#i might be wrong but i listened to it several times at various speeds

[tethered-heartstrings]

I listened to the audio at the end of aperitif and counted nine gunshot sounds, which means Will shot Hobbs once for every girl he victimized; 8 dead with Abigail as his ninth.

[angellissy]

Hey :) I’ve never requested anything before so I’m sorry if i do it wrong hahah

But could I request something where instead of ward faking his death it’s rafe who has to do it and none of the pouges know about your relationship until it’s you crying in the dock instead of Sarah. And when you and the piggies go on the “rescue” mission to get Sarah off of the boat you see rafe and eventually end up staying with him and leaving your friends

I’m sorry if this is really long xx thank you for taking the time to read my request

R E A C H I N G  F O R  T H E  S U R F A C E

SEASON TWO SPOILERS!

rafe Cameron x Reader

warnings: angst with a big a, canon rafe (maybe a bit softer), toxic relationship, rafe playing the victim card, death and talks of suicide.

a/n: I feel like it is of importance that I tell you all that I have done everything in my power not to romanticize the rafe cameron character and if I have then please kindly let me know because sometimes it can be hard. However I still need to say that I am writing through the eyes of the “reader” who very much still cares for this boy, which also means that the way the reader deals with things might not have been your way. If any more warnings should be included in the beginning, feel free to let me know. I hope you enjoy this fic which I am actually very proud of. A big thanks to @snkkat​ who is my proof reading buddy. Also thanks for sending in the request, I LOVED writing it! <3

They say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but how about when you watch someone else die? For as you watched him die, the life and moments the two of you had shared flashed before your eyes like a string of reminders of a life and love lost. It felt as if there was no air for you to breathe, you weren’t even sure how long it had been since you managed to take a full breath. Your mind was running in circles, trying to grasp what had just occurred, replaying the scene over and over again until you were not even sure what reality you were in. With a hammering heart and a split soul, you were kneeling on the dock, just minutes after watching your first love take his own life. You could not even remember how you had gotten out here in the first place, you just wished that you would have stayed behind as all your friends rushed toward a disaster in waiting. Perhaps that would have spared you some of the heartbreak, spared you from hearing him scream that he loved you one last time, spared you from seeing his boat go up in flames. But no, you were sure that for as long as you lived, you would see that blazing inferno whenever you closed your eyes.

There were arms around you, an attempt to soothe your shaking body, it only made you feel more trapped in a memory you would never escape. Those arms lifted you up and suddenly you were walking, mixed in all the anger and sadness there was a surprise that your body was even able to function. It felt as if you were outside of your body watching everything occur, you watched as Kiara and JJ helped you sit down on a sofa and as they draped a blanket over your shoulders. You watched it unfold, but you couldn’t feel it and there was no way that you would be able to respond to their worried questions. Instead, you were stuck in a mind that replayed everything Rafe had ever said or done to you as if that somehow could manifest him back to life. That stuck-up boy with the golden hair had been your first boyfriend, complicated as the relationship may have been, it had been the first time you ever experienced something close to love. Just days ago you had stood before him, tears in your eyes and heart in your throat as you called the relationship off. For a very long time, he had not been the boy you fell for, but rather a ghost of who he once was. Where he had once been sweet and tender with you, there had only been cold stares and words sharp enough to cut through ice. You were not oblivious to the fact that he struggled with issues you could never comprehend, but you refused to be an accomplice in his undoing. Time after time you had tried to be the person he could cling to when the world sat heavily upon his shoulders, but you soon realized that love and affection could not solve all problems. Oh, and you had loved him so much that you would have done anything for him to smile at you the way he had when he uttered those big three words for the first time. He had watched you with eyes that held so much adoration that you thought that they would never dim, that they would shine brighter for each time his eyes found yours. But eventually, they had dulled, and so you had realized that you would not sacrifice yourself no matter how much you cared for him. It did not matter that you had called things off with him or that you had decided to leave him in order to save yourself, for the knowledge that he was actually gone made it feel like someone was clawing at your heart and trying to rip it apart. It felt like no time in the world would be able to heal the pain in your chest or dry the tears falling from your eyes.

Time was indeed a funny thing, how seconds turned into minutes and how then those minutes became hours. Hours that you spent reminiscing over a life you thought you had given up before it was lost forever. You clung to the memories of him as if they were the lifebuoy keeping an anchor from pulling you down in a sea made up of your own sorrow. You knew that you were staying in your own made-up memories of a relationship with more bad times than good, but a part of you felt that you could not grieve the person he had become. For he had been vile and horrid, and if you acknowledged that, you would feel guilty for the sadness overwhelming you. So yes, you stayed in your made-up reality and wept for the boy that could have been. As hours turned into days, your friends made every effort to comfort you and try to get you out of the room that had become your place of mourning. Their tries aggravated you, for they did not understand the feelings rushing through your body at such speed it made you lightheaded. Each one of them had hated Rafe Cameron with at least one bone in their body and you knew how some of them had looked the day he died as if they were content that he was finally gone. Relieved that he could no longer plague them with taunts and threats that might have become reality was it not for his passing. You might have understood this, had it not been for the grief and guilt plaguing every bone in your body.

As days turned into weeks, you eventually came to appreciate their efforts to help you. It was like your vision was starting to clear and you could finally start trying to live your life again, and the first step to doing that was always to surround yourself with people that made you roar with laughter. Their ventures to try and find the Cross of Santo Domingo, were helpful, to say the least. Those adventures were as distracting as they were terrifying since the outcome was never given. Your mixed friend group of pogues and kooks had actually found that damn cross as well. Who would have thought that a bunch of high school kids would be able to find a historic relic? The answer would have been no one, and that is why you don’t underestimate kids with no limits. The cross had been in your grasp until a greedy and manipulative Ward Cameron came along and grabbed it. Ever since that particular happening, things started going south fast and it all ended up with Sarah being kidnapped by her own guardians. It also ended up with the rest of you stowed away like cargo on the ship she was on. While John B and Pope carried out their plan to find Sarah and the famous cross, you, JJ, and Kie sweated from every pore as you waited to hear from them. You had zoned out, staring mindlessly into one of the walls of the container, in the background you could hear your two friends talk about their dreams for the future. Something about going on several surfing trips at various destinations with each other, and that part made your heart ache. Sure, after everything he had done, a future with Rafe had not been one of your dreams. Still, as you listened to your friends talk, you could only remember a time where he had been everything you wanted in life. You pressed your palms upon your face as if you somehow could force every memory of him to remain in that little part of your brain where you were hoping they would become forgotten. A loud clank dragged you out of your thoughts and you looked up just in time to see Pope and John B climb in through that small window opening, followed by a woman you had never ever seen. Shortly after that, problems started to arise and soon all of you were scrambling out of the container in hopes of not being detected by the workers on the boat. They were in obvious search of all of you, which made you sweat even more than you had done inside the container. All of you received different plans on how to tackle the situation, yours was to act as a lookout for John B as he searched for Sarah.

You followed him down to what you could only assume was the boiler room since steam was thick in the air and you took your place by the door as he ventured further down. His desperate cries for Sarah echoed through the room and you dearly wished for a response to be heard, but there was nothing except the sound of his shoes against the floor. Thump, thump, thump and then utter silence until John B utters a name that made it feel as if the floor was pulled away from under your feet.

“Rafe.”

One of your hands finds the doorframe, a poor attempt to steady yourself as you try to figure out if this is a trick played by your grieving mind. You take a few breaths and as the silence is once again interrupted by two raised voices, you follow John B’s path down into the room. The heart in your chest is beating so hard that it feels like you are going to throw up, and it only gets worse the nearer you come. At first, you only see your friend, but then you look past him

and

your

heart

stops.

Rafe Cameron had died in front of your very eyes, so either the gods were playing a nasty cruel joke or you had lost the battle with your mind. You shut your eyes just to open them again, and no matter how many times you did it, he still remained. What happened next was a bit peculiar to you, for weeks you had drowned in grief where sadness was the constant emotion, but as you looked him in the eye and saw that he was very much alive, rage and anger crushed into you with the force of a thousand waves. You stepped toward him, only for an arm to shoot out to stop you, and John B added to his gesture by saying “Don’t”. Laughter bubbled in your throat, for who was he to tell you what you could or could not say to your “dead” ex-boyfriend who seemed to never stop causing you grief.

“Find Sarah.” John B hesitated for a few moments before following your unspoken order to leave you and Rafe alone. It wasn’t surprising considering that his worry for Sarah would always overpower anything else. Once again you looked into Rafe’s blue eyes, remembering a time when you used to stare in them for so long you would see specks of green and grey. Had you searched for those colors now, you would probably have found them. However, you were trying to decipher whatever feeling that was shining in them, was it anger? No, his other features were too soft for that and the hand holding his weapon had gone slack as he watched you. Maybe it was relief? No that was not it either, for why would he be relieved to see you? You were not the one who had died and left the other behind. You stepped even closer to him, the simmering anger inside of your veins made your hands shake and he looked at them briefly as if he wanted to take them in his. Your hands clenched into fists and you watched as his shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, and suddenly you knew exactly what was shining in his eyes.

Love, and sadness. Your heart started to speed up again, and you knew that once you opened your mouth, the anger and grief that had become part of you, would tumble out in words that you would never be able to take back. But he had done something much worse, so he would listen, you would make sure of it. Your lips parted slightly and he must have seen it for his words came first.

“I- fuck I am sorry okay? But I had to do it, you wouldn’t understand but I had to do it, it was the best for everyone.” As he says this you can’t help the sound that slips through your lips, it was supposed to be a laugh but it sounds more like a sob. His eyes flicker between you and everything else in the room as if there was anything in here that could save him for this conversation. You move your hands toward your chest and his eyes watch as you press them hard against your chest, against the heart that won’t stop breaking.

“Best for everyone?” Your voice is the combination of a whisper and a ragged breath “Did you have my best interest in mind when you let me believe you had blown yourself up?” He winces and makes an attempt to say something but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Did it ever occur to you how your little stunt would affect the one person who still, despite everything, loved you?” This time, your voice has started to rise towards something like a scream, and how could you not scream when there is so much sadness inside of you that it felt like just looking at him would turn your body into a pool of water.

“You broke up with me, so don’t start acting like a victim where you aren’t one.” His features are starting to morph into those he carries when anger overcomes him, but you will not back away from this. Your hands are in your hair, pulling at it as if that would help you make sense of this situation. “You broke my heart long before I broke yours.” You can’t help the way your voice breaks or the tears that start falling from your eyes.“You needed and still need help and until you receive that help, you are prone to hurt anyone in your vicinity.” Now it is his turn to drag his hands through his hair and his breaths come faster and faster until you realize that he is starting to hyperventilate. He sinks to the floor and you follow, not sure how to help when it feels like his state is mirroring your own. With cautious movements, you place your hands on his shoulders, and the shaking of his body sends trembles throughout yours. For a while nothing happens, you just sit there with your hands on his body and watch him fall apart. Perhaps you should have been glad that he was suffering, after everything he had done to you he deserved it. But you couldn’t feel anything other than anguish and as a sob escaped his body every restraint you had kept on yourself broke and you hugged him towards your chest. You could never save him, but he clung to you as if you had the power to undo every wrong he had ever done. After a while, he looks up at your tear-streaked face and one of his hands reaches up to cup it. You want to look away because you can see everything in those eyes of his, every regret and every wish he has ever had. His forehead leans towards you and you feel his hot breath against your skin. As you breathe in the scent of cologne and feel his skin against yours, you feel overwhelmed by the fact that he is actually here. You notice that his lips part and for a second you are scared that he is going to kiss you, but he must know that there is a limit to your patience with him so he just whispers words with the promise of what could have been. “I wanted to be good for you.” A small smile takes place on your lips and you close your eyes as you try to restrain the well of emotions inside of you. “I know Rafe, I know.” He breathes out a little, almost as if he is relieved that you are aware that he tried in a world and with a mind constantly working against him. You knew, but you also knew that there was someone else out there for you. Someone who would love you in a way that Rafe would never be able to, in a way that would not send the two of you to the bottom of the ocean. Whoever was out there would make you swim. For so long you had wanted to believe that Rafe was the one, despite all his flaws you would have given anything for him to be your future. It was a relief to know that you could and deserved to have more. But you also knew that you needed to do something before that could happen.

“I will stay-.” Before you could even finish your sentence he whipped his head up to look at you with such hope you never wanted to continue talking. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to go on. “I will stay with you just to make sure you receive the help you need.” His whole body deflated and you had to bite your lip in order not to cry again. Eventually, he nodded and you closed your eyes in relief. You knew that this had to be the right move, no one else would listen to him or make sure he got help, so you needed to be the one to did. Just enough so that you finally could start swimming towards the surface.

[mythicamagic]

I’m sure this won’t be a popular or hot take but I’ve tagged this post accordingly in the hopes that shippers won't see it unless they wanna. So let’s get into it. Todays topic is: Platonic relationships in media and how Sesshoumaru and Rin share similarities with them. Goodie! 

I wanted to talk about these bonds to demonstrate something. 

Sully and Boo - Sully takes on a more parental role, and while initially afraid, becomes attached to Boo and protects her. In the end, he leaves her in her bedroom and revisits after a couple of years, to be greeted with an enthusiastic ‘Kitty!’

Sesshoumaru and ‘parental’ might not be two words that immediately come to mind, but he does show his care. He buys Rin new clothes and protects her from danger. She listens to him and follows what he says extremely literally, freezing in place for several minutes when he says to do so. At the end of Inuyasha, Sesshoumaru leaves her with Kaede at the village and revisits every so often- still visiting 3 years later when Kagome returns. We can infer its a regular occurrence since no one is shocked to see him, so Sesshoumaru has remained in her life. He’s not her ‘Papa’ by any means, but he is, and remains her guardian in spirit. He will always be greeted with an enthusiastic ‘Sesshoumaru-sama!’

Shifting more into a teacher/ ruthless protector role now, the above is about John Creasy, who becomes a bodyguard to a little girl. Creasy teaches her how to improve her swimming speed and not to fear the whistle as much. He also protects and ultimately sacrifices himself for her.

Sesshoumaru does not fulfil a proper ‘teaching’ role to Rin in the traditional sense of what we, as humans recognise, but if you pay attention, he does stop and wait while Rin forages or sends Jaken and Ah-Un with her to hunt for food. Shippo is also seen foraging for his father in a flashback, so it’s very easy to interpret Sesshoumaru’s command that Rin ‘feed herself’ to be a method of teaching her how to hunt and survive independently. Like a demon would. He protects Rin, not because he’s a bodyguard, but because she’s a part of his group.

These two are actually kind of the closest relationship dynamic to Sesshoumaru and Rin I can think of. Teresa is a lot more cold-hearted towards Clare than Sesshoumaru is with his charge, but they have the same - ‘unstoppable, efficient killing machine is taught some humanity from a child’ thing going on. 

Clare is mute when we first see her, she’s an orphan and traumatised. She latches onto Teresa and follows her wherever she goes - even following her off a cliff. 

Rin is mute when we first see her, she’s an orphan and traumatised. She latches onto Sesshoumaru and follows him wherever he goes - and if he jumped off a cliff it’s fair to say she’d follow if he asked her to. 

Now, Teresa tries to leave Clare for her own sake, to learn how to be a proper human. To live a human life. But Clare follows, and even after Teresa’s death, Clare idolises Teresa. Time does not temper her absolute adoration. (at least in the anime, I haven't read the manga) I don’t think time would temper Rin’s admiration either. Sesshoumaru would always have power over her. He would always be who she’d defer to, who would teach her right and wrong.

So yeah, these relationship dynamics are all slightly similar to Sesshoumaru and Rins, in various ways; but a key component is that their bond is NOT different from the ones shown. It’s never been intended as something set up to eventually be romantic. Unfortunately, the only thing separating Sesshoumaru and Rin from these other examples is that - Sesshoumaru is a hot, fictional male demon from an anime. Him being fictional allows for the prospect of eventual Sess/rin to be ‘softened’ for an audience in a way that John Creasy x Adult Pita is not. The latter would be unthinkable to many. Rin being fictional allows her to be shipped with her guardian and turned into a young teen bride in Yashahime. It being an anime also makes it seem ‘ok’ because anime is infamous for presenting this type of relationship ala Usagi Drop, but sometimes examples of it are removed these days like in Cardcaptor Sakura.

I hope I’m managing to get across the point that it’s the platonic dynamic in the OG Inuyasha between Sesshoumaru and Rin being changed into something romantic is what a lot of people like myself take umbrage with. I’m not getting into the grooming implications or arguments about her age when she gave birth - because that’s been covered extensively.

