#its neat to see the differences in translation

[fefairys]

i watched both the dub and sub of dungeon meshi and cancel me if you want but overall i prefer the dub so far

[misterradio]

alquist ......

[grimoirguestbook]

Book of Bill Website Codes

(Organized by category with notes)

Here's my list of inputs that work on the website :)

Hopefully the read more works like I think it does and I don't accidentally spoil anybody

That being said by clicking read more you will see All of the codes I have found so far

Please be mindful and try not to spoil anybody else with this information. So please be careful if reblogging

I got everything I have collected/found on here, it's a bit messy right now but After I take a small break I'll reorganize and add notes but for now everything's on here, please so check out the posts linked in the log as once I lost all leads I looked to their post for other inputs :)

Also feel free to put any you know of that Aren't on here in the replies I'm sure there's some missing

I will be updating as I find more so check back in if you can! :)

Thank you!

They'll be categorized by

Neat Tv text- Nothing special the tv just gets some text to it

Tab pages-brings you to another tab/website

Audio/video- Audio/video clip plays

Readables- A picture will pop up on screen that you can read

Printables- You can print them :D!

Other- Hard to categorize

Note:

If an * is next to a name that means that you can get different results for the same prompt

(Any personal notes will be in parenthesis)

-> An arrow means that the Passwords are found in the previous page

ex- Page with code that translates to "dork"-> Dork

Slashes/mean/that/any/of/the/prompts/listed/will/take/you/to/the/same/page

Blue text with an underline is a link! Haha! would you look at that! it works!

Will Keep this updated as I find more and will Note the logs at the end of this post

?????

For the mason page anagrams I know WHO they are I just don't know WHAT to do with them, i know it says cryptogram codex at the bottom i think i have to do something with the anagram results but I'm unsure what that is. Stanford Pines Stanlie Pines Gideon Charles Gleeful Preston Northwest Pacifica Elisa Northwest

Notes to Dipper Prompt: (Unsure why- Maybe going to Blind eye page and blurring it but changes from dipper being told to stare at the sun to "I THINK ITS WORKING! STARE HARDER! HARDER!" and the page looking burnt I Think it has to do with how many input codes you enter, It now says "you've almost solved it" and is even more burnt than before, it is now full black)

Neat Tv text-

Pines

Blendin

*Triangle

Axolotl

Ducktective

Book of Bill

TJ Eckleburg (Great Gatsby)

Nothing

Something

*Ciphertology

Deer Teeth

Scalene

Scrimbles

No

Fortnite/skibidi/ohio/rizz/crypto/elon/gyatt/Doge

Life

Death

Portal

Question

Answer

Euclid

*Well Well Well Being

Reality

The Universe

Journal 1

Journal 2

Journal 3

Theyll see/They'll all see/I see

Filbrick

Disney/Disneyland/Mickey Mouse

CIA/FBI/NSA

333 Sundapple Lane Cozy Creek IL 60714-94611

Season 3

Season 2

Season 1

Caryn

Euclydia

Skeleton

Who are you

Burnside

Family matters

When will I die

Multilevel mark/caesaratbashvigenere

Scientology

Easter egg

Sevral times

oh yes they both

Am i Blanchin

Bye gold

Youre insane

History

Hologram

Scalene

Euclid

Titans Blood -> Owl Trowel

Text Chain (You get questions who's answer is another password)

Riddle->Yes -> Mountain Dont -> Lyre Liar -> Harolds Ramblings -> Union Made -> 29121239168518 -> Grebley Hemberdreck -> Rat -> 3466554 -> Tinsel Snake -> Torture Mentally -> Xgqrthx -> 333 sundapple lane cozy creek IL 60714-94611-> MutliLevel mark->emmaline butternubbins->Dispense my treat

What i thought it was (with answer sources):

Riddle->Yes -> Mountain Dont -> Lyre Liar -> Harolds Ramblings -> Union Made -> 29121239168518 -> Grebley Hemberdreck -> Rat -> 3466554 -> Tinsel Snake -> Torture Mentally -> Xgqrthx -> Titans Blood -> Owl Trowel

Answers found in TBOB- Don't Know, NA, Mcguckets dream page, Medieval page, Anti-Cipher Section- tonic page, Anti Cipher Section- Newspaper, Top Secret page, Textbook page- Skin, Dark Ages Page, Anti Cipher Section-Epilogue, A winter break- footprints page, Book of Bill Cover options page, Never trust a wizard page, Have you dreamed this fellow ad (references informercial in show)

Tab pages-

Abuelita

Dippy Fresh

Alex Hirsch/Alex/Hirsch

*Stan/Stanley (his outfit in ebay searches plus a READABLE with SICK music mind you-Check readable section for more info)

Grunkle Stan

*Gideon (second option unlocked after fully "mableizing" the room)

Waddles

Mcgucket/ Old man McGucket/Fiddleford

Bill/Cipher/LLIB/LLIBREHPIC

Bill Cipher/Rehpic

Zyler (Goes to same place as Craz)

Craz (Goes to same place as Zyler)

Toby Determined

Gravity Falls

Mystery Shack

Not a phase

Blanchin

Peak

Cray Cray

Fixinit1

Meow

Fuck alex/Fuck you alex

Globnar

Monster

Audio/video-

Babba/Discogirl

*Gideon (unlocked after fully "mabelizing" the room)

Tad Strange

Pinata (DEFINATELY WORTH WATCHING)

Vallis Cineris (Found on wall when lightning strikes)

Hey Nerd

Weird (Love him)

Spookemups/Spooky/Scary

That's just a/Theory/Gametheory/Matpat (<3)

One Eyed King-> Naitsuaf (Morse Code) ( early years page)

Forget the past

Im still on your mind

Dorito/Nacho

Just fit in

Rubberhose

Love/Boyfriend

Hectoring

Conspiracy

God/Frillium/Help me

Burned inside

Kook

Kubrick

Small/audio log/music (nothing showed up at first, turned off tv and strange audio played, needs to be reversed)

L is real 2401 (soos my boy)

Readables-

Mason (Dippers real name)

*Dipper (personal notes in ???- keep opening the card to get different results)

Pacifica-> PlatinumPaz

Ford/Standford/Sixer

Wendy

Robbie (def worth a look IMO)

Soos-> Pinata

Cursed (Translated from candle in background)

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Blind Eye->Theyll see (Will blur if clicked on, cannot un-blur, may change dipper?)

Weirdmageddon

Lies

Sorry

Booberry (Decoded from popsicle stick)

Even his lies are lies (Front paper)

Tantrum ( code on Bills Mugshot page)

Suck it Merlin

Shave your Grandma (leads to dippy fresh page)

Baby Bill/baby/lalalalala/daddy/mommy

Owl Trowel

Hotxolotl->Seven eyes-> r34lity

Love ya bro

Fuck/Shit/Fuckyou/bitch/slut/sex

Baaaa-> Black Sheep

naitsuaf (click are you ready-> Sign "pleasure doing business with you -candle light turns blue- OR be a coward (losing sound effect plays)

oroborous-> Frillium

Glass sand beach

math/trigonometry/

horror/creepypasta

destruction is a form of creation

unreality

you can't kill an idea

virus

Occurremusiterum

*Stan (click multiple times to get-once there click "how he beat me several times)

Card

Theraprism

Dionarap->stod eht tcennoc

Printables-

Tyrone/Clone/Paperjam

Curse Wittebane (translates runes on page about witches)

Paper is just book skin ( BE WARNED: automatically downloads a photoshop file and crashses the cite)

Irregular (has code on it)

Divorce/breakup

Other-

Mabel (You get fun stickers and a popping sound :) )

*Giffany ( You put her name in multiple times and it forcibly downloads pictures of her and a text document to your computer, scared me a little Not gonna lie here)

Kings of New Jersey (downloads "secret code" font)

cryptogram codex (downloads cryptogram fonts)

dispense my treat-> Kook (downloads a bunch of cool wallpapers)

Log:

One hour after posting: Added 17 new words

Found by me: Booberry, Mountain Dont, Xgqrthx, titans blood, lyre liar, haralds ramblings, union made

Accidentally found by looking at a post: Sorry

Gifted by replier (Thank you!): MATPAT, yes, no, Fortnite, life, death, portal, question, answer

30 minutes after last update: 9 Words added

Found by me: Theraprism, 29121239168518, Grebley Hemberdreck, Rat, 3466554, Tinsel Snake, Torture Mentally, Fordtramarine, Gun (shocked that worked It was a joke- "bill cipher has A GUN")

Like THREEEEEEE ish hours later?

