#fanfic here i come.....i am

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[bluedovee]

Trying some new techniques and coloring with these three

Horror to Sour-Apple-Studios Killer to Rahafwabas Dust to Ask-Dusttale

[myokk]

For writers:

What’s your favorite piece of writing you’ve done, and why??

Idk I just woke up thinking about this & now I’m curious!!! & may or may not be compiling a tbr based on your responses since I really haven’t had the time to read any hl fics yet🫶🫶🫶

[the-blue-eyed-firebender]

In Ishval, Riza stopped counting birthdays. 

Instead she counted bullets, bodies. Scribbled the numbers on her field reports and turned them in, crisply folded. She became familiar with the space between heartbeats, the squeeze of the trigger, the wet sound of a bullet finding its mark. She grew accustomed to the tang of spent gunpowder and the bruising kick of a rifle butt against her shoulder. Through the grime of her scope, she watched orange tongues of flame roar against city streets and cloudless sky, her level crosshairs hovering over the broad-shouldered silhouette that commanded them. Her father’s ink sank deep into her blood, a poison, slow and fatal. Still, the Hawk’s Eye carried out her duties with mechanical precision. 

- Hourglass

[oneluckydragon]

✨🌸 Sunshine on your skin, flowers in my soul 🌸✨

🌊🫧Summary → In the midst of his reconciliation with Team Wish, Dusknoir begins coughing up flowers. This unfortunate brand of bad luck should be a cosmic joke. A spiteful punishment that the world has brought down on him out of malice, out of vengeance for his past deeds. A cruel, agonizing curse manifested with the single unjustified purpose of preventing him from realizing happiness, ever seeking redemption, ever righting his multitudes of wrongs and moving on with his life. But that's not true, and he knows it deep down. Knows it in the very core of his soul like the flood of petals building in this throat.

This is his fault because he is a coward, and that's all he has ever been. A backstabbing, lonely coward.

And now he is going to die because of it.

[AO3]

[CH. I -- Word Count -- 13,290]

🌒💫 Return → the act of going back to a place, person, or memory

[CH. II -- TBA]

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[writeshite]

Puppy Love

Summary:

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace. “I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” You chuckle, “I should say the same; wolves are equally as captivating."

Pairings:

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Tags:

Targaryen Reader | Fluff | Smitten Robb Stark

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I have not actually watched the show or read the books fully 👉🏾👈🏾 I know things, but most of my knowledge is sporadic and random; it'll be like 60% accurate, I think....in my defense, I want dragons, and I also want Robb Stark, so like what else am I supposed to do 💀. Also, sorry if the High Valyrian in here is shit; I'm very behind in my Duolingo course.

“The dragons have taken back the Iron Throne.”

Robb didn’t quite know how to react to the news; his battle had been for the North, and the workings of the other kingdoms and their squabbles had never immensely mattered to him as much as he knew they should. The ball had been his mother’s suggestion, correction insistence, “As king, you should set an example and get ahead of the other kingdoms.” 

The Targarayens arrive on dragon back - each on a separate one - the beasts shake the ground when they land, thunderous roars echoing into the skies. Her Majesty, Daenerys Targaryen, is poised, expression calm as she descends her dragon; another figure follows behind her - the Queen's Hand Missandei - the other dragon rider, steals more of Robb’s attention. Expression perhaps more joyful, you appear rather ill-equipped for the weather, furs less than satisfactory in Robb’s opinion. Your attire appears snow-touched, with little color - a touch of red on the collar of your coat - and dragon detailing on the lapels. Your silver locks are platted back in a simplistic rider’s style, held together by an intricate golden band.

Your company trails behind, arriving just moments later. Robb is accompanied by his mother, Sansa, and Arya, the latter of the three stares in awe at the dragons. Robb picks up a bit of conversation as you approach them, dying down when you come to stand in front of them; the words are of another tongue - High Valyrian, he thinks. “Your grace,” he greets, “welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she gestured to one side, “you know of my wife and hand, Missandei,” Robb nods, and she gestures to you, “and my cousin.” 

“A pleasure,” you greet him.

Robb had yet to follow etiquette, and in the spirit of that, he responds to your greeting and awaiting handshake with a kiss - placed on the back of your hand. Your skin trembles in the cold, cool to the touch; he rubs his thumb along it in an effort to create some heat. The purple of your eyes was entrancing, deep pools that drew his gaze easily. His mother’s cough draws him back; her disapproving and mildly irritated glance is counteracted by Sansa and Arya’s amused ones. The servants lead you to your temporary quarters, and Robb’s linger on your retreating form; his mother’s lecture drifts elsewhere in his mind, barely settling before it’s tossed aside by the glee of seeing you once more at the welcoming banquet.

Winterfell was colder than you expected. 

The invitation had seen no hurried response - with the rebuilding of King’s Landing, a new Dragon’s Pit, and many other matters - coming to Winterfell had primarily been driven by the need for a break. You rode on Morghon, Daenerys, and Missandei rode on Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserion following and a company of Dothraki followed from the ground. The cool weather had been the first thing you’d noted, the second being the admittedly attractive King in the North. He donned a thick fur cape overtop his attire, a ringlet crown surmounted by iron spikes, and three wolves at the central front.

“Dubāzma,” you shrug at Daenerys’ warning tone; you hadn’t done anything; you simply glanced at the man.

You counter such, “Eman gaomagon daorun, ivestragon zirȳla Missandei.” 

Missandei shakes her head, amusement in her tone, “Iā bughegon isse suvion iēdar kostilus,” she jests.

You shake your head, and the conversation breaks off as Lord Stark welcomes you to Winterfell. Daenerys responds with light introductions for both Missandei, then you.

“A pleasure,” you say once introduced, hand held out, ready for a handshake. Lord Stark does something far different. Taking your hand, he turns it over and lays a peck on the back of it, causing Lady Stark’s eyes to grow wide in surprise and his sisters’ expressions to morph into grins.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as he does so. His hand remains with yours for seconds longer, thumb caressing the skin, and when her ladyship breaks the brief haze with a cough, he leaves behind a phantom warmth.

The temporary chambers are cozy, readily warm, and stocked with furs; you set your luggage by the bed and don’t dwell too long on them - furs, a bed, fire, and comfort - as the welcome banquet requires far more attention. You replace your traveling coat with one more suitable for festivities - dark with gold embroidery and light fur trimming on the bottom. You exit the room to find Lord Stark’s figure leaning against the wall opposite, and a smile lights his face at the sight of you.

“Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?” you inquire.

“If you’d allow it,” he responds with a hint of hope. You chuckle and nod, drawing out a broader smile on his face. The hall is not as far off as you’d imagined; light chatter filters through the open doors as people mill into the open-spaced hall. Far from the entrance sits a horizontally set long table - the Starks on the right, Taragrayens on the left - the other tables line the sides, leaving the middle empty. 

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the announcer declares, drawing attention to you both; he announces you next, “...of House Targaryen….” It had been your idea to drop your name of Velaryon, “...Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” The latter of the titles stood more as a slight mockery, with your old life on the remnants of Old Valyria, those that had spotted you and Morghon had called you that in whispers.

You take the two remaining seats at the long table, Robb near the center, you near the edge, close to Missandei. The food is wonderful; meats, deserts, ale, and various Northern delicacies are brought to the tables - the honeyed chicken may well become one of your new favorites. People begin to mingle after the main courses as music fills the halls in steady beats; you follow suit at Lord Stark’s request to dance. 

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace.

“I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.”

You chuckle, “I would say the same; wolves are equally as captivating,” your arms turn, both palms now against the other; he laces his fingers with yours, a cheeky grin on his face. You turn to circle in the opposite direction, the crowd around you filtering out as you remain fixated on each other. You draw back, hands still intertwined; coming back again, he places his other hand on your shoulder as yours goes to his hip. A few paces and you should separate from the other, turn to another person and carry on the dance, but you don’t, remaining in each other’s grasp as you drift across the floor. 

The music changes and a joyful beat begins; the formality is lost as the crowd of dancers switches to more upbeat and expressive movements. Lord Stark tugs at your arm, head tilting towards the doors; you turn briefly to glance at the long table - Lady Arya is immersed in conversation with Daenerys; Missandei and Lady Sansa are the same; Lady Stark herself, however, appears to have swallowed a lemon, eyes glaring daggers at his Lordship. You return your attention to said man and allow him to drag you away from the hall.

Robb hadn’t paid much attention to his mother’s lecture; her words went in one ear and out the other; she wasn’t angry, not truly, merely cautious. The interest seemed mutual to some extent, though the matter of marital affairs would be complicated - gods know the Lords of Westeros would turn their noses high in disgust - his almost engagements had all fallen through when he’d paid them little mind. 

“Robb Stark!” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I understand your attraction circumvents what the realm would regard as suitable, but that is no excuse, do not trifle with him; we don’t need them setting our lands ablaze.” 

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Sansa comments after their mother leaves. 

Robb purses his lips; a wise man would take the words to heart and cease whatever he was doing - even if this interaction bore positive fruit, there was no certainty it would be in the best interest of the North. Her Majesty could have him abdicate his throne in favor of moving into the Targarayen household, or she could disapprove of him and feed him to her dragons. Robb was a man of heart, the kind that intercepted the servant at your chambers and took it upon himself to escort you personally to the dining halls.

Your previous coat has been replaced by a darker one; golden dragon heads decorate the cuffs, and it sits tighter on your person, with the fur trimming at the bottom fluttering delicately as you walk. “Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?”

“If you’d allow it,” he responds, and gods, he hopes you would. He feels himself smile wider at your agreement, arm threaded with yours; the short walk to the dining halls leaves him ecstatic.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the declaration echoes in the hall; brief glances become more fixated on your intertwined arms. His mother’s eyes squint, a frown on her face, “...of House Targaryen, Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” 

Robb thanks the gods; his mother’s seat is further from him; if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d have died at the entrance. “You’ve taken to my cousin quite quickly, Lord Stark,” Her Majesty’s voice draws his attention.

Her gaze is steady as she regards him, “I suppose, your grace, is that a problem?” 

It’s no secret that certain parts of Westeros and their rulers disapprove of other attractions; Robb’s not quite sure where his father would have stood on the matter - he imagines him supportive - he knows his mother prefers he be less expressive on the subject. Queen Daenerys had been quite clear on her stance, disregarding the disapproval of her new laws and marriage, though that’s not to say she would like to have him as her in-law.

“Not as long as he is happy, and well,” she answers, “I have little family left; I cannot help my worry.”

There is an underlying threat to her words, and Robb nods in understanding, and it satisfies her enough to turn away from him. The food is brought in just after - honeyed chicken, venison pies, cod cakes, ale, candied bread - the music begins near the tail end of the feast. Some sway to the tune, conversations carrying in the air, as the music changes to something more befitting a dance. He stands and moves down the long table towards you, “Care for a dance?”

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip. 

“I would agree; dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” Your arms meet in the middle, level to your heads, as you circle each other; even as the other dancers switch partners, you remain together. Up until the music changes and a less formal tune carries in the air, you follow suit, hand in Robb’s as he drags you from the hall. You stroll idly through the halls, hands held together and swung lowly and sharing idle chatter.

“What do you call your dragon?”

“Morghon,” you respond, “it means death, a fitting name. Would you like to see him?” Robb pursed his lips, and you chuckled at his hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dragons,” you teased; coming to a halt, you tugged him closer, “certainly not after flirting with one.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck and imagines his skin pinker at the moment, “What if he bites?”

“He won’t,” your graze drifts a little lower, “but I could.”

“Is that an invitation to your bed, my prince?”

“If you’d like, you could show me how warm the North could be. I’m sure a few hours of demonstration should suffice.”

“The demonstration will have to wait for another time, your grace,” his mother’s voice cuts in. You both jump apart, hands loosely held together; she grabs Robb by the arm, “I apologize for the interruption, your grace, but we have some familial matters to attend to.” His face pinches into a frown as his mother leads him away; he remains turned enough to send you a brief wave and a smile and is thrilled to see you return it.

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this mess. Stay hydrated.

