proper channels as early as the next morning, yet he did not. Instead, he buried himself in the old comforts of work, science, and, despite his better judgement, the company of a former mistress. Thankfully, they had not revived their past affair, but had still managed to grow close enough that he was now wrecked with guilt. That he had just as much as entertained the possibility, while Mary was fighting for her life, now made him sick with disgust.

So there he was, racing through war-torn country, daring to hope for solace and forgiveness from the woman he had cravenly abandoned to a death sentence while he could not even bring himself to write a single letter. Please still be alive.

His own expectations at her welcome varied from bitter admonishment and reprisal in the best case, and quiet rejection in the worst. He had forsaken people in his life for much smaller slights, and did not envision any better reaction to his outright desertion and stubborn subsequent silence. She herself had not been so forgiving in health, turning a cold shoulder whenever their disagreement over race or patient care became apparent, and he could not imagine this utter insult would be met with any more lenience on her part.

And of course she would be more than right to do so. Whereas she had risked her position and reputation to help him, a mere colleague, through his morphine addiction and keep it their secret, he had done little more than any doctor would have done in treatment of her infection; as a pining suitor caring for his intented, or even just as a friend, his behavior had been downright unacceptable.

Jedidiah sighed. He fully deserved any treatment she deemed fit for him… if he made it on time. Please still be alive. That was all that mattered. If Life would grant him that one wish, he would pay it back a thousand-fold. He had to make amends. Help her heal from typhoid, of course, but that would not be enough. He must earn back her trust, her respect, and perhaps through this, one day, her love. Out of an impulse ingrained from wealth, he wanted to present her with a gift: something that would bring her joy, that would show her the true measure of his affection, and slowly make up for these weeks of neglect. But what?

He thought of the women he had loved before her: Nancy, his teenage sweetheart; Lisette; Eliza. Others who had come and gone, barely registering in the story of his life, barely remembered now. All the gifts he had bestowed upon them, in adoration, gratitude, or repentance. There had been many, the lavisher the greater the offence, and all these women had accepted them gladly, suddenly finding it much easier to forgive him in their newfound treasures, as he found it much easier to shower them in presents than to fully own up and repent for his mistakes.

Yet with Mary… this would never do. And even if it could just soothe a fraction of the abuse, he did not even know where to begin. All the typical presents he had resorted to seemed woefully inadequate for her. Their uncertain relationship complicated the matter further and made many simply inappropriate. Not to mention that at the moment, he was penniless, potentially nameless, and was coming to her an empty-handed beggar, both for her absolution and hospitality.

As he pondered this further, he realized with dismay that for all his admiration of her, his absolute infatuation while they worked together, and his nostalgic regret since her departure, he did not truly know her.

What did he know of her interests, passions and pastimes before the war, before social justice and nursing called her to action? What had made he care so for Emancipation? Was it Christian charity, or had religion nothing to do with it? How many slaves had she even met, up in snowy Boston? Was her journey to Alexandria her first view of the South?

And before still… what of her family, her home? Had she grown up in the city or the country? What made her laugh, in days of peace? What made her dream, in days of youth? Was she one for fairy tales, wishing for Prince Charming upon a white horse, appearing to whisk her away to a life or riches and luxury?

Or did she crave adventure? Her husband had been a foreigner. Had he spoken fondly of the Vaterland, of Old Europe? Had she yearned to cross the ocean to see it? To travel further still, to the deserts of Arabia, the jungles of India, the oriental mysteries of Edo?

Or perhaps she would have been a scholar? With her intellect, eloquence and dedication to her craft, she fit the profile. How long had she studied? In school, or with a tutor? Whic topics had she excelled at? Which bore her to tears or made her toss her book across the room in frustration?

Or had she been perfectly content, as a wife to a humble textile chemist, tending their home? Had they hoped and prayed for children to complete their family and accompany them into old age? Had they been blessed for a precious moment, but had this happiness cruelly taken away?

And what did she want now, before typhoid fever struck her down? What did she hope for herself, once war was over? Another chance at love and family? A second career as a teacher, or writer perhaps? Or to reinvent herself further still and take up another worthy cause, crusading on for Humanity's greater good?