Found by me: one eyed king, well well well being, shave your grandma, paper is just book skin, even his lies are lies, forget the past, irregular, euclid, tantrum, suck it merlin

Like 12 hours later

Found by me: Reality, Baby Bill, Reality, The universe, Giffany (why is it two Fs, Blarg) They'll see, I'm still on your mind, Journal 1, Journal 2, Journal 3

Gifted to me by a replier (Thank you!): Owl Trowel

Idk- Later

Found by me: hotxolotl, lova ya bro, kings of new jersey, fuck, just fit in

Found on twitter(JasonRitter): Dorito, Blanchin'

Gifted to me by Replier(Thank you!): Gideon's option knowledge

Even MORE later:

Me: Seven eyes, r34ality, filbrick, disney, skibidy, rizz, ohio, love, cia, fbi, rubberhose, 333 sundapple lane cozy creek il 60714-94611, bahhhh, black sheep, naitsuaf, oroborous,theyll see, theyll all see Frillium, occuremusiterum (some of these i gave myself because i was really close but just missed a small detail/spelling)

Taken from here and Here Because I got stumped: Season 3, Season2 , Season 1, Glass shard beach, caryn, Euclydia, Peak, Theory, Cray Cray, Help me, mickey mouse, hectoring, divorce, breakup, skeleton, math, history, monster, gyatt, who are you, fixinit1, conspiracy, riddle, cryptogram codex, horror, creepypasta, trigonometry, god, boyfriend,baby, lalalalala, scary, trigonometry,just blendin, morality, burnside, family matters, when will i die, elon, multilevel mark, goodnight sally,paper jam, tourist trap,the duchess approves,shape, scientology, meow, nacho, crypto,sevral times,easter egg, oh yes they both, daddy, mommy, burned inside, destruction is a form of creation, i see, unreality, you can't kill an idea, am i blanchin, fuck alex, fuck you alex, fuck you, shit, bye gold, nsa, globnar,disneyland,kook, kuibrick,virus,that's just a, you're insane

Next day

Found online: Dionarap, stod eht tcennoc, dispense my treat

[mandoalorian]

crimson fever [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: In the icy shadows of 1944 occupied Europe, you uncover a dangerous Hydra secret that could shift the war’s tide. But Hydra’s ruthless scientist, Arnim Zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drug—“crimson fever”—that set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. As you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, your childhood friend from Brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the war’s chaos.

Warnings: 18+ explicit, smut, sex pollen that comes with themes of dub-con, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism sorta, reader is drugged via injectables, descriptions of pain, canon typical violence, torture, one use of Y/N, Winter Soldier foreshadowing.

Word Count: 6700

Author's note: Thank you to @notreallythatlost for helping me with all the German translations. I love youuu. ღ

ᯓ★ Masterlist

✮ PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER ✮

Objective: Develop a serum enhancing physical strength, endurance, and healing, surpassing the Allied “Super Soldier” serum used on Captain America. The serum is paired with psychological conditioning.

Methods: Subjects— prisoners, captured soldiers, “recruited” operatives undergo experimental injections and brutal brainwashing techniques including sensory deprivation, electroshock, and chemical inducements to break their minds.

Timeline: Initial trials are active in an underground facility, in occupied France. Production to be scaled by 1945. Report to Johann Schmidt.

Der Winter Soldier wird die Zukunft von Hydra sein. (The Winter Soldier will be Hydra’s future.)

You hunched over the decrypted Hydra message, your eyes burning from hours of work, fingers smudged with pencil lead. The office buzzed with quiet urgency—typewriters clacked, a radio hissed static, and your fellow codebreakers murmured over their own stacks of intercepts. You’d been at it since dawn, unraveling Hydra’s coded transmissions, each one a puzzle that could save lives or lose them. Your role as a linguist, fluent in German and trained in cryptography, made you vital to the Allies, but tonight, the weight of what you’d uncovered felt like a stone in your chest.

“Carter, you need to see this,” you called, your voice sharp, cutting through the room’s hum. You pushed your chair back, the wood scraping the floor, and held up the decrypted page, its typed German translated into your neat handwriting. Your heart raced, the words searing your mind: Projekt Winter Soldier.

Peggy Carter, poised in her tailored ATS uniform, strode over, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Her dark eyes flicked to the paper, then to you, sharp and assessing. “What’ve you got?” she asked, voice crisp but laced with concern.

You swallowed, pointing to the key lines. “It’s Hydra. Something called ‘Project Winter Soldier.’ They’re experimenting—on people, not just weapons. It mentions a serum, like what they used on Captain Rogers, but… different. They want to create operatives with no will, no memory. ‘Perfect obedience,’ they call it.” Your voice trembled, and you tapped a name scrawled at the bottom. “Signed by Arnim Zola. He’s running it.”

Peggy’s jaw tightened, her fingers brushing the paper. “Zola,” she muttered, disgust curling her lips. “That man’s a butcher with a scientist’s ego.” She scanned the text, her expression hardening. “This is big. If they’re building mind-controlled soldiers…”

“It’s worse,” you interrupted, voice low, glancing at the other codebreakers—two women, heads down, oblivious. “They’re testing it now. Somewhere in France. Prisoners, maybe captured soldiers. They mention a ‘prototype’ and… something about breaking their minds first.”

Peggy’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. “We need to get this to Colonel Phillips. Tonight.” She turned, barking at the codebreakers. “Eleanor, Joan, wrap up and secure the files. We’re locking down.”

You nodded, heart pounding, but a flicker of pride warmed you. You’d cracked this, you’d found the truth. You thought of Bucky Barnes, your old friend from Brooklyn—his cocky grin, the way he’d sneak you comics, the almost-kiss on that Coney Island pier in ’39. He was out there with Captain Rogers, fighting Hydra. This intel could help him, keep him safe. You tucked the thought away, focusing on the task, and began gathering your notes.

The door crashed open, wood splintering, and you froze. Four Hydra soldiers stormed in, black uniforms stark against the office’s warmth, their rifles gleaming with that eerie blue glow of Hydra tech. Peggy spun, drawing her pistol, but a soldier fired, a blast of energy grazing her arm. She hissed, diving behind a cabinet.

“[Y/N], get down!” Peggy shouted, but you were already moving, shoving the Winter Soldier intel into your blouse, your hands shaking. The codebreakers screamed, scrambling for cover, and you ducked behind the desk, heart hammering. The soldiers barked in German, their voices harsh.

“Die Linguistin! Bringt sie mir lebend!” one ordered—The linguist! Take her alive!—and your blood ran cold. They wanted you. Your codes, your knowledge, or… the intel you’d just found.

You grabbed a letter opener, its dull blade a pitiful weapon, and crouched, peering through the desk’s gap. A soldier loomed closer, his boots thudding, and you lunged, stabbing his thigh. He roared, backhanding you, and pain exploded across your cheek, knocking you to the floor. The room spun, but you scrambled up, clutching the desk, only to feel iron hands seize your arms.

“No!” you yelled, thrashing, but the soldiers pinned you, their grips bruising. Peggy fired from cover, dropping one, but another blasted the cabinet, forcing her back. You kicked, aiming for a groin, and connected, earning a grunt, but a rifle butt slammed your temple, and darkness flickered at your vision’s edge.

“Enough,” a new voice said, cold and precise, cutting through the chaos. Arnim Zola stepped into the room, his small frame dwarfed by the soldiers but radiating menace. His round glasses glinted in the bulb’s light, and his smile was a thin, cruel line. “Fräulein, you are far too valuable to kill.”

You glared, blood trickling from your lip, the intel paper crinkling against your skin. “You’ll get nothing from me,” you spat, voice hoarse but defiant.

Zola chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Oh, we shall see.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take her to the transport. We have… experiments to conduct.”

A soldier jabbed a syringe into your neck, and a sharp sting gave way to a creeping warmth, a sedative, dulling your senses. You fought to stay conscious, to memorise Zola’s face, his words. “Winter Soldier…” you mumbled, half-delirious, and Zola’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise.

“Secure her,” he snapped, and the soldiers dragged you toward the door, your legs buckling. Peggy’s shouting your name followed you, but the world blurred, and you were gone, the intel tucked against your heart, a secret you’d guard with everything you had.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You’d been gone for weeks, a fact that gnawed at Bucky Barnes like a wound he couldn’t stitch. He stood against the command post’s wall, dog tags clinking under his olive-drab jacket, his eyes scanning a corkboard plastered with mission lists, reconnaissance photos, and urgent telegrams. His fingers, calloused from gripping a sniper rifle, hovered over a typed sheet, and then froze.

Your name stared back at him, stark in black ink: Allied Linguist, Captured, Hydra Facility, Occupied France.

His breath caught, sharp and painful, like a blade between ribs. You—his friend from Brooklyn, the girl who’d steal his cap and run, laughing, through Prospect Park, the one he’d nearly kissed under Coney Island’s Ferris wheel in ’39—were in Hydra’s hands.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the paper from the board, the pin clattering to the floor, and his hand trembled, betraying the storm inside. Memories flooded him: summer nights on your stoop, your hair tucked under a scarf, teasing him about his latest dame. But truthfully, he only had eyes for you.

“You’ll run outta girls to charm, Barnes,” you’d said, smirking, but your eyes had softened, holding something he’d been too dumb to name.

He’d leaned in, heart pounding, only for Steve’s call to break the moment. Then the war came, you to London cracking codes, him to the front with Steve, and letters faded. Now, Hydra had you, and the thought of you in Zola’s grip—Zola, whose name he’d heard tied to twisted experiments, made his stomach churn.

“Hey, Buck, what’s got you lookin’ like you swallowed a grenade?” Steve Rogers’ voice cut through, steady but concerned. He stood across the room, all Captain America in his blue jacket, leaning over a map with Colonel Phillips. His blond hair caught the dim light, but his eyes locked on Bucky, reading the tension in his friend’s stance.