[boyfridged]

hello! can i request some Jason centric fic recs?

this is actually such a difficult question. in spite of years spent reading jason-centric fanfics, it is very rare that i find something that i genuinely enjoy. still, i do have some favourites that i go back to.

beneficiary by @sirsparklepants (1/1, 2k)

my favourite post-death jay fanfic. it's such a beautiful, bitter-sweet conclusion to his legacy.

untitled by @pendulum-north (1/1)

this is a very short ficlet. absolutely riveting language, as expected of a poet. my favourite take on the canon divergence that is bruce dying instead of jason. would sell my soul for north to actually write more on it.

what the living do by Anonymous (1/1, 6,5k)

stunning. perhaps my all-time favourite. jason believes he's dead. dick takes him on a road trip.

complications by JHSC (1/1, 6k)

i want to tell you so badly why i adore this fanfic but that would spoil the conclusion. so instead i can just tell you that it contains my unpopular agenda for jason's character development.

the (family) doctor's appointment by smleeish (1/1, 4k)

i have some qualms with the minuatiae of this work but this sickfick surprised me with the depth of the character study. the conclusion is so beautiful in the way it gets to the core of jason's values.

jet black crow by starknjarvis (series, 2/2, 19k)

i normally avoid sex-worker aus so please do know that this had to really impress me to be found on this list. the main reason for which it winded up here is a conversation jason has with bruce in the second installment.

the clay steals the clay by zipadeea (1/1, 2,5k)

just give it a read. a haunting... fix-it. i think about the usage of catholic themes in this fanfic often.

PLUTO. by orpheusaki (@damianbugs) (1/1, 22k)

a huge reason for which i love this one so much is the thematic similarity to the earth-51 arc in countdown. there's such good understanding of what made jason who he is as the red hood & his relationship with batman as the symbol and with bruce as his father.

things that make it warm by one_step_closer_to_death (@hopeworth) (1/1, 4k)

my favourite jay & dick fanfic! if you've been following this blog for a while, you know i am very particular about their relationship. you also know that i believe in jason's need to reconnect with his childhood and that dick should be a part of it, and this piece delivers that in the sweetest way.

of broken, blazing wings by FrEShAVocaNoob (44/44, 190k)

before i get to the praise, i have to say that this fanfic does talia very dirty and that i am not a fan of how it deals with mentions of jason's childhood & his robin days. however, it is also 190k of jason having a perpetual mental breakdown and it follows canon event starting from the lost days and finishing with countdown. it has great pacing and an admirable balance of being plot-driven and the focus on character development. jay is so painfully young and lost. i also really enjoyed dick's attitude. it's a riot and an emotional rollercoaster. i will never recover from it.

compulsory (shameless) self-promotion:

leave no trace, a ficlet on ouroboros.

black out days, a lost days au which is not a story at all. about talia, jason, the need to mythologise and staying away.

and my wip robin (vol 2): future nostalgia, a jay lives au that is to contain follow major batman plotpoints such no man's land and murderer/fugitive.

[meleeallday]

Do you seeeeeee how many tabs I have open. If its Bagginshield my eyes are open.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Charles, Edwin, and Monty (Pirate AU: Chapter 5)

The Cat King’s nostrils flare. “I’m betting you don’t know who your boyfriend’s boytoy is, do you, Edwin?”

And oh fuck.

Monty freezes, the Cat King’s words spearing his heart just like Charles did his mother’s, ripping his blood out of his chest to stain the ground. The truth is coming tumbling out, sending shrapnel over everything he cares about.

It’s the very thing Monty was sure wouldn’t come out. That couldn’t be allowed to come out.

Because if it came out, Monty would lose everything. There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it. If the best case scenario happens, Monty’s going to get kicked off the ship. If the worst case scenario happens, Edwin has him killed for betraying his Captain.

That's how it works. That’s how it has always worked.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, picture a man turning back to shore (i can only think of you)

The time came for your solo

But there was nowhere to hide

Here comes the rising tide

And the company you keep

Well they plan your crucifixion as we speak

If you can't decipher just who's on your side

You will not escape the rising of the tide

-The Killers, The Rising Tide

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@sethlost @catboy-cabin @secretlyafiveheadeddragon @vyther15

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @queen-of-hobgobblers @every-moment-a-different-sound

@nix-nihili @mellxncollie @tumblerislovetumblerislife @lemurafraidofthunder

@likemmmcookies @wr0temyway0ut @thelakeswillbreakourfall

@sapphic-corgi @occasionaloneshots @troublegoblin

@cairngorm-ard @petesdragon

[brassknucklespeirs]

ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄᴋʟᴇ [ʀɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

The feeling was so strong, and honestly not in the good way. It took over her body, clenching and squeezing at her muscles and causing a tension that took over her very being. And yet through it all, her mind gave her constant conflicting messages; you're fine, you're not sad, you're not in pain, you're not grieving, you're completely and utterly fine. She was exhausted from trying to keep up with herself, and it showed. Her closest friends, Bill and Joe, would have seen the change in her. It wasn't a big change, but the usually happy and witty friend of theirs turned maniac, and everything she did became erratic. She didn't seem quite right, though those who didn't know her well would not think much of it, for she was okay just enough to hold it together.

But Joe and Bill weren't there anymore, having been hit in Bastogne and both sent back to the States with injuries that would see they would not be returning. She had reminisced on a similar feeling she had after they had jumped into Carentan. At the time, Y/N wasn't sure how she was feeling, and there was a constant back and forth in her emotions that she was trying to juggle like a bad circus act. She had thought back on how she had sat staring wide eyed at a replacement who had been shot right before her eyes, a young teenager who would have had his whole life ahead of him, now reduced to nothing but a lifeless body at her feet.

"I'm fine, I promise." She had muttered breathlessly to Toye who sat with her on the truck, looking worried as his friend held a bewildered gaze, staring into space without a single thought in her eyes that swum with tears.

"I don't know if that's quite true, but regardless, I'm here, and I always will be." Joe had spoke softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her head, before pulling back and running a reassuring thumb over her cheek, a smile on his lips. Bill had sat on her other side, wrapping an arm over her shoulder, gently tugging her towards him with a grin on his own lips. She remembered those smiles, as if they were engrained in her mind, a memory brought out at any moment she needed it.

But now, she was left without Joe or Bill, both of whom had been her support, her constants. Though it was a sweet gesture meant to calm her jittery bones, the expressions on her best friends' faces would seemingly follow her like a ghost, constantly haunting her steps at every corner she took. When Joe and Bill were hit, Y/N knew how she felt. She was lost, truly and utterly. The two pillars that helped her stand constantly were knocked down themselves and she felt she had nothing to hold her up. Everything turned dark, like the night sky was perpetual, however not the beautiful star filled sky, but a blanketed cloudy night with a catastrophic storm brewing. The winds of change blew her left and right and she struggled to hold on to herself. She watched as Buck lost himself to it, and she pondered whether she would too; she honestly thought she was a goner at that point.