I’m saying that it’s sad. It’s really sad to me that this sweet, tender relationship of a traumatised orphan who latched onto the first strong presence she could was changed. Because platonic is never enough. Sex sells after all. If you are a Sess/rin shipper getting upset over what I’m saying - try looking at it like this. Monsters Inc 3 comes out: it’s been a few years. Boo is grown up *enough* that she’s been impregnated by Sully off-screen. 

Do ya not see how that could be a liiitttle bit offputting?

Idk, Sesshoumaru and Rin’s bond was, and remains a beautiful platonic relationship in Inuyasha imo. All of this is just my personal opinion, I’m not trying to force anything on anyone. Just some food for thought.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 01

(Masterpost) (Next Episode)

Warning: This is **FULL **of spoilers, not just for this episode but for the entire series. If you haven’t finished all 50 episodes, please don’t read it! 

Intro: 2020 continues to be much much too much while also being incredibly boring, and Im done with Shen Wei’s Lewks, so now I’m doing a deep meta dive into the Untamed. Let’s roll! 

Prologue: The Battle of Mordor

The Demise of our Protagonist

Unlike some other shows I won’t name, The Untamed kills its suicidal queer protagonist immediately, rather than waiting four seasons, so we know what we're in for. 

This is Wei Wuxian, who is about to yeet himself off of a cliff. He is having a bad day. 

Note: if mouth blood bothers you...C-Drama might not be your thing. 

Reasons for mouth blood: a sampler

Anyway...cliff time

Note: if (fictional) suicide bothers you...C-Drama might not be your thing. 

To be fair there are hardly any suicides in The Untamed. No more than ...five? As long as you don’t count the entire population of the Wen Corporate Headquarters in Yiling or those wall bandits in Qinghe or Madame Yu or all those Wens who supposedly threw themselves into the mud puddle or that Mo guy who broke his own neck. Plus watching Wei Wuxian’s cliff drop several more times from multiple angles. So, you know. Hardly Any Suicides. 

This is Lan Wangji, who is about to have his first losing encounter with physics. He is having a bad day.

In fact, if it is possible to have a worse day than the guy who is currently falling to his death, Lan Wangji is having that.

This is Jiang Cheng, who is feeling extra stabby from this camera angle. He is having a bad day.

Camera operator: why you gotta take it out on me? 

(Much, much more after the cut!)

The Amulet Situation

This is the Stygian Tiger Amulet. Yes, by all means, (Netflix) subtitles, let's use a 12-dollar word, “Stygian,” that every English speaker who is not a Shelley/Byron shipper will have to look up. Let’s not use a normal word like "deathly" or "corrupt" or you know... "Yin" which is clearly what they are saying on screen.

Why does this tiger amulet look like a chameleon crossed with a remora? Wei Wuxian can paint photorealistic bunnies on a flimsy lantern while sitting in a field having distracting teenage lust, but two months of meditating with super magic gets him a tiger that looks like a chameleon. And don’t try telling me this is a traditional-Chinese-art vibe because this jade tiger from frickin 1000 BCE is way more tigerish than Wei Wuxian’s attempt. 

Try harder next time, Wei Wuxian.

This is thousands of cultivators having a battle.  What do you mean, it looks like about 40-60 dudes?

 Any time someone in The Untamed refers to a number of people, it is like when you do your high school play and look off into the wings at nothing and say “Hark, A Ship Approaches!” and everyone’s parents nod indulgently.

Jin Clan Mountain Hunt:

*viewership nods indulgently*

This is Captain Blowhard, over on the right, courtesy name Clan Leader Yao. His job is to talk smack about Wei Wuxian and stick up for whoever is the biggest asshole in any given scene.  

He represents mainstream cultivation-world values so here he is shanking one of his allies to take the deadly amulet of evilness.

The Present Day

Spilling All That Yiling Laozu Tea

Down at the Exposition Tea Shop, the Lan juniors are chilling and listening to Tea Dude tell the story of Yiling Laozu. 

How did they get permission to take this field trip? “Principal Qiran, we want to go downtown to hang out with the local rabble and learn about your favorite person, Wei Wuxian.”

Waiting in the wings is the man with a fan and a plan, Nie Huaisan(g), who is paying tall loot to get these stories told.  

...Why? Is Mo Xuanyu having tea here and listening? Or is Wei Wuxian being summoned back by hearing all this smack being talked about him? *Shrug.*

Gank Your Soul

Drunk flag guy out here talking about spirits. Wikipedia tells me that In one school of Daoist thought, a human being has a collection of physical souls (魄 pò) and ethereal souls (魂 hún). Drunk flag guy is saying “hún ” at the moment. 

The many types of souls don’t translate well into English, where spiritual vocabulary has always been shackled connected to Christian beliefs, and is too limited for this context. So when the subtitles have conversations like “Is it a soul eater? No, no, it’s a spirit taker!” just roll with it. (Speaking of hún, if you have any interest in linguistics, do yourself a favor and go read all the wonderful meta @hunxi-guilai​)

The spirit-carrying flag looks a lot like Raava and Vaatu from Korra which...probably doesn’t mean anything.

The Demise of our Trill Host

Suicide #2 happens about 8 minutes in. 

Mo Xuanyu is that hippie roommate with the annoying wind chimes and bead curtains and blood spatter.

He is super mad at his terrible family and also at Jin Guangyao, who sent him home to his terrible family. I wonder if Fan Man Nie Huaisang influenced Jiggy’s decision-making there. Mo Xuanyu’s choice to die for revenge might be excessive, given how easy it actually is to murder the Mo family.

Being Alive Is Fine I Guess As Long As I Get To Fuck WIth People

Wei Wuxian starts his new life by splashing a little water on his face, which instantly makes his hair go from this

to this. 

He looks at his reflection and wishes he was dead, which--mood--but he gets over it as soon as he finds someone whose day he can fuck up.

And he is ALL in on being crazy. 

OP wishes she had the Wei Wuxian kind of crazy instead of the kind she actually has. 

Meanwhile, this is the sane Mo cousin:

This asshole is wearing one of the best fabrics in the whole show, incidentally. Asshole.

My favorite bit of Wei-Mo craziness is when Wei Wuxian does a meaningless 360 all the way around this dude before ducking in the opposite direction, which is like when I make 4 right turns around a whole block to avoid making a single left across traffic.

Perhaps I Do Miss One Thing In This Life

Wei Wuxian has pining thoughts about Lan Wangji, so he plays WangXian on a fucking blade of grass well enough for Sizhui to recognize it from his dad's guqin jams. 

Wei Wuxian is a better flautist than even Inspector Gadget BeatBoxing Flute Guy (Google it).

Our Many Many Spirit Lure Flags have Lured A Spirit, Oh Shit

Lan Clan has a Plan and Wei Wuxian is a Fan

Having one single lure flag stuck in Wen Ning’s torso caused spirits to basically eat him alive, so to catch one evil spirit, 6 disciples holding flags on the roof plus 8 more flags on the ground seems like a good amount. Wei Wuxian is like “yep, a single one of these will lure every spirit for five miles, carry on, younglings.”

Baxia Does the Heavy Lifting

Wei Wuxian is supposed to kill four people because of this curse situation, and in the course of the series they all die, and he kills exactly zero of them. The curse on Wei Wuxian’s arm should be called the scorekeeper curse. 

Baxia’s spirit pinballs around the Mo clan, rapidly killing three people on Mo Xuanyu’s list plus a couple extras for good measure.  Who's a good blade? Baxia is! Yess you are! Yes you are!

This here is the exact point in the show where your friend, who has listened to you squee about The Untamed for three months and finally agreed to watch it with you, will say “what the fuck am I watching?” and try to get up off the couch. Tackle them! 

This also the point where we all realize that the prosthetic and practical effects in this show were probably not made by the people who made the clothing, because the quality is...variable. The white eyeballs are pretty good, but the glove of death is ridiculous.

Camera operator: why you gotta take it out on me?

While Baxia goes to town on the Mo clan, the Lan Clan babies...watch? And tie up the various victims after they are already goners. 

Narrator: Her son is dead.

Meanwhile, 

Wei Wuxian, you motherfucker. You’ve been alive for like 7 hours and you’re already building a new zombie army. No wonder you don’t want them to call Lan Wangji.

Hanguang-Jun Cut It Up One Time

Lan Wangji shows up and very slowly kicks zombie ass with his guqin. If you are used to Hong Kong action speeds, you will find The Untamed very peaceful.

 All of the baby Lans fan squee up at Lan Wangji like he's the cultivation world's David Bowie and...they're not wrong. Jesus Fuck, he’s charismatic.

Lan Wangji is soft boi when he discovers this murderous sword full of dead-bastard energy, because it reminds him of his true love.

Like the talk about souls, the conversations about the nature of the murderous entity really don’t survive translation into English.

Servant: it’s a ghost! 

WWX: it’s not a ghost, it’s a spirit

Babies: It’s a spirit

LWJ: it’s not a spirit, it’s a [...] ghost

Our Protagonist gets the FOH

Wei Wuxian is soft boi when he sees Lan Wangji, but not so soft that he considers actually, like, sticking around. 

Wei Wuxian is also clueless boi, noting Lan Wangji’s white clothing and thinking, as in the past, that he looks like he’s dressed in mourning. The term he uses is 戴孝, which google tells me means the type of outfit worn by Jiang Yanli after Wen Ning rips her husband’s heart out someone who is in mourning. 

Actually, Wei Wuxian, you dumbass, he is in actual mourning, actually, for you. Dumbass. He probably packed away all of his blue outer robes 16 years ago and only takes them out occasionally to reminisce about that nice date you had on your mountain of corpses. 

On his way out the door Wei Wuxian manages to find a red ribbon for his beautiful hair, so things are looking up. 

Where to go next...hey I know, how about that one haunted mountain with the killer statue, you know, the one that all my executed friends and child came from? That’ll be fun and a great way to put the past behind me!

Episode 02 Restless Rewatch is here!

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Game Master Akuma AU by  crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

[flyingblackhawk]

I don’t know if you still take fic requests but I’d love to see your take on Clint and Nat in the vents of the Budapest train station for 2 days.

Two days

Clintasha fic

~

As Barton dropped the hatch of the vent back into place, Natasha caught her breath and checked her weapon. There were shouts somewhere below, and footsteps hammering down the platform. She braced herself against the metal wall behind her and trained her gun on the hatch through which they had just climbed. Her partner was doing the same. Natasha could feel her heartbeat on her tongue. She could still hear the screams from the street above, and the wailing sirens converging on the flaming ruins of Dreykov’s building several blocks away. Not now, she told herself. There was no time to think about it, not yet. Below, the shouts got louder, the footfalls got closer, and she adjusted her grip, preparing herself in case she needed to throw herself through that hatch onto God knows how many men.

The voices and the footsteps passed underneath them. The two of them listened, not moving, not breathing. The men came back, spread out, regrouped and spread out again.

Attention, please, came a tinny announcement. All trains are delayed due to an unexpected emergency. Barton cocked his head at her. His Hungarian was rusty. Natasha mouthed the message at him in English, not sure if there was enough light for him to see. He grimaced, so she figured he got the message.

Down the tunnel, one of the voices called. They’ve gone down the tunnel.

Another voice swore, and then came the crackle of a radio. We’ll get them at the other end. Let’s go.

Then, unbelievably, impossibly, the footsteps receded. Natasha waited, coiled, ready in case this was a trick of some kind. They waited, guns on the hatch, listening to the bustle of people moving up and down the platform.

Natasha wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she exhaled, and relaxed her grip slightly. Barton sank back against the wall of the vent. Neither of them lowered their weapons entirely. Natasha twisted her head slightly to get a glimpse of her partner’s watch. Just gone 5pm.

Attention, please. All trains are delayed due to an unexpected emergency.

People were crowding on the platform. Natasha tensed ever so slightly whenever someone shuffled underneath the hatch, but there were no shouts now, just the voices of disgruntled and confused commuters.

What’s going on? There was an explosion, didn’t you hear? Someone’s on the run, I saw soldiers in the street. They weren’t soldiers, they were cops. No, they were special forces. A whole building came down, did you see it? No, it’s on fire but I don’t think it came down. I don’t know, maybe a gas explosion. I heard gunfire. I think there was a tank. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Normal services resuming from platform B.

It took just under an hour for the trains to empty the platform of people. Natasha finally let herself relax, holstering her weapon. She shifted, stretching her legs, and ever so slowly slid over until she was thigh-to-thigh with her partner.

“Hurt?” Her voice was barely a whisper. There was still a chance that Dreykov’s men or the authorities were somewhere nearby. Hell, even a passerby or a janitor overhearing them could be the end of them.

“Not badly,” he breathed. “You?”

She shook her head. There were various scrapes and bruises she hadn’t even begun to catalogue, but nothing was broken, not as far as she could tell. Footsteps passed underneath them and she froze, feeling Barton do the same beside her. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the fear that someone might hear her stopped her with her lips just parted. A train rattled into the station, opened its doors with a soft hiss, clunked them shut and rumbled away leaving silence behind it. Natasha ducked her head, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Any word from SHIELD?” her partner whispered, after a while. She shook her head. They would get a signal when an extraction was ready, but there was no knowing how long that would take. It all depended on the political situation, or, more accurately, whether SHIELD could manoeuvre around said situation to retrieve their agents before Dreykov’s cronies could tear their hearts out.

They sat side by side in silence for a long time. There was no change in the light coming through the cracks around the vent hatch. The station would be lit all night. The only way to mark time was with Barton’s watch, and by the fifth hour tense anxiety gave way to lightly worried boredom. Her legs were cramped and she was hungry. The thrill of the chase had long since vanished, and now all she wanted was to be in a jet hurtling back towards the States.

Something poked her thigh. She looked down, and found Barton’s hand, offering her something. She took it, and brought it close to her face to see it in the dim light. It was an arrowhead, one of his less explosive ones. She frowned, confused, and gave it back to him. He smiled, and reached over to touch it to the wall of the vent. As Natasha watched, he began to scratch something. Natasha reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Someone might hear,” she whispered. He looked at his watch pointedly. It was almost eleven at night. There were still people now and then, and an occasional train, but the station was largely silent. There was nothing else to do but wait for extraction. She sighed, and let go of him. He carved three vertical lines into the metal, then three horizontal lines to form a grid. He finished by scratching a circle into the top right square, and handed her the arrowhead. Natasha smiled, and scratched a cross. They paused as a train whooshed past, not stopping at the empty platform below them. It took her four moves to beat him, and he made a big show of shaking her hand. She smiled, and he drew them another grid.

Barton gave her his watch and took the first shift sleeping once midnight rolled around. Logically, Natasha knew that they were not likely to be found now, but she couldn’t quite relax enough to sleep just yet. Her partner had no such concerns, and was out like a light despite the cold metal of the vent. She kicked him whenever he breathed too loudly, but aside from that she just waited, marking time on his watch until it was 4 in the morning. She shook his shoulder, and he slid over and sat up, making room for her to lie down. She slept fitfully, and once the morning rush took over on the platform below her, she could no longer sleep. She opted to lie with her eye to the crack in the hatchway, watching as unsuspecting people passed under her. The scent of coffee and pastries was almost enough to tempt her out. Almost. As if he had read her mind, Barton reached into a pocket and produced a battered protein bar. She snapped it in half and they shared a miserable communion.

They played another few rounds of noughts and crosses. She slept again once the station quietened down, this time sitting up with her head on her partner’s shoulder. She didn't think too deeply about it - they were still very much in mission mode, boring as it might be for the time being. Barton woke her after a couple of hours, in the early afternoon. They made a game of stretching, trying to get out of each other’s way as they did. The early evening found her practising what basic ASL she had picked up. This proved much more engaging than noughts and crosses, and by the time twenty-four hours had passed, she had mastered the alphabet and could sign several rude words. It helped distract the both of them from the hunger, thirst and other bodily functions they couldn’t deal with in a train station vent.

It was his turn to sleep, and he managed - somehow, she wasn’t sure how - to get a few hours’ rest during the evening rush. Announcements rang out on the crackling speakers, trains groaned in and out of the station, hundreds of people went about their lives, and Barton slept right through it. She watched him, in awe of his ability to ignore the noise until she realised he had probably just turned his hearing aids down.

The dawn of the second day found them irritable, sore, starving and ready to drop out of the vents and just make a run for it. There had been no word from SHIELD, despite both of them checking that their various comms devices were still operational. Natasha practiced her ASL swearing and Barton augmented her vocabulary for a while.