Bucky strode over, boots thudding on the creaky floor, and slapped the list onto the map, scattering pencils. “It’s her, Steve,” he said, voice tight, low, like he was holding back a shout. “From Brooklyn. You remember her—used to tag along with us, always givin’ me hell.” He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Hydra’s got her. Says she’s a linguist, crackin’ their codes. She’s in one of their damn facilities.”

Steve’s eyes widened, flicking to the list, then back to Bucky. His memory was sparking. “The one who’d sneak us into the library after hours? Yeah, I remember.” He straightened, voice firming. “She’s tough, Buck. But Hydra…”

“She’s more than tough,” Bucky snapped, then caught himself, running a hand through his dark hair. “She’s… she’s family, Steve. And you know what Hydra does…” His voice cracked, and he gripped the table, knuckles whitening. “We gotta get her out. Now.”

Colonel Phillips, puffing a cigar, looked up with a scowl, his weathered face etched with irritation. “Sergeant Barnes, we’ve got ops stacked to the ceiling,” he growled, exhaling smoke. “Hydra’s got captives everywhere—this linguist ain’t our priority.”

“She is to me,” Bucky retorted, his voice low but fierce, eyes boring into Phillips. “Sir, she’s got intel—Hydra’s codes, maybe more. She cracked somethin’ big before they took her. Losin’ her gives them an edge.” It was a half-truth; he’d burn the world for you, intel or not, but he knew Phillips needed a reason.

Steve studied Bucky, seeing the truth—the kind of loyalty that went beyond duty, rooted in Brooklyn’s streets, in quiet moments you’d shared. “Colonel,” Steve said, voice calm but unyielding, “the Howling Commandos can handle this. We hit the facility, get her out, and cripple Hydra’s operation. Two birds, one stone.”

Phillips grunted, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “Fine, Rogers. But if this goes south, it’s your ass.” He waved them off, turning to an aide, already dismissing the matter.

Bucky exhaled, tension easing a fraction, but his heart still raced, pounding with fear for you. He met Steve’s gaze, a silent thank-you passing between them. “We’ll get her, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder. “Promise.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket, next to a faded photo—you, him, and Steve at Coney Island, 1939, your smile bright as the summer sun. He headed for the door, the room’s chaos—officers shouting, radio static—fading behind him. Outside, the Howling Commandos lounged near a jeep, cleaning rifles and trading jabs in the grey dawn.

“Sarge, what’s the word?” Dum Dum Dugan called, his mustache twitching as he tossed a flask to Gabe Jones, who caught it with a grin.

Bucky held up the folded list, his sergeant’s calm settling over him like armour, though his voice carried an edge. “We got a job,” he said, eyes scanning the team—Gabe, Jim Morita, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier. “Hydra’s holdin’ one of ours—a linguist, key to their codes. She’s in a facility in France. We’re hittin’ it, gettin’ her out, and blowin’ the place to hell.” He paused, his grip tightening on the paper. “She’s from my neighborhood. Means somethin’ to me. You in?”

Gabe nodded, his smile fading to seriousness. “Always, Barnes.”

Dum Dum cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Hell, Sarge, let’s give them a mornin’ they won’t forget.”

Jacques smirked, twirling a knife. “Pour la France,” he said, voice low, and Jim and Monty murmured agreement, their faces set.

Bucky forced a smirk, but his mind was on you—alone, maybe hurt, fighting Zola’s experiments with that fire he’d always admired. He touched the photo in his pocket, your face burned into his memory, and whispered, so quiet no one heard, “Hold on, doll. I’m comin’ for you.”

The words were a vow, and he’d keep it, no matter what Hydra threw at him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You lay curled on a thin cot in a Hydra cell, your body trembling, skin flushed with an unnatural heat that made your pulse race and your breath come in shallow, desperate gasps. The crimson fever drug, injected by Arnim Zola weeks ago after your kidnapping in London, burned through you, twisting your mind with a relentless need you fought to suppress. Your blouse, torn and stained, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d kept secret, its paper pressed against your chest like a talisman.

You’d overheard Zola’s gloating—his “perfect obedience” experiments, the “winter soldier” prototype—and your linguist’s mind clung to those details, even as the drug threatened to unravel you. “Stay sharp,” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse, your nails digging into your palms to anchor you against the fever’s pull.

Outside, Bucky Barnes crouched behind a snow-dusted ridge, his M1 Garand rifle steady in his hands, breath clouding in the frigid air. You weren’t there to see it, but you’d have felt the weight of his resolve, his heart pounding with one thought: getting you back. The Howling Commandos flanked him—Dum Dum Dugan reloading his Thompson submachine gun, Gabe Jones checking a radio, Jim Morita adjusting his scope, Monty Falsworth and Jacques Dernier wiring explosives. The plan was tight: hit hard, find you, blow the place to hell. Bucky’s jaw clenched, your face—Brooklyn summers, that Coney Island almost-kiss—burning in his mind.

“Ready, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked, his moustache twitching as he grinned, though his eyes were hard, scanning the bunker a hundred yards away.

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” you’d have heard Bucky reply, his voice low, all sergeant, but laced with something raw. He signalled, and Jacques tossed a smoke grenade, grey haze cloaking the ridge. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, slipping toward the bunker, their boots silent in the snow. Gabe’s radio crackled, confirming Allied distractions were pulling Hydra’s outer patrols away. Bucky’s heart thundered, not for the fight, but for you, trapped in Zola’s nightmare.

A Hydra guard at the entrance barely turned before Bucky’s knife found his throat, a silent kill, blood dark against the snow. “Go,” Bucky hissed, and Jacques’ charges blew the steel door, the blast rattling the night.

Alarms screamed, red lights pulsing inside, and Hydra soldiers poured into the corridor, their blue-energy rifles spitting death. You heard the gunfire, distant but growing louder, a chaotic symphony that stirred hope in your fevered haze. “Help…” you mumbled, clutching the cot’s edge, your body shaking as you tried to sit.

Bucky ducked behind a crate, returning fire, his shots precise, dropping two guards. “Push through!” he shouted, voice cutting through the din. Dum Dum’s Thompson roared, mowing down a squad, while Monty and Jim covered the rear, grenades shaking the walls. “Lab’s that way!”

Gabe yelled, pointing left, where a sign read Forschungsbereich—research sector. Bucky’s gut twisted, Zola’s name a poison in his thoughts. If Zola had touched you…

“Keep movin’!” Bucky ordered, leading the charge past sparking machinery and shattered glass, his boots slipping on spilled chemicals. Jacques planted more explosives, grinning like a kid with firecrackers.

“Pour la France!” he muttered, wiring a console. You heard the blasts, closer now, and dragged yourself upright, your vision swimming but your will iron. The Winter Soldier intel crinkled against your skin, a secret you’d die to protect.

The cell block was a maze of iron doors, damp concrete slick underfoot. Bucky rounded a corner, gun raised, and there you were—behind a barred window, slumped but alive, your hair matted with sweat, eyes flickering with fever. His heart lurched, he called your name, voice raw, cracking like a boy’s. A Hydra guard lunged from the shadows, but Bucky slammed him against the wall, the man’s skull cracking with a sickening thud.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice weak but sharp with recognition, cutting through the drug’s fog. You staggered to the bars, fingers trembling as you gripped them, your blouse clinging to your fevered skin. The needle marks on your arm stood out, angry red, and your breath hitched, a mix of relief and desperation.

“I’m here, doll,” Bucky said, fumbling with the lock, his hands shaking until Gabe tossed him a pilfered keyring. “Hold on.” The door swung open, and he was at your side, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping your face. Your skin burned under his touch, too hot, and your eyes, though glassy, locked onto his, a spark of you still fighting. “It’s me,” he said, voice soft but urgent, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his hand, a whimper escaping, your body trembling with something more than weakness—a need that alarmed him.

“Bucky… they… Zola…” you stammered, your fingers clutching his jacket, nails digging in. “Crimson fever… it’s in me… burning…” Your voice broke, shame flickering in your eyes, but you forced out, “Winter Soldier… I know… they’re making…” You trailed off, a shudder racking you, and Bucky’s blood ran cold, the intel’s weight hitting him.

“Shush, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Bucky hummed, his arms tightening around your body, not caring about any intel. Not caring about the war. Not caring about anything. Just you. 

Your shaky hands went to pass him the intel, but failed with exhaustion. “Winter. Soldier.” you bit out again, aimlessly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Winter Soldier? No, no doll, it’s me. It’s Buck, from Brooklyn,” he was misunderstanding, and you couldn’t blame him. “What’d they do to you?” he growled, his voice low, rage barely leashed as he saw the needle marks, the fever’s flush.

But you couldn’t get your words out. 

He scooped you up, your weight light but your grip fierce, your head lolling against his shoulder. “I got you,” he said, standing, his arms steady despite the chaos. Your breath was ragged, too warm against his neck, and he felt the drug’s unnatural pull in your touch, your fingers clutching too tightly, too desperately.

“Base is rigged!” Jacques shouted from the corridor, where the team held off reinforcements, blue energy scorching the walls.

Dum Dum’s voice boomed, “Thirty seconds, Barnes!” Explosions rumbled, the facility shaking as charges blew.

“Bucky, the intel…” you mumbled, half-lucid, patting your blouse weakly. “Winter Soldier… don’t let them…” Your voice faded, the fever stealing your strength, but your words seared him, tying your fight to the horror he’d only heard whispers of.