Y/N remembered Joe's words. I'm here, and I always would be. Liar. She thought hopelessly as she clung to herself, arms wrapped around her torso as she rocked herself back and forth. She had ensured no one else was around; it was simply splintered trees and that grieving girl.

In a way, she did lose herself. Everyone watched as she became a shell of herself, merely a solider forced to fight. She was on autopilot, just awake enough to be able to reassure people she was fine, before going back to her stoic, tight jawed expression. She was haunted, she was tired, and she was so utterly over seeing those she cared for being diminished to nothing but a memory. It was driving her mad with grief. She had lost her ability to handle it, and instead had resorted to simply not dealing with it. She had flicked that switch in her mind that dealt with grief, with loss, and had become nothing but a solider, ready to take on the world with nothing to lose.

Dick had found her there, in amongst the snow, shivering and on her way to tears as she seemed to whisper words to herself, speaking her thoughts aloud. He paused his steps, wondering if he should announce himself, but the man couldn’t stop himself as his heart ached for the woman.

"Sergeant L/N." He called gently. She stood immediately, her movements fast and aggressive as she all but snapped her heels together, as if she was the perfect, well oiled machine of a solider.

"Captain Winters, sir." She replied, voice devoid of emotion as she forced herself to hold it together, like a default setting she was ready to flick on when she needed. He stared at her, head tilting the slightest amount while he studied her carefully.

"Y/N," He began, and she felt the default setting turn off as soon as her name left his lips, like the false portrayal of this fighter had melted away to show nothing but the diminished woman she felt herself to be.

"Dick," She whispered back, her shoulders dropping to show her true feelings. He stepped forward, grabbing her hand gently as he tugged her forward towards him. Her jaw tightened and slacked with every other second, as she was trying to stop herself from feeling certain emotions, not wanting to show how hurt and lost she truly felt.

"Talk to me sweetheart." He said quietly, drawing her closer to him so they stood almost chest to chest, his eyes intently staring at her. She wanted to hold back, wanted to pretend she was fine, but something about the man made it hard to do so. She looked up at him, the man who had been a constant thought in the back of her mind, the kind of dream she would hope she'd see every night but never be able to have while she was awake. And yet he stood here before her, staring at her with such a soft gaze, one that she thought she would only see while she slept, as if she was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. They had always had something lingering in the space between them since they had first met during basic training, but it seemed neither had the time to explore further as they were thrown full force into the war. But even then, the lingering eyes and protective manner in which Dick moved around her showed her that he was fully aware of it.

"I just…there so many things going through my head. Like when I'm dead and gone…will they remember me? Will I be anything to anyone? Will I be worth the talk?" The woman muttered, the words dripping from her lips like syrup, slow and thick, emotion encompassing every syllable.

"To me, you will." Winters said softly, so softly that if the wind was blowing any harder it might have wasted away, never to be heard. But she heard it, and it made her snap her head in his direction, eyes watering as she gazed at him. Her visions blurred with tears and she felt her knees grow weak before she dropped to them, but he wrapped his arms around her frail body to stop her from meeting the ground harshly as the sobs that so desperately needed to come fell from her lips. His hand running along her spine reassuringly as he held her close, letting her feel what she must to

Dick felt his throat constrict, his own emotion coming forth as he heard her heart wrenching cries, and flash backs of his own grief came back to him. He saw the young SS soldier, saw his dropping smile and his bright eyes. He saw his body jolt in his mind as his bullet hit the boy in the chest, before he saw his body hit the ground. Dick's arms tightened around the woman, his hand finding its way to the back of her head as he cradled it to sit in the space between his jaw and shoulder.

"I know. I know." He whispered to her, his mind recounting the faces of the soldier who were under his command that had lost their lives to this war. His eyebrows pulled together as tears gathered in his eyes, but he gulped down the feeling as he held her. "It's..it's not easy, and it feels never ending, I know. But, you're….you're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I know you don't feel like you can but…I know you can keep going, for Joe and Bill, for yourself." He muttered.

"I…I just feel so heavy Dick." She choked out as she pulled her face from his neck and gazed up at him with red rimmed, wet eyes. He nodded his head as he returned her gaze, showing his own teary eyes.

"Then let me carry some of it," He replied, "Let me take some of the weight sweetheart." He continued, squeezing her hand he had moved to grab.

"How?" She whispered so softly that he almost didn't hear her.

"Talk, let it out, cry, let me hold you tighter, do what you have to. I'm here for it all." He said, trying to prompt her to feel.

"People have said that in the past and now they're gone." Y/N said honestly, her heart clenching in her chest painfully as she thought of Joe and Bill.

"Well I can't promise anything, and you know that. But for this very moment, let me take some of the weight." Dick said gently, running his fingers through the hair that wasn't covered by her helmet. His words echoed on her head, and she felt her body loosen. She knew she didn't know what would happen, but for now? For now she could try her best at handling everything if he held her hand through it.

"O…okay." She whispered as she let her head rest on his shoulder. It was as if the physical contact between them had let her weight transfer to him slightly, as if every moment she spent in his embrace she was able to breathe more. She didn’t feel as though she needed to cry anymore, she felt as though she simply needed to stay enveloped in his arms. Y/N pulled away from him eventually, her eyes drier and her heart less heavy as she gazed up at him.

"Thank you Dick." She whispered to him causing him to smile.

"Of course, anything for you." He replied quietly and her heart jumped at his words. They stared at each other for a few moments, and with every second, they seemed to grow closer to one another. Dick pressed his lips softly against hers after a moment, and Y/N welcomed the feeling, returning the kiss with the same gentle passion. They pulled away not long after, not wanting to get caught up in each other, but ensuring that there was enough there to express one another's feelings. They stared at each other once more as they pulled away, eyes full with a fondness that had always been there but never truly expressed.

As time went on, she felt lighter, not like the entire weight of her feelings had disappeared, but like every time her knees were ready to buckle under the weight he was there to hold some of it for her. Dick seemed to be a new constant, not a replacement of Bill and Joe, but something new. She wasn't sure if she was thinking too much into it but she felt as though this felt different. His eyes lingered on her just a little longer, his gaze always questioning her wellbeing in a way that a leader, or even a close friend, wouldn't do. His gaze held more of an affectionate gentleness, something she had only dreamed of.