“Two days,” she whispered, sometime around midday. “Maybe something’s gone wrong.”

“They’ll come,” he told her, quietly, simply. She hated him for it for an hour or so, until he carved a game of hangman into the wall and she got sucked into the game. He was good at taking her mind off things, she was starting to realise. It wasn’t something anyone had ever done for her before.

Night approached with all the speed of a glacier, but finally, just as Natasha opened her mouth to guess the word for their current round of hangman, Barton’s watch beeped twice. In one fluid motion, she pulled the hatch open and they dropped down onto the platform. There was no one there to see them, which Natasha assumed was part of the plan. She didn’t like flying blind, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She and her partner streaked up the escalator onto the dark streets of Budapest. A black SUV rolled up and Barton’s watch chirped once. The door opened and they threw themselves inside.

“Butterfly,” she said, once she’d caught her breath, revelling in the sound of her voice at normal volume after two days of quiet whispers.

“You win,” he grinned, and despite herself, Natasha smiled.

[gintrinsic-writing]

LU + Courage the Cowardly Dog

Starring Wolfie and Courage! The crossover nobody asked for but I was delighted to write. This is Part 1 of 2~

-

Twilight stepped into the portal, anticipating the cool, flickering miasma as it engulfed him.

Wolfie stepped out. 

The cloudless sky offered dim starlight, as though smog clung to the air. The moon was nowhere to be seen. In every direction, the horizon stretched under flat, arid desert like a smile pulled too wide. Only the occasional tumbleweed and scraggly shrub offered any variation along the dry, cracked sand.

Wolfie spun around in a circle, nose held high as he sniffed for his companions. But the weak breeze carried only notes of small lizards and sandstone.

He howled, low and short, then listened for voices, ears swiveling alertly. Cicadas answered his call. Frustrated, Wolfie chuffed and put his nose to the ground, but he couldn't even detect the bitter tang that usually accompanied a recent portal. It was like he had just... been dumped here. Where was he? Was this Hyrule's land? Or Legend's? The desolate environment certainly fit their homeworlds. 

The portals--they still don't really understand them. Not their origin, nor their real purpose. Wolfie supposed it was only a matter of time until something like this happened. It was weird, though, to be so isolated in an unfamiliar world. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember making the active decision to transform into Wolfie... 

Had the portal truly forced him? 

Sighing, he closed his eyes and focused on shifting back to Twilight. His mind centered, pooling around the Shadow Crystal, then-- 

Pain, and a coldness so severe he felt stiff, corpse-like. His body stayed as Wolfie. 

He was stuck.

Deeply unnerved, Wolfie shook his whole body as though he could fling the coldness from him like water. It helped a little. He looked up, trying to find a constellation he was familiar with, something to guide him through this mess, but none of the stars were recognizable. In fact, they were all bland pinpricks of light, dull and indistinguishable, with equidistance between them. Something was wrong with this place. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Were the others even here? Were they separated as well? Not knowing what else to do, Wolfie threw his head back and howled again, carrying the note as long as he could. It was a hollow sound, flat and without echo; when it trailed off, he tensed, hoping and hoping. 

This time, something howled back. And Wolfie knew he had made a mistake.

The noise seemed to come from all around him, emanating from the cracks in the ground. Sand shifted, and shadows that should not exist suddenly spilled from the dried crevices like scars that had begun to bleed. 

Wolfie jumped back, but the shadows reached from him. The next limpid breeze carried with it a susurration that grew louder with every second, multiple voices that soon bellowed as one until Wolfie heard his own howl thrown back at him--a garbled, distorted mimicry that Wolfie knew, intuitively, was as hungry as it was mocking. 

He turned and ran, feeling the oppressive shadows at his back, licking at his paws. The desert lay otherwise still around him, indifferent to his fear.

After a couple minutes, his muscles began to burn, and only adrenaline allowed Wolfie to keep sprinting. He could see the shadows coalescing in his periphery, could tell they were growing larger and swifter even as he began to tire. 

If this was the Twilight Realm, then it was a version his Hyrule had been spared. 

He felt trapped in a vacuum, running without gaining distance. His panting was loud in his ears, and his heart beat heavily in his chest. The shadows reached for him, grasping with too many fingers, and Wolfie put on a burst of speed he wasn't sure he had the energy to repeat. 

Suddenly, the horizon changed. There was no transition, no subtle reveal. One moment, there was desert. And the next, as though born from a mirage, there were two buildings; one large and square-shaped, the other long with a row of doors. Nearby, flickering with artificial light, there was a sign. The alphabet was unfamiliar, and yet somehow, impossibly, Wolfie could read it. "KATZ MOTEL. No vacancy."

The shadows' whispering grew with fervor--a predator recognizing the potential loss of prey. The sand groaned as it shifted, new cracks forming under the weight of the coagulating darkness. 

Wolfie ran for all he was worth. The door to the larger building seemed to glow with a sickly yellow light, and he aimed for it desperately. Time seemed to slow down, each second growing heavy with the malicious desire of the darkness behind him, pulling and pulling and pulling at him to join the dust crunching underfoot. The unknown lay behind that door, but death nipped at his heels. 

With a scared, guttural growl, Wolfie bodily threw himself at the door. The cheap latch snapped under the force of his weight, and he frantically spun around, claws scraping and sliding on old, rotting hardwood, to shove the door closed again. 

Outside, the darkness howled one last time. Then silence, like some pernicious default, reigned once more.

Wolfie didn't move for several minutes, panting as he pushed his weight against the busted door. The front wall had a single window, and the light that filtered in from that strange sign flickered erratically. He was afraid to stare out the glass, knowing that something might stare back, but he forced himself to look. Nothing but flat desert landscape could be seen. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Wolfie finally glanced around the room he was in. It was sparsely decorated and poorly maintained. Dust clung to every surface, and some of the floorboards were irreparably warped and stained. Ignoring the small sign that read "No Dogs Allowed," he put his paws on the counter top and saw a single bell, a few keys, and a glossy magazine showcasing various spiders. His eyes lingered longest on the keys, but he didn't have a way to carry all of them conveniently. Especially not if he had to fight or run again. 

Finally, he turned his attention to the only other things in the room--a thick door built into the back wall. A padlock was attached to the knob, but none of the small keys on the counter looked like they would fit it. 

Curious, Wolfie put his nose against the very narrow gap between the door and sniffed. 

Blood. Decay. A rancid, metallic stench. 

He drew back with a snort, shaking his head. The odor clung to his nose. He swore he could almost taste it. On the other side of the door, there was a light scratch. Wolfie firmly decided he didn't want to investigate.

He returned to the front of the room, curiosity warring with trepidation. He really hoped the  others were having better luck that he was, wherever they were. Nothing looked or smelled right. Was this even Hyrule? 

He thought about trying to switch back into Twilight again, then dismissed the idea; that coldness lingered in his bones, a warning. Tail low, Wolfie returned to the window, tilting his head one way then the other as he listened for... anything. Besides the occasional cicada and the low, unnatural hum coming from the sign, there was nothing. Even the breeze was gone. He studied the other building, straining to make out any details through the haze, when he saw a flash of movement by the farthest door. 

Before Wolfie could make out any details, there was a loud, pitiful, "Aaaahhhh!"

Wolfie didn't let himself think about it; he shouldered open the busted door and raced outside, drawn toward that fearful scream. The desert sand was warm underneath his paws, blessedly lacking in unnatural shadows. Within seconds, he reached the other building, and the haze cleared as though demanding witness to a piece of horror. 

A small, purple dog was tied to a post. He chewed frantically at the rope with yellow, rotting teeth, whining and moaning as the rope held. At the other end of the porch, speeding toward the dog with deadly intent, was a spider the size of Wolfie's head. 

"Oh no, oh nooo," the dog cried.

[weil-weil-lautre]

By Jonathan Franzen September 8, 2019

“There is infinite hope,” Kafka tells us, “only not for us.” This is a fittingly mystical epigram from a writer whose characters strive for ostensibly reachable goals and, tragically or amusingly, never manage to get any closer to them. But it seems to me, in our rapidly darkening world, that the converse of Kafka’s quip is equally true: There is no hope, except for us.

I’m talking, of course, about climate change. The struggle to rein in global carbon emissions and keep the planet from melting down has the feel of Kafka’s fiction. The goal has been clear for thirty years, and despite earnest efforts we’ve made essentially no progress toward reaching it. Today, the scientific evidence verges on irrefutable. If you’re younger than sixty, you have a good chance of witnessing the radical destabilization of life on earth—massive crop failures, apocalyptic fires, imploding economies, epic flooding, hundreds of millions of refugees fleeing regions made uninhabitable by extreme heat or permanent drought. If you’re under thirty, you’re all but guaranteed to witness it.

If you care about the planet, and about the people and animals who live on it, there are two ways to think about this. You can keep on hoping that catastrophe is preventable, and feel ever more frustrated or enraged by the world’s inaction. Or you can accept that disaster is coming, and begin to rethink what it means to have hope.

Even at this late date, expressions of unrealistic hope continue to abound. Hardly a day seems to pass without my reading that it’s time to “roll up our sleeves” and “save the planet”; that the problem of climate change can be “solved” if we summon the collective will. Although this message was probably still true in 1988, when the science became fully clear, we’ve emitted as much atmospheric carbon in the past thirty years as we did in the previous two centuries of industrialization. The facts have changed, but somehow the message stays the same.

Psychologically, this denial makes sense. Despite the outrageous fact that I’ll soon be dead forever, I live in the present, not the future. Given a choice between an alarming abstraction (death) and the reassuring evidence of my senses (breakfast!), my mind prefers to focus on the latter. The planet, too, is still marvelously intact, still basically normal—seasons changing, another election year coming, new comedies on Netflix—and its impending collapse is even harder to wrap my mind around than death. Other kinds of apocalypse, whether religious or thermonuclear or asteroidal, at least have the binary neatness of dying: one moment the world is there, the next moment it’s gone forever. Climate apocalypse, by contrast, is messy. It will take the form of increasingly severe crises compounding chaotically until civilization begins to fray. Things will get very bad, but maybe not too soon, and maybe not for everyone. Maybe not for me.

Some of the denial, however, is more willful. The evil of the Republican Party’s position on climate science is well known, but denial is entrenched in progressive politics, too, or at least in its rhetoric. The Green New Deal, the blueprint for some of the most substantial proposals put forth on the issue, is still framed as our last chance to avert catastrophe and save the planet, by way of gargantuan renewable-energy projects. Many of the groups that support those proposals deploy the language of “stopping” climate change, or imply that there’s still time to prevent it. Unlike the political right, the left prides itself on listening to climate scientists, who do indeed allow that catastrophe is theoretically avertable. But not everyone seems to be listening carefully. The stress falls on the word theoretically.

Our atmosphere and oceans can absorb only so much heat before climate change, intensified by various feedback loops, spins completely out of control. Some scientists and policymakers fear that we’re in danger of passing this point of no return if the global mean temperature rises by more than two degrees Celsius (maybe more, but also maybe less). The I.P.C.C.—the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change—tells us that, to limit the rise to less than two degrees, we not only need to reverse the trend of the past three decades. We need to approach zero net emissions, globally, in the next three decades.

This is, to say the least, a tall order. It also assumes that you trust the I.P.C.C.’s calculations. New research, described last month in Scientific American, demonstrates that climate scientists, far from exaggerating the threat of climate change, have underestimated its pace and severity. To project the rise in the global mean temperature, scientists rely on complicated atmospheric modelling. They take a host of variables and run them through supercomputers to generate, say, ten thousand different simulations for the coming century, in order to make a “best” prediction of the rise in temperature. When a scientist predicts a rise of two degrees Celsius, she’s merely naming a number about which she’s very confident: the rise will be at least two degrees. The rise might, in fact, be far higher.

As a non-scientist, I do my own kind of modelling. I run various future scenarios through my brain, apply the constraints of human psychology and political reality, take note of the relentless rise in global energy consumption (thus far, the carbon savings provided by renewable energy have been more than offset by consumer demand), and count the scenarios in which collective action averts catastrophe. The scenarios, which I draw from the prescriptions of policymakers and activists, share certain necessary conditions.

The first condition is that every one of the world’s major polluting countries institute draconian conservation measures, shut down much of its energy and transportation infrastructure, and completely retool its economy. According to a recent paper in Nature, the carbon emissions from existing global infrastructure, if operated through its normal lifetime, will exceed our entire emissions “allowance”—the further gigatons of carbon that can be released without crossing the threshold of catastrophe. (This estimate does not include the thousands of new energy and transportation projects already planned or under construction.) To stay within that allowance, a top-down intervention needs to happen not only in every country but throughout every country. Making New York City a green utopia will not avail if Texans keep pumping oil and driving pickup trucks.

The actions taken by these countries must also be the right ones. Vast sums of government money must be spent without wasting it and without lining the wrong pockets. Here it’s useful to recall the Kafkaesque joke of the European Union’s biofuel mandate, which served to accelerate the deforestation of Indonesia for palm-oil plantations, and the American subsidy of ethanol fuel, which turned out to benefit no one but corn farmers.

Finally, overwhelming numbers of human beings, including millions of government-hating Americans, need to accept high taxes and severe curtailment of their familiar life styles without revolting. They must accept the reality of climate change and have faith in the extreme measures taken to combat it. They can’t dismiss news they dislike as fake. They have to set aside nationalism and class and racial resentments. They have to make sacrifices for distant threatened nations and distant future generations. They have to be permanently terrified by hotter summers and more frequent natural disasters, rather than just getting used to them. Every day, instead of thinking about breakfast, they have to think about death.

Call me a pessimist or call me a humanist, but I don’t see human nature fundamentally changing anytime soon. I can run ten thousand scenarios through my model, and in not one of them do I see the two-degree target being met.

To judge from recent opinion polls, which show that a majority of Americans (many of them Republican) are pessimistic about the planet’s future, and from the success of a book like David Wallace-Wells’s harrowing “The Uninhabitable Earth,” which was released this year, I’m not alone in having reached this conclusion. But there continues to be a reluctance to broadcast it. Some climate activists argue that if we publicly admit that the problem can’t be solved, it will discourage people from taking any ameliorative action at all. This seems to me not only a patronizing calculation but an ineffectual one, given how little progress we have to show for it to date. The activists who make it remind me of the religious leaders who fear that, without the promise of eternal salvation, people won’t bother to behave well. In my experience, nonbelievers are no less loving of their neighbors than believers. And so I wonder what might happen if, instead of denying reality, we told ourselves the truth.

First of all, even if we can no longer hope to be saved from two degrees of warming, there’s still a strong practical and ethical case for reducing carbon emissions. In the long run, it probably makes no difference how badly we overshoot two degrees; once the point of no return is passed, the world will become self-transforming. In the shorter term, however, half measures are better than no measures. Halfway cutting our emissions would make the immediate effects of warming somewhat less severe, and it would somewhat postpone the point of no return. The most terrifying thing about climate change is the speed at which it’s advancing, the almost monthly shattering of temperature records. If collective action resulted in just one fewer devastating hurricane, just a few extra years of relative stability, it would be a goal worth pursuing.

[faulty-writes]

Hey you awesome humanoid you... Can I request a Shoto x reader, where the USJ incident happens and the reader, having a better understanding of her quirk and able to use it quite well due to her family ties with some Pro hero she helps Aizawa fight, and when Shoto finds out and sees her getting injured while trying to protect Aizawa he gets really emotional and decides to confess his feelings when he visits at the hospital. Thank you! 💖

[ Just so you know. I somewhat forgot about the details of the USJ incident and I’m too lazy to rewatch the episode so everything I know about it is coming straight from my memory with some added thoughts of my own. ] 

You hadn’t imagined this happening, it was supposed to be a simple training exercise. When that dark vortex appeared, it was almost as if the warmth inside the USJ disappeared. Replaced by a cold chill as those villains walked in. You were more than certain your fellow students had thought the same thing as you. That this was simply part of the training exercise, but Aizawa quickly told you otherwise.

It was almost memorizing to see how Aizawa fought, proving without a doubt that he was a true Pro Hero. However, you along with your fellow classmates couldn’t just standby and watch as your teacher fought to protect you. After all, you were heroes in training and your teacher was trying to take on the various villains by himself. However, as soon as you made the decision to jump in, you and your classmates were all scattered to various training areas of the USJ. You had landed in the water along with Tsuyu, Midoriya, and Mineta.