“I won’t,” he promised, voice fierce, dodging a blast that charred the wall. It was an empty promise, but that didn’t matter right now. He still didn’t understand completely what you were mumbling about. 

He carried you through smoke and gunfire, the Commandos covering him—Monty tossing a grenade, Gabe firing steadily. “Stay with me, doll,” he said, his boots pounding as he reached the exit, the night air hitting like a slap.

The bunker erupted behind you, flames licking the sky, and the team piled into a stolen Hydra truck, Gabe at the wheel. Bucky slid you into the back, climbing in beside you, holding you close as the truck lurched forward, tires crunching snow. Your fevered body curled against him, your hand still clutching the hidden intel, and Bucky’s mind raced.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You slumped against Bucky Barnes in the corner of the Hydra truck’s cargo bed, your body a furnace of torment, every nerve alight with the crimson fever drug’s cruel fire. Your skin burned, slick with sweat despite the November chill, and your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a drum urging you toward something you barely understood. Your blouse, torn and clinging to your damp skin, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d guarded since London, its paper a faint crinkle against your chest.

The drug, injected by Arnim Zola during those weeks in his lab, twisted your mind, flooding you with an aching, primal need that made your thighs clench and your breath hitch in sharp, desperate gasps. You fought it, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed closer to Bucky, his warmth both a lifeline and a torment.

Bucky held you tightly, his arm a steel band around your shoulders, his wool jacket rough against your cheek. You felt his heartbeat, steady but quick, through his chest, and his breath clouded in the cold air, his dog tags clinking faintly as he shifted to shield you from a gust. His eyes, shadowed under the swaying lantern’s amber glow, darted to you, worry carving lines into his face. You’d seen him tough, cocky, tossing quips in Brooklyn diners, but now he was raw, his sergeant’s calm fraying at the sight of your trembling hands, the way your fingers clutched his sleeve like he was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Doll, talk to me,” Bucky whispered, voice low, meant only for you, his lips brushing your ear. His calloused hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and the touch sent a jolt through you, your body shuddering as a wave of heat pulsed low in your belly.

You moaned softly, unintended, and your eyes fluttered, half-lidded, the drug amplifying his touch into something overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hips twitched, pressing against his thigh, and you bit your lip, shame flooding you even as your body begged for more.

The Howling Commandos sprawled around you, their presence a grounding hum amid your chaos. Dum Dum Dugan, sprawled on a crate, polished his Thompson, muttering, “Damn roads are gonna shake my teeth loose.”

Gabe Jones, at the wheel, cursed as the tires skidded, shouting, “Hold tight, this ain’t a Sunday drive!” Jim Morita cleaned his rifle, Monty sipped from a flask, and Jacques toyed with a looted Hydra grenade, whistling a French tune.

You looked at the men. If you wanted, you could have had any one of them. They could have given you what you needed. But it was the Sergeant who had owned your heart since the very start. He was the one you trusted more than anyone else. The infantry’s banter was a lifeline, but they didn’t see your state, didn’t hear the soft, needy sounds you stifled against Bucky’s neck.

“Bucky…” you managed, voice cracked, barely audible over the truck’s rumble. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around his dog tags, the metal cool against your burning skin. The contact sent another shiver through you, your thighs squeezing together as a fresh surge of desire made your breath hitch, a low, throaty moan escaping before you could stop it. You were drowning in it—the fever’s heat, the drug’s relentless pull, the ache that coiled tighter with every second. “I… I need to tell you,” you whispered, urgent, your lips grazing his ear, the intimacy of it making your skin prickle. “Alone.”

His pulse spiked—you felt it under your fingers—and his eyes widened, alarm mixing with something deeper, unspoken. “Okay,” he said, voice rough, glancing at the team. The Commandos were distracted, Gabe wrestling the wheel, Dum Dum arguing with Monty over the flask. Bucky shifted, easing you behind a stack of crates, the wood splintered and cold against your back. He knelt in front of you, his hands steadying your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “What’s goin’ on, doll? You’re burnin’ up,” he said, thumb brushing your cheek, and you gasped, your body arching toward him, the touch igniting sparks that made your hips rock involuntarily.

You swallowed, tears welling, the shame of your need warring with the urgency to speak. “Zola… he gave me something,” you said, words spilling in a rush, your voice trembling. “Called it crimson fever. It’s… it’s making me want things. Need things.” Your breath hitched, a sob catching as you clutched his wrist, your nails digging in. “It’s in my blood, Bucky. It’s burning me, making me… want you. Not just want—I can’t stop it. If I don’t… get release, he said I’ll go mad.” Your cheeks flushed deeper, not just from fever but humiliation, and you looked away, tears dripping onto your lap.

Bucky’s breath caught, his hand tightening on yours, crumpling the edge of his jacket. You saw the horror in his eyes, but also love, fierce and unyielding, rooted in Brooklyn nights when you’d danced around his teasing, your laughter brighter than the city lights.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. Your breath mingled, hot and ragged, and you moaned again, your body reacting to his nearness, hips shifting, thighs trembling as the drug surged. “You don’t gotta be sorry,” he said, cupping your face, wiping tears with his thumbs. “This ain’t you—it’s them. Hydra. Zola. If they’re doing this, only God knows what else they have planned.”

Your body didn’t care for words. You didn’t need empathy. You pressed against him, a desperate, unconscious move, your hand sliding to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. The drug made every touch electric, and you gasped, your skin flushing from chest to throat, a sheen of sweat glistening in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, it hurts,” you whispered, voice raw, your lips brushing his jaw, leaving a faint heat. “I’m burning… I need you.” Your fingers tightened, tugging his jacket, and your hips rocked again, a soft, needy sound escaping as you fought the urge to climb into his lap. 

Your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, each one a plea you hated but couldn’t stop.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a mix of guilt and desire he hated himself for feeling. You saw it—the way he fought his own reaction, his breath hitching as your touch stirred him, his love for you clashing with the drug’s twisted demand.

You were so needy, so clingy. And Bucky knew it wasn’t completely you, right? None the less he swallowed, trying to ignore the erection pressing against his trousers, begging for release. Every time your fingers grazed him even in the slighest, he felt like he was going to explode. The war had him touch-starved and desperate, that’s for sure. 

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low, steady, though it shook at the edges. “You’re stronger than this. We’re gonna get you through this, you hear me?” His hand slid to your neck, holding you gently, and you whimpered, the contact sending a shiver through you, your body arching, breasts pressing against him as another wave of need made you tremble.

“I trust you,” you said, voice breaking, your eyes locking onto his, lucid despite the fever’s haze. “Only you.” Your hand found his, guiding it to your waist, and you gasped as his fingers brushed your hip, the touch sparking a moan that made your thighs quiver. You were losing ground, the drug’s pull relentless, but your trust in Bucky—forged in Brooklyn, in quiet moments he’d never forgotten—kept you tethered.

The truck lurched, Gabe shouting, “Road’s blocked! Barn up ahead, half a mile!” The Commandos shifted, readying gear, their voices a blur.

“I have one grenade left.” You just about made out Jacques’ annoucement. 

But Bucky’s world was you, your fevered whispers, your body trembling with a need that wasn’t just the drug, but you, the girl he’d loved since that night on the Coney Island pier.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You stumbled into the barn, Bucky’s arm steadying you, his warmth the only anchor against the crimson fever’s relentless fire. Your body was a storm of torment—skin flushed and slick with sweat, pulse hammering like a war drum, every nerve alight with a desperate, aching need that made your thighs tremble and your breath come in ragged, needy gasps. The drug, Arnim Zola’s cruel creation, had twisted your desire into something overwhelming, your hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed against Bucky, his scent—wool, gunpowder, and something uniquely him—igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. Your torn blouse clung to your damp skin.

The Winter Soldier intel was still hidden against your chest, a secret you’d guarded through weeks of captivity. You fought the fever’s pull, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, craving Bucky with an intensity that left you dizzy, your lips parting as another moan slipped free.

Bucky shut the barn door with a creak, sealing you in a fragile sanctuary, the wind’s howl fading to a low moan. He set the lantern on a crate, its glow catching the worry in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.

You felt his gaze, heavy and searching, as he knelt before you, easing you onto a makeshift bed of hay cushioned by his folded greatcoat, its wool warm from his body. Your hands clutched his jacket, fingers trembling, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as his touch sparked electricity, your hips twitching involuntarily. “Bucky…” you whispered, voice raw, your eyes glassy but locked on his, a flicker of you shining through the fever’s haze.

“Doll, I’m here,” he said, voice low, hoarse with worry, his calloused hand brushing your cheek. The contact sent a jolt through you, your body arching, a soft moan spilling out as your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing sharper. He froze, his breath hitching, and you saw the conflict in his eyes—love, longing, and fear that this wasn’t you, just the drug. “You’re still burnin’ up,” he said, thumb tracing your jaw, and you whimpered, your skin flushing deeper, a rosy heat spreading from your chest to your throat, glistening with sweat in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, urgent, as you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist. The touch was fire, and you gasped, hips rocking toward him, your body trembling as the drug amplified every sensation. “I need you… it’s too much.” Tears welled, shame mixing with desire, but your eyes held his, fierce despite the fever. “I told you… I can’t fight it.”