That night at the Eagle's nest, many of the men had gathered to drink and celebrate the victory in Europe, elated by the surrender of the German army and their allies. But Y/N was tired, and felt herself in serious need of rest. She hadn't been able to see Dick in a couple of days passed the odd wide eyed gaze across the room, and she felt herself grow heavy. She had stayed in her room until Luz had come to visit, asking if she was joining them. She smiled sweetly at him, but the emotion struggled to reach her drooping eyes as she did.

"I just…need some time alone please." Y/N said to George, a small reassuring smile on her lips as she stood by her bedroom door.

"Of course, let us know if you need something." Luz replied with a large grin, one that she was very used to. She smiled fondly at him before nodding gratefully.

"Thanks George." The man smiled once more before wandering off to see the other men, leaving Y/N by herself. She sighed as she closed the door, letting her shoulders slump while she leant against the door. She went to walk over to her bed to sit for a moment, but another knock sounded on the door and she turned back to it again with a quiet groan. She swung the door open, expecting one of the enlisted men to be there, asking her to come drink with them but was surprised to see Winters standing there. He looked at her with a small smile, his hands playing with the fabric of his hat that was grasped between his fingers.

"I can go if you need some time alone." Dick spoke suddenly, and she broke out of her moment of admiring him

"No!" Y/N blurted out, her voice louder than she intended. Her eyes widened at herself, before clearing her throat awkwardly. "No. Please…stay." She uttered, her voice much quieter now as if she was questioning her own words. Dick let a small smile cover his lips as he nodded, stepping further into the room as he closed the door gently.

"How are you feeling?" He asked fondly as he looked at her, the both of them standing in the middle of her room.

"Um…better, in a way. But not so much in others." Y/N replied with a small smile, her eyes flickering between his face and her hands that she was clenching and unclenching in front of her. "I don't know how I'm ever going to get over what this war had made me feel. How will i…how will I ever explain this to people who don't understand?" She said as she looked at him fully. His face took on an empathetic softness, and he stepped closer to her, his hands finding their way to her shoulders.

"I don't know if you ever will be able to. I'm quite sure I won't be able to." Dick spoke with a gentleness that she had been hoping to hear. His hand moved to her face, his thumb running over the skin below her eye and along her cheekbone. "But…you don’t have to be able to explain it to me." He finished with a smile that made her feel safe, her chest feeling less constricted until a thought crossed her mind and it came back once again.

"But you won't always be there, will you?" Y/N whispered, a sadness taking over her expression. Dick took a deep breath, his adam's apple bobbing as thought over his next words.

"Who ever said that?" He spoke, and he seemed so sure of himself. She looked up at him again, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

"What…what do you mean?" She questioned, fiddling with her fingers unconsciously. He let a smile grace his lips as he reached for her hands, untangling them before interlinking them with his.

"I mean…I…" He began, though he seemed to trip up on his words. "I would like you to come back with me, after…this." He continued, his cheeks growing slightly red. "Only if you want to." He finished quickly. Y/N's breath caught in her throat for a moment as she stared at their hands.

"What…me? You want me to come back with you after the war?" She said with wide eyes, her mind swimming with thoughts, overthinking to the point where she questioned whether she had made up the words he spoke in her mind.

"Well…yes." He said with a slight tension to his sentence.

"I….okay." She whispered, looking up at him again, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she did. His face broke out into a large smile, his eyes lighting up happily.

"Well…that's good." Dick said, his face showing relief. Y/N felt her own face break into a smile as she stared up at him.

"That is good." She replied, and they both shared a smile before Y/N leaned forward and pecked his lips gently. His face showed a shy bewilderment that caused her to giggle quietly. His lips twitched at her laugh before he leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her lips, pulling her closer.

"It means you won't ever have to carry everything by yourself. Not now and not ever." He whispered as he pulled away, a genuine loving care in his eyes. She smiled at his words, eyes swimming with tears. He returned her smile, pressing his lips to her forehead gently before looking down at her once more. "I won't ever let you feel that way again."

[etoilesombre]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The X-Files Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder Additional Tags: Angst, Semi Slow Burn, Canon Disabled Character, Aftermath of trauma, Pining, References to Canon Typical Bad Things, Along the lines of alien abduction/torture/medical experimentation, Krycek gets to be in charge for once, his life is still pretty terrible though, set during the first Chechen war, Sexual Tension, The Inherent Eroticism Of Being Beaten By Fox Mulder, Mytharc (X-Files), substance use, additional tags will be added with updates but don't worry they definitely fuck Summary:

Set in vague early season five, sometime between Redux and Patient X. . Mulder chases a case across the world to a secret Russian facility in Chechnya, and right into the hands of Alex Krycek. Krycek has problems of his own, but believes his interests and Mulder's might be aligned. When disaster strikes, they have to rely on each other to survive.

[urpersonalpublicgalaxy]

in-progress fnaf theory!!! now that ive established fnaf has a space on my blog... :3

prototype freddy.

thats some weird shit right??? well actually no he very well could be perfectly explainable and heres how (in other words i see a lot of confusion over him anddd my brain connected some dots i would like to share!!)

(at the very bottom is tl;dr!!!)

gonna explain the some base info first, but i am assuming some level of understanding of sb and ruin during this however so if ur new to either this might not make sense, sorry :( im gonna ramble a bit so get comfy

princess quest is the canon ending, based on evidence from ruin. this theory is reliant on that

ok so!!!! lets talk about the Vanny option (at the doors, 6am) as choosing this option is mandatory to reach both the vanny ending and the pq ending

when the option is selected everyones least favourite Freddy Gets Trashed cutscene plays, regardless of doing pq or not

yknow...

so!! the damage to him, which is from this scene, happens regardless of vanny ending or pq ending, we just only get to really see it in the vanny ending

heres a good look at that

and now i want you to take a good stare at prototype freddy (especially the arm and torso!!)

the damage is, while a little more extreme (which could easily just be from how much time has passed between sb and ruin) near identical

and his head is missing, which circles back around to the pq ending, in which gregory takes freddys head with him!! small issue- the damage

which is rather clearly completely missing from him in the pq ending. well luckily i can explain this too :3

there are very obviously time gaps in the pq ending cutscene. what we are shown is not *everything* thats happening there. link to a video of the cutscene,,

he leans out the window, takes a look at the staff bots deactivating- and then it cuts to him, standing near the exit, vanessa waiting for him at the door, freddy already in a bag. shit has CLEARLY gone down off screen in that time jump because 1. shes waiting for him and not freaking out, 2. gregory isnt scared shitless of her and freddy trusts her (you cannot convince me freddy would trust her automatically, even if he did at the start of the night. he KNEW that she was vanny,

or at the very least that she was connected with it,

and he still literally instructs gregory on killing her. this is a screenshot from a pq ending playthrough.)