Tsuyu seemed to have the most level head while Mineta was freaking out and Midoriya was...being Midoriya. Mumbling to himself as he tried to think of a solution. However, your eyes were more focused on the land which you could see clearly from your position on the boat. Tsuyu had decided it was safer than being in the water, but it also made you sitting ducks. “Guys, I think we need to go back to Aizawa,” you explained before looking down at your hands, you had a strong quirk. Given you came from a long line of Pro Heroes and most of them helped you train when you had decided to enter U.A. so it was no doubt that you had enough confidence to take on the villains.

You stepped onto the railing of the boat before feeling someone grab your wrist, “Hm?” you turned, looking down at Mineta who seemed to be having a panic attack. “D-Don’t go! Y/n! You’re gonna get creamed by those villains!” you narrowed your eyes at him, “Aizawa is getting creamed right now and if we don’t help, it might mean the end of our teacher.” you explained and looked to Tsuyu and Midoriya. “Ribbit, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Y/n. Aizawa told us to stay out of it.” you couldn’t help the soft growl that came from your throat.

“Sorry, but I don’t follow rules that well. Feel free to join me, if you dare.” you looked at your fellow classmates before smirking and jumping off the side. The villains who still floated in the water were taken care of thanks to Mineta’s quirk and you were quick to avoid his ‘sticky balls’ as he liked to call them and climbed onto the shore. “Mr.Aizawa!” you called, quickly catching the attention of the villains that surrounded him. One of them even chuckled, “Oh, a little student coming to help Eraser, how sad.” you growled and snapped your fingers, a wave of what appeared to be energy came and knocked them back.

You watched in satisfaction as the rest of the villains gasped, clearly surprised at how well you could control your quirk. Aizawa however was glaring at you, his hair still up and his hand clenching his injured elbow. “Y/n.” he growled and you frowned, “Don’t tell me not to help,” you responded before a villain charged at you, their scream filling the air as they swung their fist at you. But you were quick enough to dodge and much like the last villain, you sent them flying. In the distance, you could see ice forming on the ground and could only assume it was from Todoroki.

You knew from experience he was one of the more powerful quirk users in your class, though he was quiet. When he did speak, his words were honest and true. You knew he was the son of the number two hero Endeavor, but you never held that against him. Todoroki was a mystery to most people, though he had feelings for you. Of course, you had failed to notice this. But you could feel his stare on you during class and training, you tried to push it off as nothing. Just believing it was your imagination.

“Hey, hey now Eraser. I thought you’d do better than to make a child fight in your place.” a scratchy voice sounded and you turned your head, your eyes widening when you saw him. He appeared to be the leader of this attack, dressed from head to toe in black. Apart from his shoes which were red in color. He had silver shoulder-length hair but the thing that made a shiver run down your spine was the fact that he had several hands on his person. Including one that hid his face.

Either way, you swallowed down your fear and spoke, “A hero always helps someone who is injured!” you snapped before charging at him, however, he chuckled at your heroic attempt and snapped his fingers. You stumbled over your own feet as a horrid screech filled the air, you winced and covered your ears which you swore were bleeding by the time the noise ended. “Heh, you like my Nomu?” the villain questioned and your eyes widened when you saw the monstrosity next to him.

It was some kind of strange creature, bulky and intimidating and it looked like its brain was exposed. It had sharp jagged teeth and a strange-looking muzzle. You swallowed, staring at it in awe. “W-What the hell is that thing!?” you questioned before it let out another shriek and you once more covered your ears. A loud ringing sounded before you dropped your hands and got into a fighting stance. You didn’t know what this creature was but damned if you’d let it do any more harm.

Nomu stretched its arms out before charging and for a moment, you believed it was going after you. Yet, it jumped clear over you causing you to turn on your feet. “What the hell!?” you snapped before realizing what it was doing. “Eraserhead!” you screamed before using your quirk to propel yourself forward, Aizawa’s eyes went wide and though he was in no condition to fight. He was more than determined to try, as any Pro Hero would.

But you couldn’t let that happen and before you registered your own actions, you had pushed your teacher out of the way. You heard him hit the ground before Nomu’s large hand wrapped around your waist. You gasped and immediately latched onto the creature’s hand, kicking your legs in an attempt to get free. Your quirk surrounded you, but it didn’t seem to affect Nomu and you felt its grip tighten around you. Your jaw clenched and you narrowed your eyes on the creature, angry that you couldn’t break free.

“Y/n!” you heard someone call and turned your head, hearing the cracking of ice before the creature gave another cry. A small dribble of blood seeped down from your ears, but you ignored it and looked down to see its feet had been frozen to the ground, you didn’t need to say who was responsible for that. Todoroki stood a few feet from the creature, his arm covered in a thin layer of ice and his eyes looked menacing. “Put her down.” he threatened with a hiss, damned if he’d let the person he loved get hurt.  

Nomu didn’t seem to take well to the command and you hissed softly as you felt its nails dig into your skin, though not enough to pierce through. Its head was turned to face Todoroki and for a moment, you thought that the creature would actually listen. But you were proved wrong when it let out another cry and lifted one leg, easily breaking Todoroki’s ice. The boy’s eyes widened as he watched the ice shards scatter, “What the?!” before he could say anything more, you let out a scream as Nomu brought you to its mouth. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw those sharp teeth and you let out a scream as they sunk into your shoulder, immediately piercing the skin and your warm blood began to soak through your shirt.

You hardly had time to react before Nomu suddenly retracted its teeth, causing you to cry out yet again. “Stop!” Todoroki’s shout came, his palm facing out as he shot ice at the Nomu’s arm. Watching as it crept over its skin but Nomu seemed to protest and before you could register or predict its actions. You found yourself being lifted into the air. Your nails dug into the creature's wrist and you looked at Todoroki before the world blurred around you. The Nomu threw you with such force, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. “Y/N!” you heard Todoroki call, but there was very little he could do at the moment.

You assumed that you were thrown back in the direction of the water as you saw a blurred pink object try and catch you. Tsuyu must have tried using her tongue, but at the speed, you were going. It was easy to miss, you screamed out when you felt the impact of the water. Pain shot down your spine causing precious air bubbles to escape as any further noises were quickly silenced by the gentle hum of the water. Though your shoulder was still bleeding, which caused the water to turn dark around you. Your hand reached out, you could still see the sun shining on the surface. But there was no way you could swim up to it, not in your condition and lack of air made your lungs begin to burn.

You pressed your lips together, feeling how they quivered as your vision grew dark. “Todoroki…” was the final word you spoke, the last of your air bubbles floating in front of you before everything turned black. Of course, the fight outside the water still continued. The fellow Pro Heroes showed up, effectively stopping Shigaraki’s attack. But Todoroki wasn’t satisfied, despite Class 1-A having been instructed to return to the entrance. He had made the choice to try and go after you, only to be stopped by Cementoss. “You don’t understand! Y/n! They fell into the water, they’re injured! I have to save them before-” he had tried to run only to be blocked by another cement wall.

“We’ll take care of it. Return to the entrance with your classmates.” Cementoss instructed and Todoroki clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “You’re just going to give me instructions like that!? I don’t see any of you going after her!” he snapped, though the Pro Hero seemed rather unphased by Todoroki’s anger. In fact, his eyes were more focused on Denki as he came running toward them. Laying his hand on Todoroki’s shoulder, “Hey, come on man. They said to-” Todoroki growled and shrugged Denki’s hand off, causing the blond to grow confused. Though that wasn’t a hard task, “Don’t touch me.” Todoroki hissed as he brushed past Denki. “Gees what’s up with him?” the still confused boy questioned if only he knew how Todoroki was feeling at the moment.

He had tried to save you, but he failed, or rather, he was being told to back off by the fellow Pro Heroes. What the hell did they even know? This was ridiculous, a deep growl escaped him. Was this his fault? He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing. His chest felt heavy and his heart sank. He had never felt this way before. Not about anything or anyone. Before he had entered U.A. he had a clear goal, to become a hero. Though unlike the kind of hero his father wanted him to be. Yet, when you came into his life. When he set his eyes upon you, something in him switched.

His life slowly became about you, thoughts of you, dreams he wanted to share with you, and possibly even a future. But now, he was forced to leave your life in the hands of Pro Heroes who weren’t acting quick enough. Even if they got to you on time, it was highly likely that you would be sent to the hospital and if you were. Then Todoroki had decided, he would finally tell you how he felt. He needed to, else it would drive him mad and continue to distract him. Maybe it was selfish, putting his own needs ahead of yours. Especially when you were injured, but part of him didn’t care and part of him was afraid of what you’d say.

The days that passed seemed sluggish and an awkward tension was in the air. U.A. itself seemed to be on thin ice and there were talks about students getting transferred to a safer, more kept hero school. Todoroki however, didn’t pay much attention to the rumors or anything for that matter. The only thing he cared about was you and though he had visited the hospital the day after the incident, he was turned away because the doctors claimed you weren’t in a stable enough condition to see anyone. It angered him some, but at least it gave him time to think of how he could possibly go about telling you how he felt.

He could just blurt it out, but that wasn’t like him. He was honest and whenever he did happen to speak, it was always with purpose. He didn’t like wasting his words. He debated inside his head for the next few days, eventually settling on the idea that whatever happens happens. Still, he couldn’t help but nervously twiddle his thumbs as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. One of the nurses was going to instruct him when he could see you, apparently, you were getting a check-up at the moment. He sat there with his head hanging low. Just replaying the moment that damned Nomu sank its teeth into your shoulder. He should have done more, yet at the same time, he knew it wasn’t worth worrying over.

The past was the past, what was done was done. He couldn’t change it, but hopefully what he was about to do would make it better. “Todoroki.” he heard his name and snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head to look at the nurse. “You can visit your friend now, but remember she’s still recovering. So no excitement.” Todoroki rose to his feet, nodding. The nurse smiled before motioning him to follow which he did without hesitation. It seemed rather quiet in the hallway, apart from the few doctors and patients that were being rolled to God knows where. He stopped short when the nurse came to a door at the end of the hallway. “Here we are.” they said, “Remember the rules.” Todoroki nodded once more, “I will, thank you very much.” he said before bowing which for some odd reason caused the nurse to giggle before they walked away.

Todoroki leaned back up and looked at the door, a certain warmth filling his chest and he felt his stomach twist with what could only be described as butterflies. He took a deep breath, hoping to settle down his nerves before he gently knocked on the door. “Y/n! It’s Shoto Todoroki,” he said, though it might be awkward to announce yourself like that. He was raised with manners, much to the amazement of being Endeavor’s son. He paused a moment before sliding the door open. His eyes settled on you, though you looked fine for the most part. A few bandages were scattered on your face and neck. But he could see even with the hospital gown that your shoulder was wrapped up and he assumed you had gotten stitches.

“Todoroki,” you said with a smile, though you were a little surprised to see him of all people. You didn’t think he would be that concerned about you, but he was the only one that saw what happened. So maybe he just wanted to make sure you were okay. “Hello,” he said before walking over and pulling up a chair, you hissed at the sound the metal legs made as they scraped across the floor. Somehow it reminded you too much of the noise Nomu made, why did it shriek so damn much? You just hoped you wouldn’t run into it again anytime soon. When Todoroki finally settled down in the chair, he looked at you. Somehow those eyes always made you feel strange yet there was an odd warmth to them.

“How are you?” he questioned and you couldn’t help but chuckle, before reaching up to brush a piece of your hair back. “A bit sore, I can’t use my shoulder for about two or so weeks. At least that’s what the doctor said but um,” you paused and latched onto your bottom lip. “I was actually hoping to see you, I mean I didn’t think you’d come here. But, I just wanted to say thank you. For saving me, you were pretty brave to face up to that thing. Hell, you even yelled at it.” it was kind of funny to think about now. But Todoroki didn’t seem to be smiling, in fact, he looked as serious as ever. “I have something to tell you as well.” he replied, “Huh?” you looked at him with a confused expression. “What do you mean?” you questioned, what could he possibly have to tell you?

You watched him shift in his seat, his eyebrows cross and his hands looked to be clenching one another. You wondered if he was alright or if this was bad news. It was strange to see him like this, more so uncharacteristic. “Are you alright?” you questioned and Todoroki nodded in response. “Y/n I…” he trailed off and that’s when you noticed the slight quiver of his lip. However, you failed to take into account the way his eyes traced your face, settling on your mouth. “I…” he tried again before letting out a frustrated growl and rose from his seat. The action causing the chair to tumble back and hit the floor with a loud bang. You jumped in your bed. “Todoroki!” you snapped, perhaps you were a bit on end because of what you had been through. But somehow every loud noise you heard began to scare you, maybe it was an aftereffect of Nomu's screeching. You weren’t sure and you weren’t about to admit you were afraid of loud noises.

However, Todoroki seemed unphased and simply leaned down, his hands reaching to gently grab your face and tilt it up. He leaned close and you could feel his nose press against yours and the heat of his breath. “Todoroki…” you whispered before feeling the ghost touch of his lips against yours. “Forgive me, I don’t know any other way to express myself but directly.” you were about to ask what he meant when his lips pressed against yours in a selfish kiss. Your eyes widened, Todoroki was kissing you? Your hands remained by your sides, simply too shocked to move. The kiss lasted only a few moments, but the ticking of the clock made it seem otherwise. 

You took a shaky breath when Todoroki finally pulled away and you noticed that soft flush across his face. “Todoro-” he interrupted you as he stumbled back, “I…I apologize.” he stuttered out before turning on his feet, quickly exiting the room. “W-Wait!” you called out, your hand extended out to him but he was already gone. You heard his frantic steps running down the hallway. You blinked and lowered your hand, what was that about? You looked down at your lap before pulling your legs up and wrapping your arms around them. “Mm…” you could feel the heat continue to radiate from your cheeks and the fact that your heart was racing inside your chest left very little explanation.

After all of this, did Todoroki have feelings for you or was he feeling guilty over what had happened? Frankly, you were left confused by the sudden kiss and run. “How am I going to face him in school now?” though part of you wanted answers, you knew you couldn’t go anywhere without the doctor’s okay. Yet, you knew once you were healed. You’d go straight to Todoroki and demand an answer.

[rigelmejo]

7/16/2021 - other stuff:

I started translating the simplified print version of Guardian that has additional scenes! I am not sharing it yet, but may in the future at some point. (Notes for future reference: taking a picture in good light with the page flat, depending on if needed upping contrast so its darker/lighter in photos, then opening in OCR in Pleco works pretty well at converting the text to digital so I can make notes and edit and look up words more easily. Also so far 1 page takes 1 hour to translate roughly so keep that in mind ToT).

I am yet again tempted to to a full on Listening Reading Method ‘test run.’ By that I mean: picking a novel, (step 1) reading in english, (step 2) reading in chinese with chinese audio (repeating as needed), (step 3) reading in english with chinese audio (repeating as needed), (step 4) listening to audio only. Yes I’m still debating if I’d do step 3, then step 2 - since I tend to flip which I do first depending on the day. Also debating if I ‘prep’ first by listening only (I could call it step 0). Also still debating if I’d do instead: step 0 listen only, step 1, step 2, step 3, ~step 2 again~, step 4 listen only. Basically I did tiny tests with The Little Prince, and I’ve done 20 chapters of Guardian so far (which did help) but Guardian is so long I end up varying how I do it each day into whatever way gets me TO do it and Guardian is so long it will be months until I know what ‘completing a book’ is like for the process. The original forum creator of L-R Method would do like 3-6 hour books or like 10 hour books. Guardian is... much longer. Also, if I pick a book both harder than The Little Prince (so there’s more vocab to learn) and easier than Guardian (so I can get to a natural listening stage faster) I wonder how much progress I’d make. Right now books I am considering for a ‘test method’ run are: Harry Potter 1 (simply because someone made parallel text with audiobook videos already so it is super convenient to do L-R Method, also the book has  2600 unique characters and 7700 unique words so I would likely reinforce my hanzi knowledge and learn maybe a couple hundred more, and likely increase my vocabulary by several hundred to a couple thousand depending on how much I focus, I’m fairly sure I can blow through it quickly the only limiting factor is like The Little Prince I am not sure if the reading level is low enough that I may not pick up significant amounts of new words compared to how many I pick up from Guardian - https://youtu.be/NLu0JW6VtGM). Sherlock Holmes - The Hound of Baskervilles (the book is 7.5 hours so not nearly as long as Guardian, I could probably L-R Method it in 2 weeks, the novel is written for adults and a mystery genre so genre-words I may find more useful to me while also probably having a bigger vocabulary than The Little Prince,  P74 巴斯克维尔的猎犬 01 audiobook - https://youtu.be/hDKfUjienKA, full playlist of the sherlock audiobooks - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1QFMgv0n_Y&list=PLVyDH2ns1F757P-m8MHckuIFqWapl6y-1, and bilinguis.com has a parallel text which I am checking if it matches the audiobook - http://bilinguis.com/book/baskerville/zh/en/c1/). Bonus, just one day I’d love to test it with Alice in Wonderland in French since bilinguis.com has an audiobook and parallel text - http://bilinguis.com/book/alice/fr/en/c3/. Or Le Francais Par Le Methode Nature, since that also now has audio and text and one day I’d like to finish reading it - https://youtu.be/0uS5WSeH8iM.