He exhaled, shaky, his hand tightening on your hip, his dog tags clinking as he leaned closer. “I’ve wanted you forever,” he said, voice raw, breaking. “Since that damn pier in Brooklyn, since you laughed at my dumb jokes. But this…” He gestured to your trembling form, his eyes darkening with guilt. “I don’t wanna take advantage, doll. I need this to mean somethin’ to you, not just… Zola’s poison.” His thumb brushed your lip, and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your body shuddering, thighs squeezing as a fresh wave of need made your breath stutter.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — ever the gentleman.

“Don’t make me beg,” you said, voice sharp, almost a growl, your hand sliding to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned, and the sound of his voice was like velvet. “I want you, Bucky. Always have. The drug’s making it worse, but it’s me.” Your eyes burned into his, lucid, defiant. “I trust you. Make me feel good. Please.” Your hips shifted, pressing against him, and a desperate, throaty moan escaped, your skin prickling as the fever surged, your pulse racing so fast you felt it in your throat.

Bucky’s resolve cracked, his breath ragged. “Alright, honey,” he whispered, voice thick with promise. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel good, I swear.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his lips soft but hungry, tasting of salt and desperation. You melted into it, your body trembling, a gasp catching as his tongue brushed yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, and your hips rocked, the drug making every touch a spark that set your nerves ablaze.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours and you could see the question he wanted to ask ‘Are you sure?’, and you nodded, breathless, your chest heaving. “I’m sure,” you said, voice firm despite the fever’s haze.

He eased your blouse off, careful of the hidden intel, his fingers brushing your skin, and you gasped, your body arching, nipples tightening in the cold air. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your collarbone, and you whimpered, thighs trembling as his gaze alone sent a pulse of heat through you.

Bucky’s hands were gentle, reverent, as he traced your curves, his fingers lingering on your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, and you shivered, a soft moan escaping as his words stoked the fever’s fire. He kissed your throat, lips warm and deliberate, and you gasped, head tilting back, your pulse hammering under his mouth. Your body reacted vividly—skin flushing from chest to cheeks, thighs clenching as a fresh wave of desire made your hips rock, the ache between them unbearable.

“Bucky, touch me,” you pleaded, voice desperate, guiding his hand lower, your boldness driven by the drug but rooted in trust.

He nodded, his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers sliding down your stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft skin above your thigh. You trembled, a sharp gasp tearing from you as his hand brushed closer, your thighs parting instinctively, inviting him.

Your skin prickled, sweat glistening, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, the drug making every touch electric. His fingers found your warmth, teasing gently, and you moaned, loud and needy, your hips bucking toward him, thighs quivering as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. 

“Bucky…” you breathed, clutching his wrist, nails digging in, your body tensing as he explored, his touch careful but sure.

Your reaction was immediate—muscles tightening, a flush spreading across your chest, your breath stuttering as his fingers circled, coaxing waves of heat that made your toes curl. You arched, hips rocking in rhythm, and your moans grew sharper, each one a desperate plea. The drug amplified every sensation, your skin hypersensitive, and you felt every callus, every movement, as if he were rewriting your nerves.

“Feels… so good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your thighs clenching around his hand as a coil tightened inside you. Bucky watched, his breath ragged, worry flickering but desire burning stronger.

“You’re with me, doll,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, and you nodded, a tear slipping free as pleasure overwhelmed you.

He shifted, lips trailing down your chest, and you whimpered, your body trembling as he kissed lower, his breath warm against your stomach. “Gonna make you feel even better,” he promised, voice low, and you gasped, hips lifting as his mouth found you, his tongue gentle but deliberate. 

The sensation was a lightning strike—your body jolted, a cry tearing from your throat, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. Your thighs trembled, muscles quaking, and your breath came in short, desperate gasps, the drug making every lick a pulse of fire. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your brow, and you moaned, unrestrained, hips rocking against his mouth as pleasure built, sharp and relentless. “Bucky… oh, God…” you gasped, your voice breaking, your body tensing as you neared the edge, every nerve singing.

He pulled back, kissing your thigh, and you whimpered, desperate, your hands tugging him up. 

“Need you… now,” you said, voice raw, your eyes locked on his, lucid despite the fever. He nodded, shedding his trousers, dog tags clinking, and leaned over you, his body warm, grounding. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice thick, needing your consent, his worry clear.

“I want you, Bucky,” you said, fierce, pulling him closer. “Always.”

He guided himself, the moment of connection slow, deliberate, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming, amplified by the drug. He was big, bigger than you had ever had before. He stretched you and you felt your body clamp down around him. Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink and you felt his short fingernails dig into your hips as he steadied himself. Your body reacted vividly—muscles clenching, thighs trembling, hips rising to meet him.

“So good…” you moaned, nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks.

He moved, each thrust a rhythm of passion and care, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, “I’ve got you, doll.” 

You brought your hands up to his face, guiding him to your lips as he thrusted into you. This was more than sex — a cure to your condition. This was love. You kissed him slowly, leaning into the softness of his lips. He smelled like lingering smoke mixed with a sweetness you just couldn’t describe. It was familiar, like the cotton candy you picked at and shared on the pier at Coney Island.

“Do you remember that time when we stood at the edge of the pier and you were showing me the constellations in the sky?” You asked, your eyes finding Bucky’s, watching him as he fucked you.

“Mm,” he nodded his head, wordlessly. “Wanted to kiss you so bad that night.” He breathed into admittance. 

“I wanted you to kiss me too.” You replied before your words were cut off with a loud moan. Bucky grabbed your calves, pulling them up to his shoulders allowing him to go even deeper, hitting you at a new angle. Lewd, wet sounds echoed in the barn and you had visions of someone walking in. It only spurred you on even more. 

Your breaths mingled, your cries soft but desperate, the drug’s urgency blending with love. Your thighs tightened around him, hips rocking, and pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembling as you neared release. “Bucky…” you gasped, voice breaking, and he kissed you hard, just like he’d always imagined, deep and grounding, as you shattered, a cry muffled against his shoulder, the fever’s grip breaking. He followed, his climax a choked wave, shooting a warmth that painted your walls, arms tightening to hold you close.

The barn fell silent, save for your ragged breaths and the hay’s rustle. You collapsed against him, trembling, the fever’s heat gone, leaving you fragile, your skin cooling but slick with sweat. Bucky pulled his greatcoat over you both, shielding you from the cold, and held you, your head tucked under his chin. The lantern flickered, casting long shadows, and shame crept in, your voice small. 

“Was it… just the drug?” you asked, clutching the intel in your blouse, fear lacing your words. “Did I… make you?”

“No,” Bucky said, fierce, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “It was us, I’ve loved you since Brooklyn, since that pier. The drug didn’t make me want you—I always did.” His voice cracked, and he kissed your forehead, steady. “You’re not broken. You’re mine.”

You nodded, tears spilling, but doubt lingered, Zola’s experiments haunting you. “I’m scared,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What if they’ve changed me?”

“They haven’t,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’re still you, still the girl who cracked their codes, kept that intel through hell. I won’t let them touch you again.” His promise was fierce, but you felt the war’s weight, Hydra’s reach, and the shadow of what you’d uncovered.

Outside, Gabe’s voice cut through, soft but urgent. “Sarge, we’re clear. Ready to move.” The Commandos, loyal, unaware of the barn’s secrets, waited in the snow.

Bucky helped you sit, adjusting the greatcoat, his touch gentle. “We gotta go,” he said, voice low. “But I’m with you, every step.” He stood, pulling you up, and you leaned into him, steadier but haunted, the fever gone but the intel and emotional weight lingering. The barn door creaked open, moonlight spilling in, and Bucky led you out, his arm around you, ready to face the war—and Hydra’s lingering threat.

You followed Bucky back to the van. “Write to me?” You asked, locking a subtle finger with his, so that his men wouldn’t notice.

“Of course I will.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t care if anyone saw. The last thing he’d do was want to keep you a secret. He had dreamed of you, of this, since 1939.

“And after the war, you’ll find me on the pier at Coney Island, waiting for you.” You told him, an oath that you’d protect with your life. You didn’t want anyone other than him. You would wait for him, even if waiting meant forever.

“I’ll be there.” 

You believed him.

“You’ll come home, won’t you?” The question lingered with uncertainty and worry as the Winter Soldier intel burned in your pocket.

“Do I look like a man who’d keep my doll waiting?” Bucky smiled, his blue eyes twinkling like an aurora, full of love and hope. 

Yeah, you believed him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

[helluvagyal]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐮𝐩

Starring: Adam, Vox and Alastor x gn!reader !

Content: MDNI, smau, cursing, derogatory name calling in both vox and adam's art (by them and you), alastor's part is in the format of him sending a letter. I named Alastor's shadow Facilier because I wanted to.

A/N: It was fun writing this tbh. @hellvcifer specially requested Adam and then I had them re-read some of his part to see if i got the characterization right.

ADAM

VOX

ALASTOR

An eggshell white envelope lands on the table in front of you. Looking up from your well kept copy of House of Leaves, you see Rosie is standing beside the bone carved table, her large eyes flitting expectantly between you and the mail obviously intended for you.