so!! they fixed freddys head

what better way for gregory to trust vanessa than her helping to fix the one consistent friend & safety hes had in that whole place?? besides, at this points its mandatory that hes done the power upgrade plus roxys eyes and either montys or chicas parts, so hes got SOME experience at least, not to mention that repairs seem to be intentionally incredibly simple in design (probably so they dont have to get employees with actual qualifications... lets be honest, makes sense considering the company we're talking about.)

however-- the damage done is something considerably different than before, and doesn't have a built-in routine, which does pose some entirely new challenges, and before he atleast had some direction from hand unit.

so of course, vanessa who is an **actual employee** probably comes in handy here!! especially considering the fact freddy himself would be 'dead' for most of it-- since thats what happens at the end of the vanny ending cutscene, he shuts down

anyways its entirely believable that this kid would want to get his new father figure fixed first and foremost (hes gone out of his way just for freddy before, and vice versa) and that she would want to help him in any way possible after yk, being murderous.. and entirely believable that this would be possible to do. and, it explains the level of trust shown in the cutscene :)

and the course of action with 'ok take his head off', it makes sense the rest of his body wouldn't be salvagable, with it beyond either of their qualifications (since vanessa is a security guard and not a technician) and most importantly, probably impossible for either of them to actually move. and vanessa was literally talking shit to him headless earlier, not to mention gregory having to reattach it- theyre both familar to some degree with the idea of him working without his body connected

tl;dr: prototype freddy isnt another model or some weird shit, its just his leftover corpse lmao couldnt be me

PLEASE please join in the discussion; this theory is NOT foolproof and while i could explain how the prototype mark and present in his chest wouldve gotten there, ive got many reasons why and nothing concrete to say which one of them is accurate!!! (if anyones interested, i can reblog with my current ideas on that ^_^)

[myokk]

Eloise is really, really bad at chess😐

(this is a scene from my fic & I typed it up here:)

"Milady, you cannot send him there! He will surely die a terrible death, and Murdoch is our finest knight!"

Eloise blinked her bleary eyes at the wizarding chess board, not really comprehending what the tiny pieces were yelling at her. The one that seemed to be doing the most talking was gesticulating wildly and jumping up and down, trying to get her attention. When she had taken the pieces out of the box Sebastian had lent her, they had immediately recognized her and started protesting, appealing to 'their benevolent lord's innate sense of goodness', but their protests fell on deaf ears. Eloise was positive that Sebastian took some sort of perverse pleasure at watching her lose at chess.

In the background, she could hear Ominis's laughter echoing through the Undercroft. His own pieces were quite happy at the moment, preening and occasionally sending rude gestures towards Eloise's, much to Sebastian's amusement. He was narrating their every action to Ominis, whose laughter was egging on his soldiers even more.

"Eloise," Sebastian said, propping his chin up by one hand (entirely too amused, infuriatingly so, why did he have to look so handsome when she was trying to be annoyed at him?), "maybe you should move the knight..." his other hand pointed to an empty space on the board, "...here."

This declaration caused an uproar. There were shouts of betrayal, tiny pieces gesticulating wildly to the carnage surrounding the board as they shouted in vain. She didn't see any other viable moves, so Eloise sighed and ordered the brave little Murdoch to where Sebastian had suggested. Chaos immediately ensued and Ominis's queen gleefully knocked his head off with a violent swing of her scepter. Eloise's pawns all doubled over, sobbing as their most valient knight fell, and her remaining bishop shook his tiny fist in outrage up at her.

After a few more minutes, much to Eloise's ashamed relief and the boys' disappointment, her pieces refused to move for either her or Sebastian. They solemnly collected the remains of their fallen comrades with as much dignity as they could muster and marched off the board and back into their box in a mourning parade of sorts.

Sebastian joined Ominis's pieces as they jeered the losing team off the board, causing Eloise to glare fiercely at him. "You were the one telling me what to do, and they're your pieces! Show some loyalty."

He shrunk away from the intensity of her gaze and held up his hands in protest. "I was suggesting the moves as a joke! After last week's fiasco, I didn't think you'd fall for it again."

Ominis was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath, and the two of them turned to watch him. Even through her irritation, Eloise couldn't help but smile at him - he was always so solemn and these bouts of mirth were few and far between. He managed to speak between bouts of laughter. "I...I couldn't...I couldn't believe it when you sent your bishops one by one into my trap! It was so obvious! And then...and then you..." Ominis dissolved into fits of laughter again and couldn't finish.

Eloise turned her angry glare to him. "We can't all be chess geniuses!"

"I've tried teaching you and you don't listen! For the next time, I'm only going to give you one piece of advice: don't listen to Sebastian." He chuckled once more to himself and then turned slightly to the board, addressing his men (and queen) and giving them a debriefing. He always did this after he won the matches; it was a strange sort of ritual that he seemed to look forward to.

[eternalglitch]

[mechazushi]

After the Fall {AN ACTUAL SHORT STORY THIS TIME} [Kaiju No. 8] (Could be considered as possible Ep11 spoilers; interpreted artistically)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Kafka Hibino." Captain Mina Ashiro started, "No. Kaiju Number Eight. I am taking you into custody." She leveled her gun to him. Her voice as steady as her hands, taking care not to let an ounce of sadness that had filled her soul melt her outward resolve. The companies were distraught and heavily wounded. Most of the infrastructure in the training area had been reduced to ash. An arched border line had been etched into the pavement around them. One side was mostly intact with spider cracks in various locations. The other side was a pale, dusty mess. No surface from the border and beyond was traversable with all of it being splintered, jutting, and uneven.

At the peak of the arch stood a half dissolved monster, melting back into a man. When the flecks peeled off and drifted into the remnants of the wind, a face began to emerge. Kafka Hibino, the former member of the Third Division had ousted himself as the elusive Kaiju Number Eight. He stood stone still, letting fragments of his alter form slough off as he never took his eyes off his captor. He wanted to think he knew what she was thinking, that this is just protocol, that there was no place in her heart that harbored ill will or intent. Mina wouldn't use her gun against him, right? They could still be friends, that he could still fight for his spot at her side.