Fun fact: I am listening to P74 巴斯克维尔的猎犬 01 (by  知识改变命运 ) in the background right now and the first thing I hear is “qinai watson” my dear watson ok. ok sherlock i see you. ToT. Aside from that I just keep hearing random words I know. If you plan to listen to a chinese sherlock audiobook though - I do recommend this playlist. I’ve found a few sherlock audiobooks and for some the audio is very rough like it was recorded from the radio, whereas this one is fairly clear and the reader speaks very clearly, and has a rhythm to sentences (which for me personally helps me listen easier and parse out words). So if you know some words they are much easier to hear, and if you are looking at the parallel text I linked on bilinguis it is quite easy to follow along. 

I really want to get into the habit of some extensive reading with audiobooks (as in reading while listening) just because it speeds up my reading, and I pick up some words in reading while practicing listening. Its also somewhat doable, whereas just listening I may often get lost unless I know the material well. Last night I read chapter 1 of MoDu while playing the audiobook and following along - obviously I did not read as in depth as if I’d have done L-R Method and looked up all unknown words with pop-up english. But combined listening comprehension and reading comprehension I understood ENOUGH to follow the plot and keep reading, at a faster pace than if I only was extensively reading and at a much better comprehension than if I only listen. (My listening comprehension is a bit better if I’ve read the text beforehand, but that’s sort of artificial since i prepped by reading the text beforehand). Yes, I learn new hanzi better with slower extended reading where I have time to really slow down and look at the new hanzi a lot. But I’d like to aim for quantity of materials read for a while? I’d if simply reading more will help, but a lot of the general advice seems to be the more extensive reading you do where you can follow the main points the more you will improve. And hey, maybe that applies to simply ‘listening a lot more’ too?

A lot of articles I’ve found recently emphasize repeated listening, and I want to try to include that more in how I study. While I might not do it as intensively as some articles suggest, I can definitely continue to do it in Clozemaster and continue playing audiobooks of chapters I’ve read already (so I can follow the audio ok) in my downtime. A LOT of my chinese study lately has not been active, its been mostly just ‘playing audio in the background.’ So since I’m not studying actively much, I might as well try to get in more listening.

I checked out the cdrama Forward Forever recently and opinions: if you understand basic chinese JUST watch it in chinese because wow are the english subs a hot mess ToT. I tried watching with subs and there were so many clear ‘wrong’ portions I just had to turn them off, they were made from google translate though so I’m not super surprised (but Xin Xiao Shi Yi Lang has much more decent auto-generated subs so ToT). I’m not sure if I’ll watch more or not, but I can definitely tell it was adapted from a BL source material with the way the main two guys are immediately set up as characters and then meet. I also want to check out Secret of the Three Kingdoms but I’ve seen like 3 minutes and I already am pretty aware I’ll probably like the show so much that I’ll want to put the english subs on for clarity. Secret of the Three Kingdoms feels Very well made.

If I was gonna try to summarize what my study plan has been this month:  - Listen-Reading Method Guardian (its going fine), with some experiments on the structure of the activity - translate some of Guardian (not really study as I’m pretty familiar w the chapters so just rereading things, mainly its translating practice) - Doing a few random things in japanese: read Guardian in japanese, play japanese video games a little bit, watch japanese-teaching video game example vids a bit (basically more tiny bits of japanese I’d add up to idk under 6 hours? just me glancing at things) - Reading this japanese grammar guide (I’m 1/3 through) - https://sakubi.neocities.org/ - Listen to various chinese audiobooks, with and without text. - Read various chinese chapters, with and without audio. - Listen/Read a bit of French, in Gigafrench (i truly mean a bit like a couple hours), Dracula (just listening) - some Clozemaster japanese, and a tiny bit of Clozemaster chinese (mainly to pick up stuff in japanese, and practice shadowing in both) So - some random chinese stuff reading/listening/L-R Method, some japanese exposure/grammar guide/clozemaster, a tiny bit of French (mainly listening practice). 

[writing-fool]

mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

R.

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack. 

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack. 

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door. 

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face. 

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases. 

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again. 

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings. 

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected. 

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that. 

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up. 

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.” 

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind. 

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside. 

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.” 

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him. 

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression. 

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance. 

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!” 

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens. 

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon. 

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes. 

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (3)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.1k warnings: nightmares, angst™ 🖤series masterlist

Bucky didn’t move for nearly an hour before Steve and Natasha found him curled up against that wall. Forehead pressed the thick glass barrier that had kept you from him, stare glazed over, unblinking. His body so numb he could hardly move.

He didn’t register Steve rush at him, skidding on his knees to press his fingers  painfully to Bucky’s pulse point or the violent shake of his shoulders as his friend begged him to say something, to tell him what happened, to answer him goddamnit because the way he sat so unmoving, unresponsive, the red seep of blood upon the open wound at his stomach, Steve thought for a moment he might be dead.

He might as well have been.

Natasha paced back and forth, eyes darting down the long hallway and spotting the dirt layered handprints on the other side of the wall, the skid marks on the tile left behind by your boots.

“Steve,” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, lips pressed tight together to hold in the cry etching through her spine as she nodded towards the end of the hall. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, catching onto the fragments you’d left behind and slumped over in realization.

“Oh God.”

***

Bucky sat at the end of a long conference table back the compound less than eight hours later and he could barely get his thoughts to form a straight line. Every image in his brain replayed the sharp realization in your eyes as you watched him so desperately try to reach you with no avail, the acceptance of what was about to happen as you placed your hands on the glass to find his eyes one last time; the complete panic that swept over you when they dragged you away, your heels digging into the concrete, arms thrashing, as you tried to resist your capture.

And still, above the worst of it, above the fear on your face seared into his memory and the unforgiving grip of the agent’s hands on your body, Bucky couldn’t let go of the last thing you had said to him. While the cadence of your voice was lost behind the barrier of the wall, Bucky couldn’t shake it from his mind, wondering what it would have sounded like aloud. He would have given everything to hear it, just once.

I love you.

I’m sorry. I love you.

He had so many questions; so much he needed to know. Why were you only telling him now that you were being taken away? How long had you known? When did you first realize?

Was it in that moment as you caught his eye through the other side of the glass barrier, tears streaming down your face as the Hydra agents approached from behind you? Was it before that? Back before he found the courage to talk to you on your silent runs in the morning? Was it somewhere in between? 

Was it the first time you dragged him to Brooklyn or the day you spent with him curled up at the foot of your bed, listening to music and showing him the new books you’d bought him?

Was it after the first time you had stayed the night in his room after a particularly grueling mission, curled up against his left side, completely unbothered, if not relieved, by the cool metal on his shoulder? Because that was when he knew.

Had it been years of silent glances and the soft curve of lips, unspoken conversations and cautious touches, loving one another from a distance?

Wasted years you could have been his.

He could have been yours.

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky blinked a few times, focusing his vision back on Steve as he raised an eyebrow, concerned. He stood at the far end of the room, watching Bucky under a worried stare as he leaned onto the table. Behind him, filling the monitors, were images of different Hydra bases, blue prints, schematics, and a few profiles of the Hydra agents who were present at the base where you were taken.

Bucky’s gaze caught on the monitor to the right of Steve’s shoulder, your official SHIELD identification picture set around several layers of text detailing demographic factors for the rows of agents standing behind the table who didn’t know you like the team did. Bullet points of your height, the color of your eyes, the prominent scar above your eyebrow, your various skillset.

It all felt too clinical, too impersonal, dispassionate almost for these agents to read about you like you were a target, or a mark, or anything other than the most important person in his life.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from your image displayed upon the screen. Your hair was up, wisps falling down to frame your face and the suit you wore was an older model, one you wore before Tony got a hold of it, though you had always said it was your favorite. It was subtle, humbling, and reminded you of the years of training it took you to get to this point. You smiled in the picture, the slight curve of your lips and a dimple in your cheeks and –

“Buck?” Steve called again, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, gaze flickering over to the agents Steve was attempting to bring up to speed.

Not even a full day had passed since you’d been taken and Steve was organizing rescues ops to every known Hydra base he could find. With the fresh wound in Bucky’s side only haphazardly stapled together by Natasha on the quinjet and a seemingly permanent ringing in his left ear, he’d been benched.

He had fought Steve on that. Begged, screamed and threw punches until the dizziness in his head started to pull his vision black. He was in no shape to raid Hydra facilities, physically or mentally. He was too vulnerable, too willing to do whatever it took to bring you home. Steve knew him better than almost anyone and he knew that given the chance, Bucky would walk openly back into Hydra’s arms if it meant securing your safety. It was too great of a risk and SHIELD couldn’t allow Hydra to get ahold of the winter soldier again.

It was for that reason Steve wouldn’t let him get within a hundred feet of a jet.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What was the question?”

Steve exhaled, incredibly patient through the sad look on his face. “You know these bases better than anyone. Just checking to see if we missed anything in their defense procedures.”

Bucky nodded, taking in a deep breath as he studied the monitors. They seemed to cover everything from the security monitors to the defense protocols of the agents to the boobytraps installed in some of the older buildings.

“I think you're good,” Bucky confirmed. 

He tried his best to ignore the stares of the agents gathered around the table; eyes full of pity, some with apathy, others with that prominent look of disgust they didn’t bother to hide. Not everyone was as willing as you had been to accept him as a member of this team. He was a constant source of gossip amongst the agents, even three years later, and though his team members did their best to put a stop to it, it never seemed to let up.

Everywhere he went, someone would be watching him, waiting for him to slip up or reveal his ‘true nature,’ to turn on the people who took him in because he was nothing more than what Hydra trained him to be.

Bucky looked to the empty seat on his right. Your seat. His hands clenched so hard into fists he drew blood in the palm of his right hand. He couldn't stand to be in this room any longer.

As Steve and Tony turned to address the teams, Bucky abruptly pushed his chair out from the table and shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Steve’s cautious glance and the murmurs that followed him as he stepped out into the hallway.

The door of the conference room slammed shut behind him and a relief circulated through his chest with a steady inhale of breath. It was the first time he was alone since the jet landed back on the base.

Moving to wipe a line of sweat from his brow, Bucky caught a glimpse of red on his hands. Staining the cracks in his knuckles and dried in the lines of his flesh palm. Blood. Your blood.

His hands began to shake, tremors so violent that he couldn’t begin to control them even as he curled his hands to fists by his side. Flash of grey fog and the heat of flames surrounded him, trapped in the memory, as he had cupped the sides of your face, blood trailing from your ears and onto his palms. The look on your face, the ache in your voice flooded back to him at once and he leaned against the wall for support.

Tears blurred his vision and he nearly collapsed under weak knees when suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to whip around defensively, fists held high and ready to strike.

Sam raised his arms, taking a step back. “Hey man, I’m just checking in.”

Bucky let out a sharp breath, lowering his hands with a careful nod. His heart was racing; the dangerous combination of a half-stitched wound on his stomach, the adrenaline coursing in his veins, and the emotional distress of losing you to the very people who had ripped him apart, who were featured so heavily in his nightmares, was starting to break him.

“Look, why don’t you get down to the med bay?” Sam offered, gesturing to the soot and blood coating Bucky’s skin. “I’m sure Helen will want to properly stitch up your stab wound. Though Nat did a pretty decent job with the stapler, even if you did try to toss her off of you more than once.” 

Sam chuckled lightly, hoping to draw some kind of reaction but when he was met with the solemn stare etched on Bucky’s features, he added, “Steve and Tony are heading out with their teams soon. Nat, Rhodey, and Lang are heading up units, too. They’ll find her, Barnes. No stone unturned, you got it?”

Bucky swallowed. It burned.

“There’s nothing you can do but wait,” Sam sighed and the ache in his voice reminded Bucky of his own. Worried. Afraid. Though he tried to shove it aside. It was what they did best. “Y/n will be home soon and she’s going to need you to have a hold of yourself, okay? No pity parties. Get that mess on your stomach taken care of and get a shower. Don’t wanna be looking like a fool when she comes back, right?”

Sam pressed out a grin, though it was forced, as he shoved Bucky lightly in the shoulder. Despite their history, Bucky knew that Sam was a decent guy, someone who would have his back without a second thought even with their constant bickering. He was the only person who dared to stomp on every eggshell around him since you’d been taken. Sam provided him with a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved.

So, as Sam walked down the hall, leaving Bucky to his own self-destructive devices, he tried to convince himself that Sam was right, that in a few short hours he’d meet you in the hanger as you sprinted off the ramp of the quinjet, unharmed, beaming so wide it hurt, and you’d crash into his arms. He could practically feel the curve of your back, the thin layer of your favorite t-shirt, soft waves of your hair, all under his fingertips. He could smell the sweet fragrance of your shampoo and the warmth of your body pressed against his.

He’d return the words you had spoken to him. He’d tell you that you were the reason he found himself again after decades of being trapped within his own mind and tell you he’d give his life just to see you smile again. He’d tell you that he loved you and he couldn’t stand the idea of being without you for even a second longer and maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you like he’d been imagining for years.

Cracked lips, still gentle and soft against his own, and he’d rake his fingers through your hair not caring about the blood caked through the roots, because he just needed to be closer to you and his mouth on yours just wouldn’t be enough. He’d cry and hold onto you like an extension of himself and he wouldn’t let go for hours.

Maybe you’d hold him back and maybe you’d kiss his cheek and maybe you’d tell him that it wasn’t his fault because—God-- he needed to hear it so badly and there wasn't a single person but you he would believe it from.  

But Bucky Barnes was not a hopeful man.

He had learned over the years that this world was not a kind one and that dreams were useless fantasies meant to hold his sanity until the next blow came and he’d find himself searching again for reasons to hang on, each time getting harder and harder until he had nothing left.

He knew Hydra and he knew what they were capable of.

He knew what they would do to you. As an Avenger and as someone so clearly connected to their favorite asset. They’d destroy you.

Bucky could barely feel the agonizing ache in his chest.

***

Five nights since you were taken and still no word. Sam had taken over for Steve’s team somewhere in Russia, searching the eighth base on their list. Tony and Nat’s teams grouped up in Austria, while Scott’s team was following a far-off lead in Brazil.

Bucky tried to keep himself away from the communications center where he’d find the voices of his friends chiming in through the radio, each reporting that they had found nothing and another base was crossed off the list. He’d only find pain there and he knew it.

But Bucky Barnes was a masochist and he put himself in that room anyway, sitting at the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the analysts and listened to the chatter of Sam’s voice as it started to become more and more defeated with every abandoned base they encountered.

Even when Tony and Nat’s teams were able to infiltrate a fully operational base and burn it to the ground, Bucky couldn’t even find it in himself to feel even an ounce of satisfaction. He couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that they were running out of known Hydra facilities on their list and there was yet to even be a sign that you were even still alive.

He left around three in the morning when the chatter began to die down and the only sound filling the room was the constant typing. He retreated back to his room, laid on the top of the computer and began to count the cracks in the tiles on the ceiling.

His bed was too cold, too hard under the aching swell of his muscles without you.

You had spoiled him, allowed him to get used to the warmth of your body so innocently next to his under the ruse of fighting nightmares together. Something about the feel of your hand curling into his when you noticed his body start to tremor in his sleep or the soft murmur if your voice lulling him back to fonder memories, and Bucky hadn't woken screaming in months.

But the unspoken arrangement wasn’t one sided. Sometimes, there’d be nights you’d come back from a mission in tears from the horrors you’d seen; graphic, violent scenes Bucky hadn’t been able to protect you from, and he’d hold you so tight to his chest his arm would grow numb. Soft, careful kisses to the crown of your head, brushing over your hair until your breathing came back to pace and he finally eased you to sleep.

It was his only solace. Even in his worst days, he knew he could always knock on your door, no questions, and you’d wrap yourself around him until he forgot why he sought you out in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t sleep without you, couldn’t fathom facing the monsters in his dreams without you next to him, especially now that those same monsters had you within their grasp. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the memory of your face as tears streamed down your cheeks, hands pressed to the glass barrier between you, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Even with his lids falling heavy, he jerked himself awake before the darkness could pull him under. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours since you’d been taken.