Closing the book with a sigh, you hand it to Rosie before picking up the letter and inspecting it; Your name is written on the front in loopy but neat handwriting and the back is sealed with red wax that's been stamped with Alastor's crest, a Whitetail Deer skull. You heat the letter opener over the candle flame beside you before sliding it under the seal to melt it. Once opened, you gently slide the parchment out but not yet unfolding it.

"Would you like me to stay?" Rosie rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, her smile softening when you nod gratefully.

"Yes, please." You watch as she folds her skirts before taking a seat in the armchair across from you.

You haven't heard a peep from Alastor since you two decided to end your relationship, and while amicable, you couldn't help but feel nervous about receiving a letter from him.

Hesitantly, you unfold the deer skin parchment and begin to quietly read to yourself.

My dear,

I have penned this letter numerous times, trying my hardest to get my thoughts out in a way the both of us will find acceptable. Firstly, I must apologize for being scarce, the hotel has been keeping me very busy recently as I decided that I needed to throw myself into work as a way to cope. I am well aware that at some point, we both wanted different things, to achieve individual goals that would not have bode well for us in the long run if we had decided to stay together.

Be that as it may, I would be lying if I had said that I had not grown fond of you and our tête-à-têtes. I did not think I would have enjoyed hunting together as a date night option but yet again, you have managed to make me eat my words, sha. Time apart has made me come to the realization that even though we are no longer in intimate relations, that does not mean I do not want you in my life.

My apologies again, as I know that by me avoiding you must have made you think the worst of me, I regret that moment of weakness on my part as I could have pictured the hurt you must have felt every time you hoped to see me but I did not show.

The chance to talk over tea and pastries at Rosie's would just be the bees knees, I so would like to issue these apologies again in person—but I just couldn't imagine writing this letter without doing it here first. According to Facilier, you seem to be looking well and it is not that I do not trust its judgement, I would just like to see you for myself.

I look forward to hearing from you again, sha.

Yours,

Alastor

© helluvagyal ‧ all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, share, or copy my work.

[anantaru]

a/n. ✩ ˛˚ . i am currently sick and wanted to write something sweet, enjoy my loves while I'm drowning myself in hot lemon water, gn! reader

neuvillette likes to buy you flowers.

he doesn't necessarily have a favorite type of flower that he likes to purchase for you, because to him, it's the plant itself that reminded him of you.

for one, when he looks outside the window to catch the neat, sprouting garden outside your home, the sun rays shimmer gently along the various petals, rainbow roses stretching and slowly opening its eyes to the soft tickle of warmth.

to neuvillette, it felt the same as when he hears your voice whisper a honey-like "good morning" first thing during sunrise, and he wishes he could explain to you just how much the sound of your voice gave him butterflies and hope.

one part of him was on fire when you begin to smile as you realize he had bought you a bouquet full of blossoming lumidouce bells again.

to neuvillette, your grateful smile was resembling a warm gesture that was widely manifested in a garden scented with the fragrance of nectarous flowers, various plants going crazy when they receive the warm affection of the sun.

now, the man was calm and peaceful knowing that you liked them and that when he wasn't here with you, there was at least something that would always remind you of him.

you move towards him, slanting close, settling on his lap, and it makes his heart skip a beat when you leisurely wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into a quick kiss— because you see, every time he connects with you physically, neuvillette felt like you were a piece of him that had been missing perpetually.

neuvillette moves his tongue gently until you forget yourself into his trace, savoring the moment as he runs a finger along your thigh. you shift your hips a little to move closer, a wave of felicity shielding your bodies before the man decides to break the kiss as to catch his breath.

restraining his bliss for a moment, the iudex reminds himself that work had been awaiting him.

he takes your hand and squeezes it gently, "i assume you like the flowers?" as he questions lightly, even though he fully knew the answer to his own questioning— yet his mellow voice was so full of passion like it was attempting to burst his lungs, unable to exclaim the deep gratitude he felt.

you snicker back, quite absorbed in watching him blush vividly after one kiss, "you ask if i like them? i love each and every one of them," you continue, sounding sweet to his ears, "thank you, i will take care of them while you're gone,"

your gentle lips pass a smile, and you admire his eyes, see and notice how they had been cosseting your own.

this love, it wasn't like one you had encountered in the past— because the one you shared with neuvillette was an union of souls and hearts and minds, not something you could put under a microscope and understand immediately, because simply put, it was too complex for that, strong and unbreakable.

pure love, like a liquid which descends from the clouds in rain with your body feeling different— bouncier, more energetic.

feeling happy.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[sinning-23]

please please please do different arcane/opla character's kinks???? (preferably some Jayce but yk-)

OMG I was just returning to arcane roots. Mind you I haven't seen the recent season (Im waiting for my mom and sister since we all watched dit together) UHH take these smutty lil kinky lil headcanona!

P.s For as much smut as i write I have the hardest time remembering the differences between kinks and fetishes BUT I think I got it down lol. Bare with me yall.

P.P.S. I'll make a part two with some more of these guys lol I started to draw a blank on a few and get burnt out but I want to provide QUALITY writing to y'all

Enjoy-

Silco

Yknow every time I come on this god forsaken app I find myself thirsting over dead midleages if not older men....

Ahem

Smoking and Begging I feel like would be two kinks of his. And like he already is a smoker so just translating that over to the bedroom....oof.

I feel like he's the type to smoke after or before, but like in a way that relaxes him even further? YK what I'm saying? Perhaps he'll even offer you some with a firm grip on your face while he blows smoke into your mouth, just before he kisses you.

I also think the begging gets him hot under the collar. Just the idea of his partner asking so desperately for release knowing he's in control of whether they're allowed to or not really does it for him. He's ruthless but sweet in the most deliciously contradicting way. Saying things like, " Begging is so unbecoming of you my dear," or "You can beg better than that, I thought you wanted to cum?"

Sevika

Sevika my belovedddddd <3 come home baby the kids miss you lmao. Sevika seems like the type to be down for a lot but also has her limits? One thing that really gets her going though is overstim/multiple orgasms. Please let her pull as many as she can from you its literally her favorite thing watching her partner come undone. She likes to see how messy you get and how your thighs tremble and shake, damn near tensing up from the strain.

She starts slow. Maybe two...then three more.....how bout we shoot for 4 to 5? SIx you say?! Alright, let's just say fuck it and go for 7.

"C'mon, you can give me one more. Thatssss it, let go."

Vander

This is a harworking, loving, family man okay. He doesn't have time for a lot...However, he definitely has time to just have you squeeze down on him with those hot, wet walls, simply existing. Ahhh yes the art of cockwarming in cwich he is an expert in. Hes a sneaky fucker too, taking time to just position you in front of him so he can slip his cock into you, just enjoying your warmth. No movement, just there, your back to his chest, pretending like nothing is happening behind the counter.

He especially enjoys the late nights, your bodies melted into one as you just sinkkkkk down on him, just adjusting to his length, fighting the urge to move as does he. Just that's part of the fun. Expect lots of soft gentled caresses as yout walls memorize him

Vi

Babygirls got a thing for hot chicks in uniform. Be in business attire, military, or otherwise, she loves it.

I mean, honestly, I was not hot about clean white button-downs tucked into fancy dress pants adorned by emblems of silver or gold. A nice neat hairstyle, no flyaways, very much office siren.

And please god don't let you have a snappy domineering attitude, telling her what to do, sexily taunting. Babygirl will be weak in the knees.

Jinx

I don’t think she’d have any kinks if I’m being honest. I see Jinx as a very experimental and fun but soft and vanilla lover. She enjoys being treated softly and gentle, especially in a moment of vulnerability like being intimate with a partner.

Viktor

I hate to be the one to say it but stalkings/knee highs and glasses… Yall HEAR ME OUTTT HEAR ME OUT! I know that sounds really bad but if you see the vision. I feel like Viktor is a lover of pretty things, patterns and decoration. The feeling of lace or tights under his fingertips, the thrill of being the one who gets to remove your glasses before you go down on him.

All is truly a treat in his pretty yellow eyes. Especially when it's his beloved and devoted partner. He takes his time with you treating you delicately as he pulls the fabric off your kneesocks away to reveal pretty legs he gets to you all the way up to the main prize. He likes taking his time unwrapping his gifts. His favorite part is discarding it all from your body. Or at the very least, making you do it.

"Strip." He hums, leaning forward as you shed layers of clothes with a smile.

Ekko

At first I was thinking that mmm Ekko doesn't have any really kinks. Maybe he’s more vanilla but then I got thinking…

Nah nah this guy..

He likes being bitten.

Oddly enough he wasn’t sure why when you had first done it on impulse, the two of you in one of your more intimate moments. You hand grazed his shoulder, only applying slight pressure before stopping yourself from going too hard but the sound it pulled form him. Gorgeous.

“D-Do it again. Please?” He asks, lifting a bit above your too see your glossed fucked our eyes.

“Bite you?” You reiterate, trying to read him and it’s nothing but pure lust and adoration.

“Baby, please.” He huffs, lulling his neck to the side, giving you access.

Please mark him up he really likes it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

You think there some scenes in the anime that might not be too similar to the Manga? Because someone pointed about the ravens in Yuu's world not from the Manga and if you think about it, the housewardens are placed separately in their own group in the anime instead of sitting together in the manga.