Through all his interrogations, Jed caught himself thinking of Lisette, and missing her. Not as a lover, no; that was forevermore in the past. He missed her intuition and emotional acuity. Her lack of filter, of Puritan prudishness, that he had found so captivating in Paris, and that taught him so much in not only dealing with others, patients and patrons alike, but also with himself, and facing what it was he truly wanted. He knew that in the few hours that Lisette had spent with Mary, that she had probably understood her better than he had in months. Lisette would have known immediately what it was that her heart yearned for, and would have told her so: maybe not as bluntly as she had grown able to be with him, but tactfully, and directly, buffering the impact with a soft smile and encouragement. Had Mary ever expressed her desire for him to have her portrait? Did she even have to, or was it crystal clear to Lisette from the first side-glance, the first blush at the mention of his name?

What made her see behind their stern façades, behind the veil of decorum, to the truth they hid and guarded? Her talent was to draw what the eye saw, yet her gift was to imbue it with her subject’s soul, its inner message.

He gazed intently at Mary’s smiling face, so vulnerable and unguarded on the page, yet still proud. What is your message, my dearest? What is it you want more than anything?

And more importantly: am I the one who can give it to you?

As he looked into her soft eyes, so true to life, he finally saw that the answer was not fine silk, castles or diamonds. That it was not anything else money could buy. That it was not found in books or churches, on battlefields or overseas.

What she wanted, at the moment pencil had touched paper, was his presence: simply, honestly, without artifices or excuses. No more complications. No more hiding. Fully revealed to one another. Just as Lisette had drawn her.

Here I am, she welcomed him from the page. Where are you?

At the realization, Jed dropped his head. The shame of his delay in understanding her desire shred his soul, and he urged the train to speed up, or time to slow down. His lips uttered a prayer; not to God, but to the woman he now desperately begged for forgiveness, for another chance.

Please let it still be so. Please let me know you, and try to be who you believe me to be.

Please still be alive.

[italicwatches]

Comic Girls - Episode 05

It’s kind of rude to just claim the one working bathroom for two hours for a shower without checking with anyone first, right? That’s not just me? I’m not going crazy here?

Anyways anime. Comic Girls, episode 05! Here we GO!

-We begin with a gorgeous ocean, and clear blue skies…Is it a beach episode? It’s the girls on a boat! Koyume has dragged them all here for summer fun! This may be difficult, considering the others are what you might call indoorsy.

-Opening!

-To the beach proper! Koyume is super enthusiastic about her bikini! Look, look, everyone! Oh they’re looking. They can’t stop looking. I think you broke Kaos.

-…Koyume please stop turning the entire beach gay. You’re causing a ruckus.

-Also the other three didn’t bring swimsuits because…Well…Like I said, they’re indoorsy types. Do you know what Kaos’s typical summer memory is? Closing the blinds tighter so the room stays darker and cooler, aiming a fan directly at her face, and drawing all day. Fine, they’ll go rent swimsuits!

-As ever, Kaos ends up looking small and innocent and adorable. While Tsubasa boldly goes for a tiny bikini with zero shame and shows off her muscles! Such bold muscles! Okay, so what’s Ruki going to wear? Ruki doesn’t want to. They already picked out your swimsuit, go go go. …I think she pulled a runner. Actually she just couldn’t dare come out, even though Kaos likes what she sees.

-Okay, out to the beach!

-Why are all three of you just sitting there.

-Well, in order: Tsubasa thinks those cliffs would make for a great background for an epic battle. Ruki is seeing all these swimsuited couples and getting ideas for a beach chapter. And Kaos just doesn’t want to go anywhere near that much water. I told you, they’re indoorsy types. So Koyume finally abandons them…

-And makes new beach friends out by the water! It’s her intense power. As opposed to Kaos’s ability to be a small Disney princess. She’s summoned a small crab army. Crabs, attack the interlopers stealing their Koyume away! …No? Kaos you need to learn to use your power for evil.