Bucky resumed counting the cracks in the ceiling, falling somewhere in the eight-hundred range, when his head lulled to the side, lids slipping shut before he could find the energy to snap himself back to conscious.

Bucky pushed through double doors to an empty sea of darkness. In the distance, illuminated under a spotlight was the sparring ring from the gym sitting amongst a black abyss. As Bucky walked closer, a warmth filled his chest to find you standing at the center of the ring, tapping your closed fists wrapped in boxing tape, as you waited for him.

A smile beamed on your lips as he approached and you jumped a few times to get your blood circulating. Bucky hulled himself up into the ring and slipped under the ropes.

“You ready?” you asked, voice echoing airily through the emptiness around you as you stretched your arm over your chest. Bucky glanced down to his pajamas to find he was now wearing his workout gear, his hands already tapped.

“Only if you are, sweetheart,” he teased and a heat reddened on your face.

He knew those names made you flustered, which was exactly why he did it. There was nothing he found more endearing than a spy with a blush in her cheeks.

He supposed some might find it condescending, the little pet names, but not you, and he supposed it was perhaps because he sincerely meant them that they affected you so much. It was never to demean you or make you feel small or powerless. It was because he adored you and couldn’t find the words to actually tell you so it came out in terms of endearment he could easily brush off if someone started asking too many questions.

You laughed, the sound sending a nervous kind of excitement in his stomach, as you rushed him. Sparring with you was always his favorite match; even when you were winning, even when he was. Any excuse to be close to you was one he was eagerly willing to take.

His back slammed to the ground as you hovered over him and maybe he let you do that, but you didn’t seem to mind. Your full body weight on his and your hair fell down to cage his face. He reached up and tucked a strand behind your ear, chest panting from the exertion of the fight, heavy breaths warming his face.

It was so familiar, this moment, but he pushed the feeling aside as his gaze flickered down at your lips so swiftly, he thought you might not notice. When he was met with the soft hue of your iris again, he knew that you had. Your hand traced up his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and you lowered your lips to his, so slowly, so impossibly delicate, that Bucky’s heart was pounding so fast he questioned if he would survive it. A graze of your lips, not enough to even feel it, and--

The scene changed.

You disappeared from above him and Bucky was surrounded by the ruins of a Hydra base, thick grey smoke filling the room as flames cast up in angry orange waves around him. Bucky scrambled to his feet, stumbling from the dizziness in his head.

“Y/n!” he shouted, wincing at the echo his voice produced. “Y/n! Dammit, answer me!”

Then, he spotted you trapped under a beam and rushed to you. By the time he pulled it from your body and you scrambled out from underneath, the flames had consumed the room. Bucky went to grab you to his chest but you were gone. Panic coursing through him and he spun around in search of you, only to be met with the burn of the fire.

He closed his eyes and then the heat was gone.

He opened his eyes to find you standing on the other side of the clear barrier, hand pressed to the glass, a blank expression on your face. Bucky slammed his fist to the wall, screaming out in agony as pain radiated up his arm, pain he hadn’t experienced on his left side since the fall, and he nearly collapsed to the ground.

You didn’t so much as flinch as Bucky desperately clawed at the wall, chest panting with the ache of the adrenaline in his veins.  

“Y/n!” he shouted your name like a desperate plea. Tears blurred at his vision as the crowd of Hydra agents appeared at the end of the hallway behind you. Your expression remained entirely blank, if not dismissive, and Bucky’s stomach was twisting into knots.

“Why didn’t you stop this?” your voice carried through the wall, low and detached and Bucky nearly doubled over.

A Hydra agent suddenly appeared behind you, as if from thin air, and took your hand from the glass twisting it behind your back, though you remained emotionless.

“You could have saved me. This is your fault,” you accused and Bucky nodded his head vigorously.

“I know, I know,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, doll.”

He collapsed to his knees, sobs raking through his body enough to limit his intake of breath as they dragged you away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes when he was met with deafening silence.

Then, a sudden clicking noise and he was somewhere else. He removed his hands, taking in his surroundings, and a sharp breath hitched in his lungs. He’d seen this place before, been here in his nightmares too many times to count.

The chair that took his memories from him, his free will, his dignity, sat at the center of the room. Various men and women in lab coats, some in military uniforms carrying large weapons, carried about their business, completely obvious to Bucky’s presence.

A commotion sounded to his left and he turned to find two men dragging you into the room. You were screaming, crying, fighting with every ounce of strength you had left. Blood dripped down the side of your face, the left part of your hair coated in dark red, and your leg was clearly broken.

“Get away from her!” Bucky bellowed, moving to sprint towards you when a pull tugged on his wrists. He looked down to find them cuffed together, a chain extending from the wall that hadn’t been there before. You locked eyes with him and Bucky swore his stomach had plummeted to the far center of the Earth.

“Take her to the chair,” one of the men ordered, “wipe her, and start over. It’s time we find a new fist of Hydra.”

“No!” Bucky roared, yanking hard enough on the chains to dig open wounds in his wrist. You were screaming for him, begging for him to save you, to stop this, but he couldn’t move. He was crying again, so incredibly helpless but to watch, and he couldn’t find his breath.

Bucky’s vision started to blur, finding it impossible to breathe through the thin straw in his lungs and he fell to the ground. They strapped you to the chair and time seemed to fall still.

Through the numbing in his body, the lightheadedness, and the quick, desperate breaths, Bucky caught sight of your eyes as you bored into his. A frown passed your lips, features hardening in a way he had never once seen on your face.

“You did this to me,” you spat as they pressed the buttons to turn the machine on. Electric sparks radiated from the panels. “You did this, Bucky! YOU DID THIS!”

They shoved the mouthguard to your teeth and you clamped down, glaring at him enough to stab holes straight into his heart, as the panels pressed to the sides of your face, where his hands should be, where he would brush the tears from your eyes and let his thumb so carefully run over your cheekbone, and electricity pulsed through them.

You let out a scream Bucky could only find in his nightmares and he closed his eyes.

“Bucky!”

Bucky curled up onto his side, shaking his head, too afraid to see you on the chair again, to see you strapped to the instrument that destroyed him from the inside out. His face was wet with tears, his breaths too shallow.

“Bucky! Wake up!”

Heavy hands gripped at his biceps, yanking him up and Bucky’s eyes darted open to find Steve staring at him with panic in his features. Bucky’s lips had grown numb, his brain feeling fuzzy, as he struggled to find his breath.

“I need you to breathe, Buck, come on now,” Steve urged, running his hands along Bucky’s arms. It had been nearly three years since he was the one to help Bucky through these nights, he had almost forgotten how real these dreams could feel.

Bucky nodded, hands curling into the fabric of the sheets to ground himself. He focused on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s breaths until his heart rate started to slow and his breaths came in at an even pace. He exhaled, the numbness in his face still present and his head feeling a bit dizzy, but he knew where he was, knew it had been a nightmare that brought Steve barreling into his room. It was why he had tried so hard to stay awake.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered under his breath, shifting away from Steve on the bed. He looked away, an embarrassed heat in his face.

“No, no, please don’t apologize, Buck,” Steve replied sincerely. “I know that this is hard for you. It’s... it’s hard for all of us... not knowing.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, desperately willing himself not to cry in front of Steve.

“But we’re not stopping until we bring her home,” Steve continued, offering Bucky a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He paused, letting out a deep breath. “I... I know what she means to you, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t reply, couldn’t find the strength to talk about you without completely losing it. He felt so weak, so small, so pathetic as his entire world seemed to collapse without you.

How was it that he banked his entire recovery on a single person, that you had carried his burdens and lifted the pain from his shoulders without him even realizing it? How was it that he was crumbling and falling to pieces? How was he supposed to survive without you?

He never wanted to find out. Though, now, he might not have a choice.

***

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee that had long grown cold, settled in the seat he had taken all those months when you’d meet him before the sun rose, before he even so much as spoke a word to you.

It was comforting, in some way. Like he could hold onto a piece of you in this memory, a good memory, of your sweet smile as you stole quick glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking as you stretched next to the refrigerator.

He glanced over his shoulder to the spot he had seen you in so many times, folding your leg behind you as you leaned against the wall, sending him a reassuring smile, one that never asked him to step further out of his comfort zone than he was ready for but one that reminded him he was safe here, that he was home and you were intent on making him feel as such.

He was only now realizing that this compound was never home to him.

You were.

It had been nine days since he last saw you in that Hydra base and Bucky was sure his body had grown completely numb. He was barred from joining the rescue ops until his therapist cleared him for duty, which he didn't expect to happen anytime soon, so he spent most of his time behind a punching bag or running for hours on end until his legs had grown weak with use. He’d work himself to the point of exhaustion just to catch an hour of dreamless sleep because if he left himself alone with his thoughts long enough, they’d swarm in masses of guilt and images of that fear in your eyes, and he’d never survive that on his own.

He sighed, clenching his jaw, and he turned back to face the blank wall he had been staring at when the flash of the television caught his eye.

A picture of you illuminated the screen, one from a mission downtown a year back as you escorted pedestrians away from the warzone happening on Broadway. You had a small child in your hands as you handed him to a crying woman. A blonde woman in a dark blue blazer sat behind a desk to the right of the image, lips moving though the TV was muted.

The image to the anchor’s left flashed to your official SHIELD headshot, the one that had been on the monitors in the debriefing room the day after you were taken. Having made his way into the living room almost in a trance, Bucky grabbed the remote and turned on the volume.

“—just over a week since Agent Y/L/n was taken prisoner by known Hydra affiliates during a classified mission in an undisclosed location,” the woman continued, voice stern as she stared directly into the camera, “There is still no word on her whereabouts, however we have learned that the Avengers at the command of Captain Rogers, continue to lead cavalries in search of the missing agent.”

The screen changed to a shaky video of Steve and a dozen agents storming a warehouse, the muffled sound of gunfire reigning in the background. The chyron at the bottom indicated they were in Slovakia.

Then, a new video as the screen flashed to Stark as he flew above the tree lines with several small jets behind him. The anchor appeared on screen again. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Targeting locations seemingly at random, it appears that the Avengers are no closer to locating Agent Y/L/n than they were the day she was abducted. With no word from Hydra, no indication of ransom demands, and no proof of life, unfortunately, we can only begin to assume—”

The screen suddenly turned black, a drop in his heart, and Bucky looked down at the remote, narrowing his eyes to find it sitting on the edge of his couch, away from his grasp.

“They don’t know shit,” Sam shot from behind him. He had his arms folded over his chest and a scowl upon his lips. A second remote sat in his left hand. “No news doesn’t mean bad news. They’re just looking to sensationalize this.”

Bucky shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hand. “It’s been too long, Sam, and- and she’s right! Why hasn’t Hydra made any demands for Y/n? You don’t find that strange at all? What was the point of taking her if they didn’t want something from us? She’s probably already de--”

“Stop it!” Sam snapped, shoving Bucky hard in this chest. “You don’t get to give up hope! It’s been nine days, Barnes! Don’t you dare do that to her. Don’t you fucking dare because we all know for a fact Y/n would never give up on you like this!”

“I didn’t—I, I haven’t—” Bucky fumbled over his words, something he was entirely unused to.

“Yes, you have!” Sam retorted, shoving Bucky again in the arm. “I know that going out looking for her yourself isn’t an option right now and I know how bad you wish it was. But you’re not helpless, Barnes, and she’s not dead!  Stop acting like it!”

Sam grunted, folding his arms over his chest. He waited, watching Bucky for a reaction and ready to put him back in place if needed. Cautious eyes trailed over the apprehensive clench of Bucky’s jaw as he nodded to himself.

With a steady exhale, Bucky chewed on his lip, meeting Sam’s eye. “Thank you.”

A flash of surprise cut through Sam’s features.

“You’re right. I'm no good to Y/n like this,” Bucky admitted much to Sam’s shock. He carded his fingers through his hair, tugging it away from his face. He had spent too long allowing himself to wallow in a sea of self-pity and guilt and blame that you never would have stood for. It cost him precious days he could have spent out looking for you.

With a newfound determination and a sense of purpose he had so desperately needed in your absence, Bucky said, “I need to get training again so I can be back in the field. I need to get my mind right and convince the doc to give me the all clear and I’m going to get the hell out of this compound and find Y/n myself.”

A slow smirk pulled on Sam’s lips. It was what he had been waiting for.

“You coming or what?” Bucky asked, chugging down the rest of his cold coffee and set it on the counter. He was already halfway across the room, heading to the gym, before Sam jogged to catch up with him.

***

Bucky spent every day in the gym with Sam for nearly a week. Sparring, running, lifting weights, sparring again. With Sam decked in his suit, he even agreed to let Bucky use his full strength just to make sure he was field ready before he made the round to the med bay to get the clearance from Dr. Cho.

Even his therapist was beginning to come around. With Bucky attending on a daily basis and putting more work into his mental health than he did in the three years he had been living at the compound combined, he was confident he’d get the ticket he needed to be back in the field by next week. The fact that the nightmares had started to subside, even without you next to him, didn’t slip his notice either.

It was officially two weeks since you were taken and while the endless coverage on the news wouldn’t let him forget it, Bucky kept holed himself up in the gym with Sam. They’d been at it for nearly three hours in the ring and Bucky was dripping in sweat. Sam was a more adversarial opponent than he gave him credit for, though he would never admit it aloud.

“Stop relying on your left arm!” Sam quipped as he ducked under Bucky’s shoulder and jabbed him with an electrical current at the base of his shoulder.

Bucky grunted, stumbling away as he gripped onto the dead weight in his left side, metal falling heavy and useless by his side. He glared at Sam enough to stare daggers through his head.

“I thought we said no weapons,” Bucky grumbled, trying to shake his arm back to life.

“Yeah, well Hydra is going to come at you with everything they got and knowing you, you’ll fuck something up and end up weaponless, so you can thank me later,” Sam shot back, that irritating smirk upon his lips that drove Bucky absolutely insane.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Maybe, but I’m the only one working to get your sorry ass back to field duty, so deal with it,” Sam retorted and Bucky felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Sam was right. He was the only one who stayed behind to make sure Bucky didn’t do anything stupid and with his complete disregard for Bucky’s feelings, Sam was the one person who was able to kick him out of his all-consuming self-pity.

Bucky made a mental note to explicitly not make any jabs at Sam for at least a month once they brought you home.

Bucky shook out his right shoulder, his left arm still entirely useless as Sam circled around him in the ring, getting ready to pounce again. Bucky was nearly ready to strike, when Sam stood up straight, eyes narrowing at something far over Bucky’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, turning cautiously to follow Sam’s gaze, when suddenly Sam was sprinting off the edge of the ring, hurdling over the ropes to the far corner of the gym.

Confused by Sam’s abrupt change in behavior, Bucky raced after him to find Sam desperately scrambling for the remote to the TV that hung on the wall above the cardio equipment. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, almost afraid to look, Bucky slowly glanced up at the TV to find the same blonde woman reporting from behind a desk he had seen a few days ago, a solemn look in her eyes, as an image of you was pictured to her left.

“Stupid freaking remote, come on,” Sam grumbled under his breath as he struggled to unmute the TV.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to the woman’s lips, trying to make out what she was saying because the look on her face was setting an ache in Bucky’s stomach.

Then, Sam exhaled in relief and the woman’s voice began to echo through the empty gym.

“-- received just moments ago in the mailroom of our television studio, just several floors below where we are recording this now,” the woman continued, “It remains unclear who dropped this package off as our security footage appears to be malfunctioning but rest assured authorizes have been notified. If you are just joining us, we have received what appears to be video footage of the MIA Avenger, Agent Y/n Y/L/n.”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his lungs and Sam set a hand on his shoulder. Frozen.

“Please be warned that the video we are about to show may be difficult to watch,” the woman let out a heavy sigh as she looked to someone off screen. She nodded, a slight wave of her hand, and the screen went blank.

Bucky flinched, thinking for a moment that the feed had cut out, when suddenly, the screen faded into the view of a dark room, a single folding chair illuminated under a free hanging light bulb. The scuffling of feet echoed through the video and Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. Then, he nearly stopped breathing as you appeared on the screen, shoved into the chair by two men with masks obstructing their faces.

“Fucking hell.” Sam exhaled a harsh breath beside him as he began to pace and back forth. 

Bucky could do nothing but watch. He was paralyzed. The relief of seeing you alive overshadowed by the state of your present injuries, leaving a sharp pang in Bucky’s chest.