I really hope there some unique additions yet stay similar to both the manga and game. Because some of things in the manga felt too rushed (like Ace and Deuce together in that statue scene and being expelled for one incident seems too harsh compare to them breaking the chandelier as a second offense with Deuce throwing Ace to get Grim out of the way. It also showcase what many believe that Deuce is a typical rule-follower and smart in that scene only to learn that he is actually not bright from that chandelier idea) and unnecessary change that felt weak (Riddle being rude to Yuu about their parents and life after Yuu complains about his dictatorship in the dorm vital that brought anger to Deuce and Ace for insulting his friend showing their friendship yet the manga shows Riddle being rude to Ace and Deuce which feels weak).

I do admit the the overblot transformation from Riddle is pretty cool and the backstory is heartbreaking using the Alice in Wonderland themes. Even having more Heartslabyul screen time from the trial room singing and beastmen that aren't from Savanaclaw.

Changes are basically guaranteed in adaptations; it’s a natural result of shifting mediums and having different groups of creatives working on the projects. How the game devs, mangaka, and light novel author choose to depict and frame the same main story content already differs across the retellings. This includes removing some scenes, combining scenes, expanding or clarifying already existing scenes, and/or adding entirely new scenes. The same will likely be true of the anime. Even if it is intended to be an adaptation of the manga, the manga will not perfectly translate to animation and won't be just a shot-for-shot (or panel-by-panel replay).

Details like the ravens being shown in the anime trailer can afforded in animation to help establish the ominous mood. In the manga, the scene of Yuuken heading home and being hit by the dark carriage literally takes only two pages. The anime can’t let this scene pass by too quickly (or it feels rushed going by in the eyes of a viewer), so it makes sense that the scene would be elongated by showing the environment and building tension before the big impact.

The dorm leaders being seated separately rather than together is most likely an anime decision made to showcase multiple characters at once, rather than just the dorm leaders. For example, we can see Rook and Jamil in shots of Vil and Kalim since the anime shows them with their dorm members. It’s also nice being able to see several mob students (with actual eyes!!!!) in the background. This is just good trailer material, which the anime benefits from.

I hope that the anime has content exclusive to it; it would be a neat incentive for long-time fans to spot, and it would allow the anime to make use of its later release time to sprinkle in Easter eggs. For example, the manga shows Riddle in his Apprentice Chef outfit while making his salty apology tart for the end of book 1. This outfit didn't actually feature in book 1 (released March 2020) in-game because the first Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles event didn't release until February 2021. This adds to the content without too drastically deviating from the main story. It'd be great if the anime kept these or even added more of them!

Certain changes made to the manga were probably done in an effort to streamline events, as they can only take up so much space in the monthly magazine in which they are serialized. Ace and Deuce are introduced together in the manga, as opposed to one at a time in the game. They probably cut out that chandelier scene and made them both get into trouble over setting the Queen of Hearts statue on fire in order to save on pages. Now sure what they'll do with this for the anime? I think they'd have the run time for two incidents instead of just the one, but it depends on how many episodes total are dedicated to covering the prologue and how each incident is depicted??? Like, you could very easily have both if you just had a montage, but I'm assuming that most Twst fans would prefer fully animated and more fleshed out scenes (which would eat up more screen time). Really hard to judge at this point since we don't know what the pacing of the anime will be like.

As for who Riddle directs his post-duel insults toward, it's a point of debate among fans and has been for a while. I have a post discussing this in more detail--but essentially, the game version is the only one in which Riddles insults are vague enough to potentially refer to Yuu. In the manga and the light novel, it's made more explicitly clear that Riddle means to insult Ace and Deuce. I assume that the game--which has the blank slate self-insert Yuu for players to project onto--was intentionally open-ended so that players can fantasize about having someone (Ace) stand up for them when someone else is being cruel to them. I feel that the anime will most likely go with Riddle insulting Adeuce, since Yuuken isn't a self-insert and it may not make sense given his backstory doesn't focus on his parents or him being raised a certain way??? Unless the anime of course chooses to expand on those points and make them bigger deals, or they change the nature of Riddle's insults to perhaps be more geared towards implying Yuuken is a bad role model for others. This would hurt Yuuken more, as he is shown to have a kouhai in Kendo Club that he cares a lot for and even sees him in Deuce.

In the end, I think the changes and extra content they implement really depends on how the animation team wants to use the screen time they have. They could get away with more in the early seasons where not much is happening, but maybe not so much in later seasons when the stakes ramp up and they really have to lock in on the main plot points they have to hit.

[sheeezu]

My diary, few days before I shifted. (I discovered this VERY late, I know I've said I didn't write anything down, but I did write sometimes, but they are scattered over notes and notion on different accounts, I didnt write regularly.)

I want to post this, in order to let others know, while I shifted I also struggled like anyone else, the tone is feigned confidence. In brackets are my comments, right now.

"The night will come.

Dawn would peak through my window soon.

I would be waken from my slumber still in the same reality."

Maybe. Maybe there's a way around it, to end my suffering, my fear of something as insignificant as waking up, maybe the sun that peaks through my window is from home. Maybe I'm four year behind time. Maybe once I wake up, everyone has disappeared and I can dance in the abandoned streets. Maybe the sky would have fallen, maybe I'd wake up to a flooded and drowned world, straying away in the water on my mattress. Maybe the apocalypse might have occurred, I'll wake up in a frenzy, and then i won't have to worry about college, will they finally hault the exam result? Would that buy me more time.

Tonight I saw in my dream. *** (dr name) walking confidently through my college's doorway. I looked all victorious and mighty. But why did I see myself, from 3rd person point of view, when I am me, that's me! I am that posh and neat looking person. I am the one with the radiant smile, looking so dreamy even in a dream.

I want to merge with all of it. Every particle of soil from my home.

A beautiful lyric speak, although it is a rewording of the iconic, "did the chicken come first, or the egg?"

"Did love came first, or was it the lover?" (This is from an urdu song, translated)

For me it sounds, did my home exist first, being the starting point of my soul, or was it me who created it with my soul?

That's too deep of a discussion to pick up now, I just know it's my everything. All I care is me being there. To be able to walk without my eyes looking to the ground once.

Anyways, I end up writing so meaninglessly, that I exhaust myself.

What I've learnt about shifting, today: there is no requirement for order in my existence. Just because I fell asleep here, doesn't mean I'll wake up back here. That's too... humane, I rise up the need to look at the time. Hardwork ≠ success, the sooner I unlearn this the better. Its dangerous if I follow it. It'll only lead to me being another donkey in the system. In my vein flows the path back home, I just need to feel where the wind's direction is. I've talked about time before, oh dear circumstances! You're just colors flashing on the screen.

I will simply, just be there. I will simply be where I am supposed to be.

I've been better mentally, I am too ashamed to do anything, I always pretend that ***(deceased loved one) or people from home are watching me. I haven't talked to many people today, everyone is asleep. I am tired but I can't sleep, I end up daydreaming about home! I feel tingly, I feel like being on the verge of shifting, I'm too excited to see what it'll be like to convert it into ACTUALLY shifting, I will hand craft a method for myself. I'll think about it!! Definitely. Right now I am going to distract myself from this reality, I will be writing, and play THE playlist in the background. :)))))

Please deliver my love to *** (dr s/o) and dad!

[rassicas]

random question, but in the english version of the tartar fight, pearl says something like "Blowing out my voice is a small price to pay for saving the world!" but no matter where i look, i can't seem to find anything like that in the jp version. i can't shake the feeling that i've missed something…

what do we know about hime's senpai cannon in the jp version? was ‘blowing out my voice’ just an invention of the localization team?

ignore the youtube loading bar this is the JP of the 'blowing out my voice' line, she's saying something like '...got it. ill give my voice if it means saving the world!' so its not really that different.

however, what's notably different is what comes before this.

(timestamp 1:13:17)

in the english version, marina instructs pearl to warm up her vocal chords. in JP, marina tells her to build up emotional energy/excitement/hype (テンション） to use her special. afterwards as well, just before pulling out the princess cannon, instead of saying "vocal chords ready!" she says something like "hype to the max!" to announce that her special is ready. during the time when you ink the statue, if you look up at the helicopter, you can see pearl hopping from side to side. again, this isnt her warming up her vocal chords, but rather charging up her special! it's a small change, but it leaves out a neat piece of info about inkling/octoling biology: specials are directly linked to emotional energy! this info pops up here and there in JP, like in splatfest dialogue, but in english not so much.

the art of splatoon book mentions it, but the way its worded makes it seem like it only applies to inkzooka. i looked at the JP text for this tho and i remember that this translation being a little weird and the jp text not implying that its only inkzooka that uses that kind of ink.

this art also shows the link between specials and emotions, pearl getting so upset over losing in smash that she charges her special LOL

i assume the lines were changed in localization for the sake of story flow and simplicity. they hadn't really been making those specials=emotional energy references in the english dialogue before, so it wouldn't make sense to start then. it is what it is i guess.