-But soon enough they’ve got Kaos out in the water with an inner tube, and…Kaos that’s not love you’re feeling, that’s a jellyfish stinging your foot. The sea has claimed her for its own! And finally they even get Tsubasa and Ruki to ditch the sketchbooks and come have fun in the water. Fun like playing with a beach ball…Which leads to Ruki despairing over her lack of, shall we say, bounce. And when the others try to comfort her, now she’s just surrounded by bounce. Yes. Bounce.

-Also Kaos is getting thirsty. Thirsty enough that she eats a beach ball to the face. But yes, they get up to all kinds of fun! Playing in the water, playing in the sand, playing with water guns, eating frozen treats…Until finally, the sun is low in the sky, and it’s a wonderful, gorgeous view. The clear warm sky, the glow on the water, the sound of Ruki’s sketchbook being carried away by the tide…Wait what was that last part???

-Finally it’s back to the dorm, where as soon as Tsubasa and Kaos get back…It’s a dark room and some vintage gaming action, as the others are out shopping. Tsubasa gave no fucks, and Kaos was just plain scared of going to fancy fashionable places. Speaking of, cut over to Ruki and Koyume, who are trying stuff on, and Ruki doesn’t much like wearing sailor outfits herself…But she certainly enjoys watching another girl strip out of one. God dammit Ruki, stop saying the quiet part loud. Even the employee heard it.

-But okay, fancy clothes bought, and Ruki’s super enjoying having someone to hang out with that actually has fucks to give. They should go get some fancy pasta! Cut back to Kaos and Tsubasa, who are eating instant ramen in the dark bedroom. The contrast is…shall we say…profound. Then it’s back to Ruki and Koyume, who have their fancy pasta…As a couple enjoys a fancy drink together with two straws. …I think that’s the first time we’ve actually seen a guy the entire show so far, outside of manga sketches.

-And it has Koyume realizing her difficulties of getting anywhere in her shoujo manga dreams without enough experience…Ruki tries to perk her up by talking about her own success, but, well, that also means admitting she has never laid with anyone. Or even gone out with anyone. DESPAIR. And at the same time, she’s so thinly stretched that trying to have a relationship between school, manga work, and basic human existence…There’s no more room left.

-But you, Koyume, you might just be able to pull it off! Is there anyone you like?

-BIG SPLASH IMAGE OF TSUBASA IN CASE YOU DIDN’T GET IT YET

-S-She, um, that’s, she doesn’t know any…You know Tsubasa pretty well by now, Ruki thought. And then all of Koyume’s passions just start spilling out. Just go on a damn date with her you dork. …So Koyume’s panicking now.

-Episode 05: Amisawa-san, Do You Cosplay?

-And we’re back! They’re waiting for the train, and Koyume’s trying to be all “but I can’t love girls, I’m a girl!” Koyume, again, let me introduce you to the hot new trend of yuri. It’s like all the shoujo manga you admire, and the erotic manga Ruki writes, but instead of the guy, it’s another girl. Also, Tsubasa’s been getting asked out by girls ever since middle school. She’s about as dense about it as a neutron star, but…

-Also Koyume’s idea of a date with Tsubasa is being lost in a terrifying cave when the noble hero in her cosplay cape shows up to save her. I mean everyone’s into something…

-Back at the dorm, Tsubasa and Kaos are still playing fighting games. Tsubasa is letting out her chuuni side…When Tsubasa is attacked by Nyaos long enough to lose the round! And that turns into an argument which turns into wrassling which turns into OH GOD THE DOOR’S BEEN OPENED IT’S TOO BRIGHT yeah so the others are back.

-And now Ruki has to shove Koyume in there. Go on, do it. But Koyume panics. Again. …Cue the landlady, with two tickets to the amusement park that expire, tomorrow! Whatever will she do? Oh, if onl—KOYUME WILL TAKE THEM wait what does she do now? …You really have no self control, do you, Koyume.

-To the park! After Ruki’s slick way of backing out of the offer, and Kaos’s…Well…She tried. Give her a pat on the head for effort, the little moeblob. Anyways the point is Koyume and Tsubasa are here on a d-d-d-d-d-dato, and Koyume doesn’t know what to dooooo. Oh god this poor girl. …Also NATURALLY Ruki and Kaos are secretly here to observe and possibly coach if need be. They will get these two together if it kills them! (Also good lord how much did the landlady spend on getting everyone into this damn amusement park just for some young love to bloom?)