A deep gash ran along your cheekbone, dried blood trailing down your face, over the swollen purple bruising. It looked infected, like it had been sustained days prior without any medical treatment and your skin was flushed and covered in sweat. Dark circles sat under reddened eyes, bruising on your nose from where it had been broken, and blood caked into the split of your bottom lip. Your collarbones were more prominent than they should be and you looked weak, frail, like they hadn’t been feeding you and Bucky could only suspect as much.

Your eyes glued onto the camera, like you could see straight through it right into Bucky’s soul, and he wondered if maybe you could. You flickered your gaze for only a second off screen and a fist came barreling out of nowhere and slammed against the side of your face.

Bucky jumped, hands clenching at his side, not even realizing he had regained feeling in his left arm. You turned and spat a thick glob of blood to your left, shooting a glare at whoever hit you.

You turned your focus back to the camera. Slowly, you parted your lips.

“My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n,” you spoke, your voice raspy and broken from either the lack of use or screaming and Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to wonder which. “I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

A newspaper was thrown in front of the camera, proving today’s date. It fell away and you swallowed thickly, though you winced at the effort. Your eyes glanced down at something under the camera and Bucky realized you were reading from prompts.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cursed, running his hands down his mouth but Bucky couldn’t focus on anything beside the trembling in your lip as you read the next cue card before you said it aloud.

You shook your head, clenching your jaw. “I’m not reading that,” you spat to someone off screen, only to be met without a second hit to your face and Bucky felt his knees lock.

Blood trailing from the corners of your mouth you turned back to the camera.

“Just read it. Come on, sweetheart. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you,” Bucky muttered under his breath, entirely unwilling to see you get hit again. You straightened your back, a hardened scowl on your lips.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant, “The Avengers cannot protect you. They...” you took a deep breath, eyeing someone standing to the right of the camera before you continued, “They can’t even protect their own.”

Bucky’s throat ran dry and Sam’s pacing behind him ceased.

“You will hear from us again,” a man off screen said, American, deep voice, and the blatant detest on your face as you glared at him made it clear he was the man in charge. 

A heavy breath in your lungs, eyes glancing back to the camera, a new kind of softness behind the hue of your irises, like you were searching for him beyond the layers of technology. 

Then, the screen turned black and you were gone. 

--

Im... so sorry. 😬

feedback is always appreciated 💖

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[crisisdparity]

Game Master Akuma AU

(Note: Originally submitted to @justanotherpersonsuniverse, on their advice I will be using my own tumblr for anything in the future related to this AU.)

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players.

Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he'd greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively.

Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item's stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia.

Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug.

Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt's history with characters dying) and he'd even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt's usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with.

Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history.

He'd put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He'd carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign.

In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he'd made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one.

Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn't need it anymore.

-----

It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app.

Matt/Chat - Chat's going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily.

Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I'd advise, but it's your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now.

Matt/Chat - <photo> 17

Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone's passive Perception easily. You'll sneak off handily without anyone noticing.

-----

"Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple."

"Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?"

Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt.

"19."

"Okay, difficult, but not undoable... Crap."

"What'd you get?"

"Nat 1..."

"Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!"

"Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!"

"Because it's payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish campaigns!"

"Oh, come on! You're not the only person whose had a character die at this table! Xavier runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they're always fair!"

"What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?"

"Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp."

"14!"

"Not much better, dude."

"Guys, it's fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-"

"Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece."

"The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound."

"So does Carapace."

"Vesperia too."

"-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you're all using the Dash action?, you've got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they're all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this."

"Rena screams 'What the HELL, Chat?! We're supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn't you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!'"

"Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!"

There was dead silence at the table.

"Matt... What... just... WHAT?!"

"Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe's on the other foot, huh?!"

"What the hell is your problem, Matt?!"

"My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I've spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!"

"Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!"

"I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY'RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!"

"NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN'T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I'M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!"

"MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!"

"Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time..."

"It's going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least."

Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour.

He'd given so much to making sure this would work. He'd apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He'd agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he'd pull something like this.

He'd nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else's. They'd somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They'd meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening.

It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he'd slaved over for months was kaput.

He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it.

"Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things."

This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he'd ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel.

"Not enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts."

He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he'd spent so much time on to life... What creator could ever turn down an offer like that?

"I, the Game Master, accept... Hawkmoth."

"Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders."

"No."

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself."

"If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you."

"No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me."

And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence.

-----

Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn't remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn't usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo.

Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her.

She looked up.

And up.

To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her.

"How's the weather down there?" Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique.

"I WILL END YOU!" the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up.

Characters:

Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew)

Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast)

-----

Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope.

She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn't for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she'd have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings.

Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she'd have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her.

"You know, people are staring..." she said as she craned her head to look at her companions.

"Let them," the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. "They're just jealous because their boyfriends can't carry them everywhere."

Characters:

Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout)

Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour)

Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight)

-----

Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin.

She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she?

And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor?

Characters:

Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party)

Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew)

-----

Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she'd freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she'd come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable.

It might help more if she could figure out where she was.

Or find another person.

Characters:

Polymouse - Kobold (rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned)

-----

Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance.

"Are you quite done?"

"Almost!" Pigella's cheerful voice answered. "Your fur is so comfy!"

Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels.

"I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen' I will stick you in a bottle."

"Aw, I love you too! Hey, what's that?"

"I think it's my character sheet?"

Characters:

Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory)

Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned)

-----

"According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules," Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. "I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master."

"Aweshum," King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk's robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him.

"Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water."

"Gotta keep up appearanshes!" King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness.

Characters:

Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned)

King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master)

-----

Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he'd never felt before.

"Hmm... perhaps I can work with this..."

"Speak for yourself..." Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face.

Characters:

Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others.

Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters

-----

"Oh, come on!" A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. "Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can't I join them?"

"Because you're too OP. You'd completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure."

"But sitting around is no fun at all!"

"If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger."

"That's it?! I'm on 'mysterious hooded figure' duty? Boo! Why can't I fight with them?!"

"Because you're too OP. But if you insist, I'll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions."

"YES!"

"Five."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Choose your interventions wisely."

"So... if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle...?"

"Then I would allow you to join them of course."

"Score!"

Characters:

Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5)

Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign

-----

Addendum

When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it's basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back.

All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt's place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he has a similar playstyle to Matt, he's savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians.

They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

[fallenrepublick]

I've had this idea brewing for a while. So, can I request an x reader with Savage Opress? It would be around d the time when Darth Sidious came to Manadalore and before he had a chance to kill Savage, is when the reader, a former jedi who left the order, actually saves him and drive Sidious away. Reader then disappears. Both brothers want to find her now until she is found in the city late at night. Personally, Maul wishes to thank her (wow) and Savage thinks he has found his perfect mate😇

This was really fun to write, because I like writing pieces that put the reader in the middle of events we’ve seen in the shows. It makes me wonder what sort of stuff could have been changed if someone else was there.

Anyhow, I like to think I did this alright. Ah, and I also did my best to incorporate your other request of the reader having Vitiligo. I’m not sure how well I conveyed that, though, so let me know how I did.

You never really understood Maul’s obsession and fear over his late master, Sidious, and as far as you could tell, neither did Savage. Maul was the only one who had really experienced the full brunt of the Sith’s force, which was what was most likely causing intense brooding and long bouts of staring into the darkness encompassing the throne room. You had only heard so much of the power of Sith Lords from various masters back at the temple, though your unexpected “fall from grace” after your love for a certain honey-skinned Nightbrother determined that the path you took was not the one allotted to you by the Jedi, thus depriving you of knowledge that would have been useful in these trying times.

Such was the way of things now, as you and Savage had a remarkably rare moment of peace before returning to duties that would keep you separated until the late hours of the night. He was sitting on a bench in your room with you seated on his left leg, the height difference between you made abundantly clear. One of your hands rested on his chest while he traced the edges of the pale patches marking your arms and face. You always enjoyed when he did it, as if he were intentionally pulling you back to your favorite early memories of your time together, when he took your huge bottle of concealer that you used to cover what you were told to be “abnormalities due to midichlorian complications” from you, and explained that you didn’t need it.

“Our markings are unique to us,” he had said to you, wiping the make-up from your cheeks and neck. “Each line we have is a testament to who we are. You are no exception. These are what gave me pause, made me find beauty in all you were, because each time I see them, I am reminded of every part of you that makes you the woman I love.”

That was then. Now, as you sat with him, fingers drawing lines on your now uncovered skin, you felt yourself growing increasingly concerned at the prospect of an encounter with a deadly dark side user, making your attempts at reminiscing fall flat.

“Is he going to be okay, you think?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the intimacy you had built up over the past ten minutes. “He must sense something amiss. He isn’t normally this… depressed.”

Savage sighed, continuing his hand’s movements, yet lifting his eyes to match your gaze. “I want to believe he will be fine. But I feel a growing unease within him. Something is coming, and it will be here soon.”

You stood, taking his hands within your own and pressing your foreheads together. “The darkness that follows him will not hesitate to hurt you, too. If it’s enough to affect your brother this much, I don’t believe for a second that I shouldn’t be worrying about it.”

Something burst through your senses, dragging you out and back to reality. You didn’t know what exactly it was, but the presence was deafening to your mind. The only way to describe the sensation was as if you had given yourself brain freeze directly after eating something incredibly hot. You looked back down at Savage, a grim look replacing the relaxation you had given him only moments before. You began to leave the room, deciding that whatever you had been dreading for a while now had finally made its debut, when your lover pulled your wrist back.

“No,” he said, walking in front of you to the doorway. “I will help my brother. You will remain here until I get back.”

You scoffed. “I’m perfectly capable of holding my own, if you hadn’t noticed. This isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“If this were any other situation, I swear, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring you. But if what my brother says is true, this Sidious will take advantage of what we have and use it to hurt you. I cannot take that risk.”

“So you really do think it’s Sidious?” You crossed your arms, fearing what would happen if he were right.

“I must act as if it is. I trust my brother’s instincts.” With that, he turned and ran from the room, already pulling his saber from his belt. Thanks, that was comforting.

The situation definitely wasn’t ideal. As it stood, controlling Mandalore was shaky to say the least, and any sort of infiltration, personal or otherwise, would prove problematic if it came down to who was in charge. It was one thing to be the invader, but it was another to be invaded. You paced the room, weighing your options, trying to find any workaround for leaving the room and helping. But it all circled back to that one thing. How much worse would it be if you did try to help them? Would it be worse to be discovered?

Logic might have sufficed normally, but you didn't have to use logic to know that the sound of smashing glass from the throne room was something you didn't want to hear. If he finds me out, he finds me out. You dashed out of the room, saber hilt in hand, the rubber soles of your boots nearly giving way as they struggled to keep up with your speed. Every step felt like the beat of your heart, practically screaming at you not to go towards whatever horrific situation you would find. You might have listened to your heart before, but now your life wasn’t the only one you had to worry about. Debris from the walls scattered the floor when you came in, but where they had gone was no mystery. Using the force to propel you up, you leapt through the gaps and came upon the battleground.

It most definitely was Sidious down there, red sabers clashing with those of the two Zabraks, laughing like a maniac as the fighting dragged on below. Each contact sent out bursts of white light amongst the darkness. Each party was certainly skilled, but there was an amusement in Sidious’s demeanor that concerned you the most. Maul and Savage fought through desperation and the urgent need to kill their opponent. Sidious… was playing with his food.

You jumped down silently, staying out of sight as Sidious managed to separate Savage from Maul, who remained on the higher platform. He sensed you and turned around, surprised at your presence. He wanted to berate you, tell you to go back before something happened. But you were already gone. It just took one last leap of faith. One last attempt to make sure your worst fears were never realized.

And then you were between them, a purple lightsaber blade blocking the two that aimed straight for Savage’s chest. You could sense Savage’s panic behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around.

“Ah yes,” Sidious hissed from beneath his hood. “The defective Jedi. I might’ve known.”

You thrust your lightsaber forward, pushing his blades away from you. “At least I’m not a coward who hides his face behind a cloak,” you growled back.

He came at you, blades rushing, aiming to kill, but you dodged, jumping back, deflecting them with your own saber. Savage tried to intervene, bringing his weapons forward and attempting to fight, but you shoved him back with the force.

You made your choice. The next attack he made, you evaded as well, but took a flip, soaring backwards off of the ledge and using the force to pull Sidious down after you, into the darkness below. Come and get me.

-

Maul’s hearts thudded as he ran down to his brother. Savage stood at the edge of the landing, searching out for any sign of you. Regardless if his brother’s shouts of concern, his thoughts dwelled on your well being.

“Savage, answer me, are you all right?” Maul shook his shoulders with increasing concern.

“Do you see her?” Savage asked, panic lacing his voice as he ignored Maul’s questions. “Where is she?”

Maul sighed, taking his hand off of Savage’s shoulder and peering down into the cavern as well. “It’s difficult to tell. And more likely than not, she wouldn’t have stayed in this area. Sidious is not the stationary type.”

Savage’s breathing quickened, his worry and fear taking over the thoughts in his head. “She saved me… I would have been dead, but she came anyway… But now-”

“But now nothing,” Maul interrupted, turning around and beginning his ascent back to the palace. “We will find her. Your lady is a crafty one, so I’ve no doubt she would have found her way to safety. Besides, I must thank her for what she did. After all, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

Following his footsteps eagerly, Savage hurried to catch up, possibilities already racing through his head. He tried to imagine you again, all the times you told him not to worry so much, your smile warming him to his core. But all he could think of was your absence now. If you had, in fact, escaped, how would you be? What if Sidious had severed a limb? What if you were badly wounded and needed help right away? What if you were unconscious? Savage would never dare forgive himself if anything happened to you. And what if Maul was wrong? What if Sidious had captured you for insurance? Or worse… if he had killed you? Savage nearly collapsed thinking about it. Of course, you could be fine, but his frequent run-ins with misfortune had Savage believing that suffering was inevitable.

The lights of the city blinked in and out as citizens moved beneath them towards their destinations, blocking out the light of the sky above with its pollution. Everyone looked the same to Savage, blank faces and hollow spirits, all blending together with the same patterns of meaningless existence. Not like you. Your radiance had blinded him from the start, but he gladly held onto it with everything he had, knowing that you would be there to guide him as he stumbled.

He normally hated the city, the crowds and noise of the pandemonium seemed pointless and never ending, the artificial lamps and street lights wiping away any stars that you would have seen in the night sky before. But on that night, as he came upon a clearing in the crowds at the opening of a nearby ally, a single star stood alone amongst the chaos, the surface spread across with the markings of galaxies far from reach and the darkness of a thousand cold suns, a cloak encasing, but failing to completely cover the eminence.

He didn’t know what to do. Just the sight of you froze him in place, washing away any words he could have formed before. He came up behind you and took your wrist, holding you carefully as if you were a hallucination. When you turned, your face quickly went from surprise to relief, a small gasp escaping your lips as you smiled.

“Savage,” you whispered, walking back towards him and placing a hand on his chest. “You’re okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said to you, holding your face in his hands. “I was being careless, but if you hadn’t come-”

“I wanted to be there for you, Savage. I knew something would happen, and you know I would never make you face something like that without me. I came for you, because I love you.”

And that thought, that sentence brought him to his reality. That star of his, that light he held that was so much like him, yet so much better, was all he desired. For his hands, the ones that had brought about so much pain and destruction, the ones that belonged to a monster, held perfection.

[creativitycache]

Is Martin going to be mentioned again in ToT? Or is that little snippet in the buried going to be all Jon remembers?

Below is Spoilers, including details breakdown of the story’s meta. Bewarned! This is long & convoluted as all get out. It basically can be summed up like this:

Martin and other future people (not just events) have actually been mentioned more than that, and to answer your question right off of the bat, yes Jon will continue to remember.

As I was originally answering this, it kind of spiraled out of control as I dove into a detailed breakdown of some things so I decided to just go for the whole hog and put everything down here in one place. I’ve got a similar breakdown in another document, but that’s really just for keeping tabs on how many days have passed and not the meta analysis.

TL;DR on meta: Jon is leveling up at a ridiculous speed, but he already was high level to start out with so he’s really just lagging behind his adult self. The more he feeds the more he grows. In the Eyepocalypse, we’ve heard Jon lament that trying to access his powers within his body is like trying to “drink the ocean through a straw”, and it’s only gotten more difficult as his body has shrunk.

Another note on timing: in the original story, Jon had gained multiple marks in back to back horrible days. In my own small way, the pacing of these later chapters is repayment for Jon’s hell week.