He couldn't tell. Mina was unreadable as ever and Kafka couldn't blame her. He had been reprimanded enough times to know that this was just how she had to be in front of others in the Division. Her place wasn't a position where she was afforded the leeway to be physically emotional. Emotion was considered weakness, and she had to be strong for the others. To the officers, she was being seen as a strong captain, standing against a Daikaiju threat. It didn't matter that this was Kafka, that everyone had seen that it was Kafka who made a harrowing choice to save the lives of thousands. All they saw now was a monster, no matter how human and familiar its face was.

"Hoshina. I need you to cuff him." Captain Ashiro commanded. Hoshina heard, but was refusing to act. He couldn't bring himself to look at the situation in front of him. A man he trusted, a man he had considered as a friend and compatriot, was confirmed to be a threat to the world. Hoshina wasn't sure at the beginning what Kafka's circumstances were. He knew that things were off, but he chose to ignore them. The whole reason for letting Kafka join as a cadet was so Hoshina could investigate him, and he failed to do even that. All because he couldn't look past his smile. How could a man with a smile so bright and genuine ever be a threat to others. He didn't believe it, refused to believe it. He wasn't going to slap cuffs on a man that didn't have a threatening bone in his body.

But was he a man? Everyone saw Kafka gain impossible speed. They all saw Kafka, as a kaiju, blast into the sky and launched the bomb to a safer distance. Was Kafka a kaiju now because he was strong and dangerous? Or was he still a man because he understood sacrifice? Kaijus didn't need to deal with pesky feelings. They didn't have to worry about what others thought of them. All there was in kaiju minds was to eat and destroy. Kafka could express emotion, and has expressed desire outside of destruction. If Kafka knew that others would turn and run in fear if they knew what he was and what he could do, why did he do it anyway?

"Hoshina." Captain Ashiro commanded again, dislodging her Vice Captain from his thoughts. He still didn't want to do this, still choosing to believe in the man behind the monster's mask, but it wasn't a good idea to make the Captain repeat herself. Reaching into his side pouch, he dug up one of the plastic handcuffs that most officers are issued with. They were issued with the intent that defense members might encounter people taking the opportunity for ransacking during invasions and could preform arrests until the offender could be picked up by proper authorities. Hoshina walked up to Kafka and held the industrial zip-tie in his hands. Every neuron in his skull felt like it was screaming in retaliation, making his hands hesitate in the action of placing Kafka under physical arrest. He almost wanted to laugh. Did anyone here actually think that these meager restraints could hold back a person with a registered fortitude rating? Kafka slowly held out his wrists in front of him, looking like a toddler that was expecting a ruler to come down on them in punishment.

"It's okay. I know." Kafka whispered imperceptibly to him. His head was bowed solemnly, but he looked at Hoshina as his face remained ever reassuring. He almost felt like slapping the look off of him. How dare he act like this. How dare he try to be apologetic and caring for others in this situation. Why couldn't he be an asshole and run, fight, do anything to save himself. For god's sake, why can't he be selfish. Having to deal with a daikaiju on the loose would have been less gut wrenching than having to send a fellow soldier to an uncertain fate.

"Captain Ashiro, I can explain-" Reno Ichikawa was shouting as he came barreling over the fallen debris as nimbly as possible. Following behind at a much slower pace was Kikoru Shinomiya.

"Save it Officer Ichikawa!" Ashiro barked at him, "Telling by your outburst at this time of all places, tells me you have some knowledge on this as well." she holstered her side arm now that Kafka had been successfully restrained.

"You too, Shinomiya. Hoshina told me about his suspicions about how you managed to neutralize the honju at the acceptance trials earlier this year and with you showing up behind Ichikawa here, I can assume that you're in on this too." She began to wordlessly direct those around her and made moves to stand behind Kafka and Hoshina.

"Okonogi, send several vehicles over to the training area. We have multiple wounded and a lot of tired soldiers that I think would rather drive than walk back to barracks. Leader Ebina, gather some of your people and start marking a path through the rubble so we can transport the wounded."

"Roger that, Captain. Do you want me to send an armored vehicle for Kaiju Number Eight?" replied Okonogi. Captain Ashiro looked hard at Kafka, now back to appearing completely human and in the plastic cuffs. Hoshina was looking right at the captain. Blood had stopped dripping down his face minutes ago, but it was still clear that he wasn't in any shape to fight anything more powerful than a mouse right now. She took in the fact that his hands were placed gently on top of Kafka's limply curled fists, a sight that Kafka couldn't pull his eyes away from.

"No. Leave the armored vehicle for now. We might need it to be fueled and stocked for whatever happens tomorrow." Ashiro replied back after serious consideration. With most of the Division looking the way it did, and the person most capable of going head to head with a daikaiju of small size looking like death warmed over, she acknowledged the fact that Kafka; or Kaiju Number Eight, she hadn't stopped her brain from fluctuating between the two, hadn't taken the opportunity to bolt for the hills. She figured if he was going to try anything, he would have as soon as she leveled her sidearm at him. In the bright moonlight over head, she could see the person she once considered a friend chuckle noticeably.

"Thanks for that, Captain Ashiro. Those trucks don't have the best air condi-"

"Save it. I don't want to hear another word from you tonight." Captain Ashiro commanded. She could clearly see the word's effect on him as he visibly flinched at her sharp tone. As the officers around her got into position and steadied their hands on their rifles, she pointed her finger off over Hoshina's shoulder, indicating that they should start moving. Kafka's feet regretfully began to shuffle around to face the direction he was supposed to go in, but when he tried to take an actual step he hissed loudly and nearly collapsed to his knees onto the pavement. Hoshina didn't think for a second as he rushed forward to catch him before he landed, propping himself under Kafka's broad chest and grabbing his shoulder to keep him balanced. The chorus of six safety switches all clicking off in unison could be heard behind the two of them.

"Shit- Sorry, sorry! Knees were locked." Kafka said, glancing over his and Hoshina's connected bodies.

"Sorry." He added, seemingly addressed to no one in particular.