-Soon, Tsubasa is treating Koyume to ice cream. And a cute ear headband. And a stuffed animal. And snacks. Name whatever you want, and she’ll make it happen! Um, er, how about just a nice picture of that mascot character? TSUBASA WILL TAKE HIM DOWN WITH ALL OF HER MANLY MIGHT

-Tsubasa

-Tsubasa that’s not how it works

-That’s not how anything works

-Tsubasa no

-Tsubasa yes. That poor mascot worker clearly got punched at least once.

-But what now? Now, Koyume’s able to relax a little and take the lead as she loves this place…But where will they go? The haunted house? A thrill ride? Or…That’s a terrifying rollercoaster. Tsubasa quietly clings to Koyume’s sleeve. I know the fear of loop-de-loops, Tsu—

-SUDDENLY LANDLADY

-SHE WAS HERE THE WHOLE TIME

-HERE TO OBSERVE THE DATE

-Anyways Tsubasa has a panic, Ruki finds she loves rollercoasters when they go on after the pair to observe, and Kaos just breaks. I’m afraid we need to replace her with a new one. Oh hey, there’s a cosplay area! Complete with someone dressed up like Tsubasa’s protagonist! Really well, too. They should totally get a picture! And the dark hero…Panics and flees?

-…Wait. Hold on a tic. I need to roll back. Timestamp 17:22, aaaand comedic reversal of the video footage go go go Okay, back to timestamp 12:45. The flashback to when Tsubasa was asked out back then! Hrm, short bob hair, more black than brown…Okay, got what I needed. Forward MARCH!

-Back to the present where the dark hero takes off her wig and it’s…Bright brown hair tied back. Okay, so it’s not the girl from the confession, which was my first thought. That whole bit I just did was pointless. Pointlessssssss.

-Especially when the landlady comes up and recognizes Miharu and Mayu…And oh. Oh. It’s two of the girls’ editors, isn’t it. Yep Mayu there, in the fancy dress, is also known as Amisawa-san, Kaos’s editor. And she just fuckin’ OWNS IT when she has nowhere else to go. I suppose that’s all you can do.

-Back to Tsubasa and Koyume. When Mayu has been shanghai’d into the observation effort…As Tsubasa and Koyume end up having a real talk, and Tsubasa totally expected Koyume would have a boyfriend. Look how cute you are, anyone would totally want you! She could find someone for you right now! But Koyume…There’s only one person Koyume wants…Come on, Tsubasa. Get it. Get what’s going on. Understand what this dear bishoujo in front of you wants you stupid idiot!

-Nope, it’s their turn on the ferris wheel and they both just fall back into easy patterns. YOU STUPID IDIOTS. Of course, now they’re up in the middle of the air on their own in a tiny carriage, the entire world shrinking to just them…Koyume, you love her just accept it already you stupid dork. But, when the conversation turns to manga, all of the doubts that Koyume pushes down with her sparkly genki attitude just come spilling out. The fear that she’ll never make it, that all of her effort is for naught, that she’s doomed to failure…

-And then Tsubasa reaches out, takes her hand, and just keep moving forward. You already have so much fun drawing, and that’s all that really matters. Just keep moving forward. She’ll be waiting for you on the other side, however long it takes…

-So by the time they come back down they’re talking about how unlike herself Koyume was and the others hear it and DID YOU FINALLY CONFESS?! Wait have you four been there the entire ti—LANDLADY DEMANDS YOUTHFUL LESBIAN ROMANCE Also by the time they all leave, Kaos is feeling all unsure again and finally Mayu has to haul her up and learn from your friends how to be confident in yourself you stupid moeblob. abababababa

-Credits!

-Aftercredits? Wait…That’s a terrifying ghost at the haunted house. Like a Ringu girl. And she’s…Crying?

Dammit Koyume, you were so close. Well, maybe next time. Unless we end up learning more about the lives of the adults around these four stupid idiots. That’s possible too. Or…What the hell was with that after-credits scene…? …We’ll figure it out next time, in episode SIX of Comic Girls! Wait for it!