Entity Touched events will be in bold. Jon’s powers being activated will be italicized. Remembering a specific person/statement/future event will be noted with (parenthesis). Please note that while I will put a specific name in the parenthesis Jon often does not consciously remember the name nor the full scope of the event/person/statement. I will keep a running total of how many days since the last notable entity touched event at the top.

Ch 1

Jon goes through the Spiral’s Doors. His body merges, and he fluctuates between seeing and Seeing. Eventually, his eyes settle upon Watching constantly. He struggles to remember Section 31 (Daisy and Basira “they were both strangers and enemies and friends“). He Knows Detective Davies exact schedule, and the train schedule. He attempts to Feed via Compelling, unsuccessfully. He Sees Detective Davies schedule change. He Senses stories nearby.

Ch 2

Day 3 post-emerging:

After reading a Story: he Knows the difference between true and fake statements, as well as Mr. Magnus’s true name and that he stole the name Elias. He can See farther than what his eyes should be able to, and is able to Watch Elias. He Compels Elias but does not stay long enough to feed off his answers. He remembers (Barnabas Bennett). He remembers (the feeling of his own rib.) He remembers (going into the Lonely to save someone). When pressed, he remembers (the Unknowing exploding into fire) and losing “them” (his Assistants). This causes him to vomit and creates a void within him that must be filled.

Ch 3

Day 3 post-emerging, less than one hour after reading a Story:

Jon summons tape recorders to listen to stories. He listens to dozens of Stories at the same time. Jon remembers (the layout of the Institute). Jon gives a Statement.

Ch 4

Day 3 post-emerging, hours after consuming dozens of Stories:

Jon remembers (the Dark Sun, and Looking directly at the Entities). Jon remembers (Michael stabbing him for Compelling).

Ch 5

One day after consuming dozens of Stories:

Jon reads a bedtime Story. This reveals to Elias that Jon is able to comprehend all languages.

Ch 6

Jon consumes multiple Stories per day, far exceeding the normal Archivist rate of consumption. He remembers (Elias unable to See him in Orsinov’s Circus) He is unable to lie. He walks through the Archivist nightmares and the nightmares of the Eyepocalpyse, but these future events are unable to be perceived by Elias. During these nightmares, he remembers (being hurt by several “monsters”.)

Post this chapter, assume Jon has read at least one bedtime Story and multiple Stories throughout the day for months.

Ch 7

Jon now Knows all answers to fact-based questions his teachers ask. He begins drawing Eyes that have some will of their own- refusing to be paired. Jon now speaks directly to the Eye. It is confirmed his eyes have now physically changed to be reminiscent of other Avatars of the Eye- ie Elias. Jon Sees all marks left on people by the Entities. He remembers (how the Entities make Avatars), (Simon Fairchild) and (that he did something very bad unwillingly). He can sense when Elias is trying to See into his head.

Ch 8

Jon Feeds off of Emma, and forces her to Know her victim’s pain. Everyone is unable to move or interrupt him. He forces the web of the Mother of Puppets to be Shown. He remembers (where the tunnels are and what they do).

Ch 9

One day after Feeding off of Emma

Jon grows bigger. Jon Knows the (true nature of the Entities, and their effects on the world) and tries to articulate them. His explanation is different than Gertrude’s. He remembers (Tim’s jokes, Martin’s love of fuzzy tarantulas, the fight with Peter, and Michael-as-the-Distortion’s Statement, being friends with his Assistants and that things went wrong when his Assistants were no longer his friends). He thinks, but is not sure, he remembers who the man in the tunnels is (Lietner) and that he can track him down. He can See everyone’s marks and make them visible to others. When attempting to consciously access Knowledge of Michael’s future, he faints and blood comes out of his nose.

Jon consumes a Story. Jon remembers (how to Quit). Jon fights with the Eye’s geas against speaking of escape and wins.

Jon remembers (the Eyepocalypse) and Knows why he can survive on only old stories and statements from Avatars. Reaching for this knowledge is even more difficult than just Michael’s future, and causes him to black out for a significant amount of time with a severe memory wipe. Despite this memory wipe, he remembers (Gertrude does not treat her Assistants well, and the location of Fiona & Joshua Gillespie’s statement).

Ch 10

Jon Knows how to get to the Coffin purely thanks to the Eye, and realizes the Knowledge is external because his sense of direction was previously so poor. He is now able to consciously communicate directly in a back and forth conversation with the Eye, although the Eye is currently only Answering Jon’s Questions and Jon is giving his opinion. Being near the Coffin causes Jon to remember (he was in the Coffin for 3 days).

Being in the Coffin causes Jon to remember (that he got stuck with someone else last time, that he had an anchor, and that it might be M-m-mar- ), then he gets out in a day and a half. This is half the time of the first round, despite Fiona being deeper in than Daisy had been.

Jon Feeds off of John the Buried Avatar.

Ch 11

Day 1 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John

Jon feeds off of Dr. Girard the pediatrician.

Jon still comprehends all languages, but now he can articulate something is strange despite still not realizing he’s not hearing English. Jon grows after feeding. Jon Knows when Fiona is in trouble. His eyesight is noticeably excellent. Jon remembers (Gertrude’s war against the rituals is “stupid”, and that Jonah stole Elias’s body and why. He remembers statements about Agnes, and how Agnes and Gertrude are bound, and what various members of the Cult of the Lightless Flame look like. He also remembers going out for Martin’s birthday and eating ice cream, which is how he knows where the nearest ice cream parlor is.)

This is the last time Jon takes out the crayon drawing of the Eye.

Ch 12

Day 2 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 1 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard

Jon remembers (you should never hold an Avatar of the Desolation barehanded, and that the tunnels go for miles and miles, and that Smirke realized his architectural theories were wrong.)

Jon Knows he loves tea but hasn’t found one that tastes right. (He’s thinking of Martin’s tea, but he doesn’t realize it.) It’s also revealed that Jon is crying alone sometimes in his room when he thinks no one will notice, but he doesn’t Remember why. When asked, he remembers (he was Made and not Born), and Knows that the Eyepocalypse/”his destiny” is preventable, but he had to lay down before remembering/realizing any further.

He remembered the (statement about Agnes’s childhood, and the Distortion’s Avatars, despite the fact the Distortion would not merge like that until post-ritual, and that Gertrude liked to blow things up/use fire to disrupt rituals.)

The Eye now is giving Jon specific suggestions, ie origami frogs, when he Asked for ideas.

Ch 13

Day 3 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 2 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard

When asked, he knows there’s no such thing as time where the Eye is, but vomits from trying to Know something directly about where the Fears currently are. Jon remains nauseous but does not faint, have blood loss, or memory loss. Then, when a Story is read to him from Van Closen, he remembers (the contents of a different statement entirely- Fanshaw’s letter.) He struggles to grasp something else the Eye is telling him.

Ch 14

Day 4 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 3 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard.

Jon remembers (being a manager.) Elias and Fiona do not realize Jon is using terms no one has used around him before- nor do they recognize like Michael did earlier that Jon’s specific grasp of corporate language is far outside the normal range of what children usually have picked up.

Fiona, newly awakened, uses her powers on Jon. He then, when in close proximity to her, is reminded of what information he hadn’t been able to grasp earlier (ie, Eric and Gerry).

Jon enters a battlefield surrounded by Entity-touched deathtraps being sprung. He remembers (wandering untouched in the Eyepocalypse, Mary binding herself to the book.)

Ch 15

Day 4 post-Coffin & Feeding off of John, Day 3 post Feeding off of Dr. Girard.

Jon (remembers “interrupting drinks” and that they always taste better when in a mug- ie, Martin’s tea. He remembers the Dark was “for babies”.)

When awoken, he is able to articulate that he did remember Gerry and Eric.

Jon summons Eric. The Archive speaks. Jon Knows how to edit the Book as Mary Keay did in the original timeline, and does so.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Two: Chapter Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Mistface would be lying if he said he wasn’t entirely disgusted with his task.

He could see Snowshine from here – she was a pretty white molly with yellow eyes, and she was currently pulling a squirrel from the oversized prey pile. She looked a little anxious… perhaps ‘stressed’, rather, was the right word. Her fur was fluffy, and Mistface could guess that it was normally very well groomed and smoothed down. Right now, it looked like she had slept on it wrong, and then kept turning over in her sleep to make all of it stick out at odd angles.

“Prime for flattery and a kind conversation,” Darkpelt had said to him. “So pour on the charm and pretend you give a hoot about her problems.”

Mistface didn’t like other cats at the best of times. Actively having to seek one out and act interested in them was like finding a stinking, rotting piece of meat in the grass and being told to eat it with a genuine smile.

Nevertheless, he had a mission (why had he agreed to this again?), so he gently shook out his fur, let it settle, and sauntered forward for the prey-pile.

Snowshine glanced up as he approached and blinked in surprise. He smiled pleasantly at her and sniffed a mouse.

“They make prey so much better ‘round these parts,” he said in his news-and-weather voice. “Marshes must take the taste right out of whatever StarClan sends down.”

Snowshine relaxed and some of her fur flattened, though it was still awkwardly angled. “I haven’t really been anywhere but here. You’re from the south? Scattered, I'm guessing?”

“That I am.” Mistface tilted his head and crinkled his eyes in fake amusement. “Accent give it away?”

She laughed a little. “Just a bit.” She looked him over with roaming eyes. Mistface tried not to get annoyed. “I don’t think I heard your name when you came in. You were with that blind molly, right?”

“Mm.” He tilted his head a little to the left with a winning smile. “I’m Mistface.”

“Oh!” Snowshine perked up even more. “Then you’re Greyleaf’s brother! He’s always talking about you and your mother.”

“Oh, dear.” Mistface made a face of pretend worry. “Must not have a real good impression of me, then.”

“Actually, he has nothing but nice things to say about you,” Snowshine hurried to reply. “He says you’re really charming and kind.”

“We’ll have to see if that’s the case, then, won’t we?” Mistface said, giving her an appraising look. She suddenly seemed a little shy. He wanted to vomit.

Snowshine shuffled her feet and pointed with her tail to a rare grassy spot just beyond a pair of houses. “I, um, usually eat over there, if you want to come with. It’s a lot warmer than anywhere else in the village.”

“That’d be nice.” Mistface picked up a random piece of prey (a black bird of some kind) and waited for her to do the same with her meal before walking with her to the grass. He was very grateful he didn’t have to say anything now that his mouth was occupied.

Once they were settled across from each other, Mistface started pulling some of the feathers off of his prey’s belly. “I do have to ask – you’re a seer, I'm guessin'. And a real good one, goin’ by your suffix. What are you doin’ here in Clast?”

“Oh, well…” Snowshine swallowed the mouthful of squirrel she had already taken. “Everywhere needs a seer. And now, with Redheart doing her… thing... the actual Clast cats need someone to sort of be in charge.” She gave a weak chuckle, seemingly to herself. “They’re not too happy with her bringing in a bunch of strangers that don’t want to fight.”

“Y’all have plenty of loners come in, though, don’t you?”

“Yes, definitely, but they’re at least here to test their strength, and then they leave.” Snowshine sighed. “Not that I like them barging in all the time, but the rest of Clast does. These new cats are just here because of Redheart’s new ideas. They turn down too many fights for Clast’s liking. And, well, Redheart acting so odd anyway…”

Mistface had the sneaking suspicion that Snowshine did not voice her thoughts too often to anyone around the settlement. Suddenly, now that someone was listening and apparently caring, she was off. Mistface simply nodded and let her go about her new duties and how Redheart was this and that, and on and on, while he ate his bird.

“…I mean, I haven’t even been able to go to the Lighthouse, I’ve been so busy. StarClan can speak to us anywhere, I know, but sleeping at the very bridge to heaven is the best way to talk directly.”

She paused for breath, and Mistface took the opportunity to comment, “And StarClan can’t reach you at all if you leave with Redheart, I’m guessin’.”

“She’d like that,” Snowshine said, with a sudden darkness. “She’s always been weird about StarClan. Never even thinks to just have me ask them what to do about whatever problems come up, even for big things.” She looked around and leaned in a little, Mistface copying her, and whispered, “I think it’s just because she has these nightmares now and then. She thinks that StarClan’s giving her the silent treatment, so she’s getting bad dreams instead of visits from our ancestors.”

Nightmares… Mistface hummed in thought, keeping his voice low. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but my brother has the same problem.”

“Really?” Snowshine’s eyes widened.

“He’s had nightmares all his life.” Mistface knew that Greyleaf didn’t consider this particular fact a secret, but pretending to share some intimate detail with Snowshine would only help her trust him more, so he continued with his conspiring tone. “StarClan’s never talked to him, either.”

Snowshine nodded like he had given her the answer to all of life’s questions. “That must be why they get along so well, then.”

“Mm.” Mistface drew his head back, but stayed quiet. “Any other seers ‘round here that could help?”

“Well, we have the one that came in.” Snowshine made a slightly distasteful face. “Starkfeather. But he’s… not exactly someone I would go out of my way to talk to about stuff like this. I don’t know that he’d be particularly helpful.”

Mistface winked. “Not on your level, at least, I take it.”

Snowshine smiled bashfully and Mistface silently cursed Darkpelt for making him do this. “Maybe not… an apprentice arrived one day that used to train as a seer, but she’s going to be a warrior instead, so I didn’t want to bother her and ask.”

Snowshine started again on her rambling, this time about the various new cats that had come in recently. Mistface listened solely because she could say something important.

She didn’t.

He did not like her.

 ---

 When night arrived, everyone settled in to sleep, except for Beetlefoot. He instead took the opportunity to pretend take a walk and enjoy the night sky. When he was far enough away from the eyes and ears of the Clast camp, he took off north, never once looking upward (it was a waste of time).

He was lucky enough to meet no one on his path – during the living years, everyone stayed in underground dens or moved to whatever trees or shelter they could find to escape the rain. There was no rain tonight, but clouds were coming again from the coast. Even this far away, Beetlefoot could gather that Petrichor and Derecho, the aspects of storms, would be arriving soon with a determination to soak the earth.

Which means he would leave footprints on his next trip, if he wasn’t careful.

Beetlefoot caught a scent of a familiar cat and slowed down to a loping canter. He lifted his head up again, keeping his chest puffed out as well as he could while staying at his current speed. He already knew how this was going to go for him. Drop off the information, be dismissed, leave without another word. Other Fleet members liked to swap conversations. Just not usually with him.

Never a change in that, until Nettlecloud and her strange sons.

He saw a cat rise from the grass and turn to face him, soon followed by four others. He slowed again, this time to his regular trot, and nodded sharply once he was within earshot. He stopped a few feet away from the leader, a grey molly with a heavily scared muzzle, and stood about as tall as he could. He was still much shorter than everyone else.

“Beetlefoot, yeah?” the molly said. “Clean path here?”

“Yes.” Beetlefoot dipped his head. “No thorns on the way, Shreddednose.”

He didn’t particularly like trading the common polite phrases with other members of the Fleet, but it was all he usually got in the way of conversation, so he took it. It was just good to be greeted at all by one of the more prolific patrollers in the Fleet.

A lanky black molly took several long steps forward. “What’ve you got for us?”

This, he thought, was Striderfoot. He had only met her once, and she had been similarly brisk. He could respect that. “Information about Redheart.”

He recited everything Darkpelt and Mistface had gathered and given him – leaving out, he noted with pride, absolutely nothing. Striderfoot narrowed her eyes, listening carefully, until he concluded. She looked at Shreddednose.

“You got everything?” Shreddednose said.

“Everything,” Striderfoot affirmed. “Want me to head off now?”

“You might as well.” Shreddednose tapped Striderfoot’s side with her tail. “Frostclaw can go with you, if you want. That predator and all.”

“What, and be slowed down by her lumbering rump?” Striderfoot said, and grinned when a white molly came up and bopped her. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be light by the time I get there.”

“Then try to be safe for once,” Shreddednose said fondly.

“Of course.” Striderfoot turned, nodded at Beetlefoot, and said quiet goodbyes to the rest of her team before taking off at a sprint (I could outrun her, Beetlefoot thought snippily).

Shreddednose smiled, then returned to professionalism when she looked back at Beetlefoot. “Nothing else?”

Beetlefoot pretended he didn’t feel a little deflated. “Nothing else.”

“Chase the wind, then.” Shreddednose bowed her head.

“Only the warmest breezes.” Beetlefoot mirrored her gesture to her, then to the others, who looked indifferent to his existence. He whirled around and sprinted off, hastening to leave the situation before it turned awkward.

He was right, at least. He could outrun her.