'Maybe that was addressed to all of us.' Hoshina thought as he helped Kafka readjust to his feet. Once he felt okay enough to walk, he began to move forward at a sluggish pace. It was clear to Hoshina that he wasn't walking slow on purpose, and that it really must have taken a lot out of him to propel himself into the air and sucker punch a twenty kiloton yoju bomb into the lower stratosphere. Hoshina kept a hand on Kafka's upper back as he gently guided him through the path Ebina's team had marked earlier. With the moment they were in being as quiet as possible, save for the occasional echoing crash of broken rubble hitting the ground all around them, Hoshina took a second to think.

'I mean, when you think about it, that should be enough to knock the wind out of anyone capable of doing that in that sort of situation.' He stunned himself with the words in his head. How could he even try and logic out what a man with the power of turning into a Kaiju was even qualified to accomplish? This whole situation was absurd and he hated it. He hated everything in that moment. He hated Kafka for putting himself in danger, he hated Captain Ashiro knowing she was only doing her job, he hated himself because he was the one who told Kafka not to get attached to others on the job because God only knows what could happen and here he was, feeling attached knowing damn well that he was going to feel like shit because he was basically loosing the best damn thing this Division had going for it!

Hoshina couldn't writhe in his personal hell for much longer as the group had made it to the busted doors of the training grounds. The remnants of his fight with Kaiju Number Ten as well as debris from the explosion had all been pushed to the sides as best as possible. A few tents had been erected to preform triage and separate the barely scratched from the mortally wounded and treat them appropriately. A rotating convoy of open air trucks and military jeeps were set up at the far end of the street carrying the tired and lightly wounded to somewhere else on base for rest, if it was available for most. All activity seemed to slow, almost stopping in some areas as Kafka led his paltry parade showcasing his imprisonment through the masses. It almost felt like a display of a man being condemned. Okonogi pulled ahead of the line in her own commandeered jeep and pulled it to a stop in front of Kafka and Ashiro. The captain told the six behind her to grab a vehicle for themselves and follow close behind, before wordlessly hopping into the passenger seat of the car. As Hoshina hopped in the exposed backseat, he could hear Kafka groan and hiss as he settled into the spot on the bench next to him.

"Hssssss, haaaa, hoooo. Wow, sitting down. A novel idea. Who knew?" Kafka talked exhaustedly as he fumbled with the lap belt using his restrained hands.

"Miss Okonogi, not to presumptuously assume your driving skills, but you mind being careful and avoiding potholes and barricades on the way to my cell. I'm gonna take a nap." Kafka's head slumped unceremoniously against the metal bar framing the back of the jeep and immediately started to breath heavily, almost as if he was asleep already. His closed eyes meant he didn't get to see Mina's irritated glare she sent his way before she took the clipboard that Okonogi brought with her. Hoshina rested his elbow against the car's sidewall and placed his face in his hand, staring at an unaware Kafka.

'He's asleep. This no good, dirty, rotten, lying, mutant Kaiju bastard is asleep?' Hoshina thought angrily. As he felt the car move forward and tuned out Captain Ashiro and Okonogi's conversation, he realized all he could think about in that moment was him.

'A man saves an entire base and this is how we thank him.' Hoshina's inner monologue continued. He knew he wasn't the only one here who felt like this, and when the news got out in the morning he was sure lots of others were going to have mixed feelings on this as well. Arresting him was for the best, he knew that as well. Good intentions or no, human or no, it didn't change the fact that Kafka can become a kaiju. The whole purpose of the Divisions was to eliminate kaijus. The fact that Kafka was allowed to breathe, let alone sitting in the back of a car with the two most powerful people on base at rock bottom of their best, spoke volumes about how crazy and fucked up these circumstances were. Protocol was kill on sight, and Kafka knows this. Yet here he was, sleeping the rest of his freedom away.

'It wouldn't be hard, either.' Hoshina thoughts continued, 'I may not be able to put up a good fight at the moment, but we can assume he's mostly human right now. He's asleep and tired, which means he's vulnerable' He played with the tip of the handle connected to his sword. 'I could end it all for him right now and he wouldn't be wiser.'

But he wouldn't. Hoshina couldn't lay any hand on him with deadly and harmful intent behind it, now and forever. Monster or Human, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing could ever change the fact that Hoshina had one percent of trust in this man right now. And he wondered if Kafka could feel that too, because why else could he be so blissfully asleep right now.

'He's not going to be like that for long.' Hoshina thought bitterly. The protocol was kill on sight for honju and yoju, yes, but that stopped at daikaiju. they were killed like any other threat, but whatever that was left of the body after the fight was sent off for research. Research and experimentation. Hoshina knew that it was a snowball's chance in hell that the leaders of the Defense Force were just going to let them keep Kafka on base, but were they going to let Kafka stay alive and intact? Hoshina could feel his heart be poisoned and start to cramp up at the thought. He had to look away for a moment , lest tears started to mix with the blood and stain his cheeks even more. It took several sharp breaths and a solid minute of mental filing to help his chest feels normal again.

Hoshina tried to take another look at the mystery that was his fellow soldier. A face as still as a forest pond, covered in already healed scratches. Light from the moon created soft shadows on his eyelids and neck. flickering and shifting in tandem with the shakes and jolts coming from the moving jeep. His worker's tan looking more pronounced than it usually did. Kafka looked stoic and peaceful, which created a stark contrast to the unearthly and demonic visage Hoshina has associated with Kaiju Number Eight. It was an awful situation Hoshina found himself in.

On one hand, he wanted to come across the bench and hold him. Whisper calmly in his ear that everything was going to be okay. That he won't have to worry about whatever that's going to come for him in the morning. On the other hand, he wanted to be the one that was being held. To have all those sweet and empty promises whispered back at him, to be told that things would be fine for him too. Kafka won't have to leave the base, that this whole kaiju transformation business was just the concussion talking, and the base will be back to operational in no time at all.

None of those things were going to happen. The base reconstruction was going to take forever, Kafka was going to have to leave, and nothing was going to be fine. Hoshina turned away again, feeling the chest tightening again and wanted to keep his tears to himself for the time being. He couldn't cry now because there was a superior officer present and didn't also want to wake Kafka. He couldn't cry in the morning because he needed to be strong in the face of whatever decision that was to come down on his officer's head. As the first shifts of color indicative of the approaching dawn began to brighten the night sky, Hoshina tamped down every bit of emotion he had to let out later into the first few minutes of however much sleep he was going to get in those twilight hours.

This was going to be a rough few months, wasn't it?