[andromeddog]

Do you have any tips for drawing soldiers uniforms?

hi anon! really really long, really really rambling answer for u below the cut <3

i have many thoughts! ig the first thing is, what are your intentions with what you want to draw? are you going for complete accuracy, or is it more of a vibe situation? bc you don’t always need to be perfectly precise with uniforms, sometimes just suggesting what’s there is enough. being completely 100% with them can sometimes be distracting or unnecessary…

LIKE HERE FOR EXAMPLE….. in the snafu piece i kind of only hinted at what he was wearing… the belt, the pants, theyre really all over the place. but that’s not what’s important here or what i was trying to depict, so that’s okay! u want to see snaf being crazy, which i got more w shading and color. whereas in the piece w speirs, being precise in what he’s wearing lends itself to the war dog intensity of the whole guy. he wears that helmet proudly and holds tightly to the strap of his gun, very much IN his uniform in this moment

(do i think either of these r successful? idk. looking back on the work ive made and viewing them as complete “””””art”””””””” pieces is wack. am i in art school again. these certainly are drawings, let’s just assume they are worthy of this sort of analysis and that for sake of argument are “successful”)

buuuuuuut u can also go too crazy with pinpoint accuracy haha. like this pic? maybe it was just bc i was using a monoline brush but there was literally no reason to draw every single fold. it makes this drawing incredibly busy and unpleasant to look at. i think im just obsessive and get too invested in the details and miss the forest for the trees. so u get shit garbage like this sometimes, but that’s a me problem. i would just keep an eye on what the purpose of the drawing is!

if it’s accuracy ur going for (which i usually am) then reference is your best friend. look in different places for them, collect them, caress them like a lover, they are very important. after u look at soldiers a lot u can kind of get a feel for how specific uniforms sit on them (watching shows, movies, hell even gifsets if u r extra online like me) but that varies for whatever era ur trying to draw! spending time researching is kind of a big part of the process haha. be willing to scroll through lots of pics and lots of sources, if ur really dedicated to the cause then maybe buy some reference books!

in general i find uniforms are practical, durable, and layered for utility. everything has a purpose, those fifty straps going cross body are usually attached to fifty pouches, each with their own functional use. understanding the different parts of a uniform, their uses, the WHY of an items inclusion helps build the whole look in ur head and translates to the drawing. uniforms are bulkier than i initially expected bc they are meant to fit as many ppl as possible and typically have little to no tailoring (if we’re talking ww2. ww1 was all over the place w uniforms, especially officers, but that’s another ramble for another friday night). each era and each country and sometimes even each soldier’s uniform has its own little quirks. that’s what’s so appealing about research and drawing them for me! isn’t it neat how ppl’s individual preferences shine through even when they all have to wear the exact same thing!!!!

did any of this help at all??? i am chronically incapable of keeping things succinct! but if u read all of this thank you! i love u 🦆✨

[rose-morose]

well gang, I thinks it's time we had another chat about Kit from Jentry Chau vs the Underworld

this will be a lot less serious than the last post I made, it's less of an analysis and more just me gushing about how neat Chinese mythology is and my love of how it's portrayed in the show

if you only read one of my posts today, you should make it that one which can be found here

there is another post that someone else made about Kit and how his winged portrayal in the intro relates to Chinese mythology that you should totally check out and you can find it here

anyways...

(long spoilers under the cut as per usual)

I'm gonna preface this by mentioning that I am an aroace adult and I mostly hang out with queers, so I find most allo(especially teen hetero allo)romantic relationships to be cringe and weird, so when people are saying that the romance in this show is poorly written, I don't really see any difference between it and other romantic writing so I'll just defer to the popular opinion in this case

anyways, regardless of the quality of the romance, there is one point that everyone seems to agree on, and that is that Kit's violent and threatening behaviour towards Jentry after she rejects him in favor of Michael is seemingly uncharacteristic and entirely out of left field

now personally, I mostly agree and don't necessarily think that it was the best writing choice for his character, but I do think there is a pretty good explanation for this portrayal

so for those of you who don't know, painted skin is not a type or classification of demon in Chinese mythology nor is it the name of a demon, it is instead a reference to a short story titled "畫皮", which in English directly translates to "painted skin" where a single unnamed demon disguises itself as different humans by wearing painted skin over its demonic form

so a quick summary of the story is that a man finds an attractive homeless woman and agrees to let her stay with him and they have sex, his wife is upset by this affair but he won't change his mind, then one day he finds the door to his home locked, but when peering through a window he sees the pretty woman's skin with attractive features painted on to it separate from a horrible ghoul looking monstrous demon, the man panics and gets a charm to ward off demons from a Taoist priest but it doesn't work, enraged by the man's attempt to ward it off the demon kills him and rips out his heart, it then flees and pretends to be an elderly servant where the man's wife and the Taoist priest find it and kill it, then the man's wife brings him back to life somehow

now Kit's character being based off this story would of course draw many parallels between him and the demon from the story

he is seductive and manipulative, he is afraid of showing his true form, he pretends to be an attractive human to get what he wants, he becomes enraged when he isn't accepted, he dies at the end of the story, and he has historically killed people that do not accept him because he isn't human

setting his character aside, if you were purely going for a parallel to the original story, Kit's enraged and violent behaviour towards Jentry actually makes a lot of sense

however in this case, Kit is not exactly the same as the demon from the story, he is motivated by a want to be human, despite the fact that he has killed humans for centuries his method of killing is far less gruesome and impulsive, he requires qi from other living creatures to survive, he doesn't turn to smoke when he dies, he (mostly) voluntarily reveals his true form to Jentry, he never physically harms Jentry, and he does have actual feelings for Jentry (I actually can't remember if the original demon had feelings for the man but I don't think it did)

so while his behaviour makes sense when drawing parallels to the story, not having the context of the story and solely relying on information from the show makes it seem completely out of nowhere

and like I said, I think the show probably should have made this one of the parallels of the story that they ignored and it would have been better for his character to not be this toxic, but it doesn't ruin the show and is laregely resolved (but not necessarily justified or made up for) by Kit's sacrifice to save Jentry's life

additionally, since the original short story is the only recorded case of a demon wearing painted skin, I'm not sure if Kit is supposed to be the original demon or not

the demon's death at the end of the story would imply otherwise, but the fact that Kit has lived for centuries would place him in the right timeline for being the same demon, and the implication that it seems like he is the only one of his kind (I don't think his "parents" were meant to be painted skin demons but then again there is an entire painted skin entry in gugu's bestiary so maybe he isn't the only one) leaves no other options, and this all seems especially plausible if the story teller was exaggerating true events

and while the story demon is largely femme presenting in contrast to Kit's typical masc presentation (even in demon form), his ability to change his voice and appearance to match Jentry would imply that gender identity and sex are not limiting factors to his transformation

anyways I just thought it was a fun thing to think about, and it could explain certain writing choices that made less sense to the audience

I just love Chinese mythology and I love this show and how it uses that mythology to create complex and interesting stories and characters

not to mention the fact that I love the subversion of the "femme fatale"/"sexually promiscuous women are evil" trope/theme by instead making a (seemingly) male character also seductive and able to use his attractive features to manipulate people, and the idea that seductive and manipulative people are shown to in fact also be people that have their own complex motivations and dilemmas and who, despite their selfish behaviour, are not inherently "evil"

I mean, Kit even uses his looks to manipulate the fandom into not examining his character in an objective light /lh (just a joke please don't hurt me)

honeymoon phase still isn't over, so I still won't be examining this show quite in an objective light yet, but maybe one day...

anyways, thanks for putting up with my rambling, I love any opportunity to educate people on Chinese culture and mythology and this show is the perfect excuse to do just that

[golden-loona]

found you | chapter two

summary: jungkook finds a pink diary in his drawer that connects him to another timeline. where will it take him?

pairing: jungkook x oc

tags: slight college au, sci-fi(ish), fluff

words: 2026

no warnings needed / this is not fully proofread

this is not to be copied or translated. thank you!

the diary plagues jungkook's mind throughout his classes the next day. his professor talks but the words are muffled, the noise in his head disturbing everything else. scattered, mindless notes typed onto a word document on his open laptop, completely out of focus.

whats worse? today is september 1st. his birthday. what did he do to deserve this mess on his birthday? of ALL days. he can’t even think straight, any plan he had in mind is void. the only light on in his brain being that pink fucking diary. 

the one question that invades his mind the most, is how is this possible? how is he able to communicate through a diary? how is he seeing entries when the diary never leaves his room? it feels like the universe is playing a joke on him, if thats the case then jungkook wants out.

still, he can't help but be curious about the diary's owner. from what he's read of the other entries, she loves dawson's creek and listens to a lot of early 00's music. her most recent song on repeat apparently being "so yesterday" by hillary duff. it confuses him.

when jungkook thinks about it, but not too deeply, his mind wanders to that one marvel movie. doctor strange the multiverse of madness. because that's exactly what its feeling like. a multiverse. the concept is fun, sure. if jungkook saw all this in a movie he would eat it up, but in real life? the idea of being able to talk to someone from a different timeframe frightens him.

is the diary owner from his current time? or the past? the future? is he supposed to keep quiet about things happening in his time? what can he tell her? what can’t he? is there a chance him and this girl can meet? every question races through his mind, over and over like an anxious knocking.

the idea of a rip in time and space, that rip being a pink diary? out of everything on earth, it terrifies him and excites him at the same time. there's the potential for him to have an insight to whatever year this girl is currently living in, he just has to convince himself whether its a good idea or not.

the students around jungkook in the hall all stand up, pulling him out of his deep thought. he naturally stands with them, closing his laptop and shoving his things into his backpack without care. throwing it over his shoulder, jungkook steps to leave the lecture hall. his mind still stuck in a daydream, the endless possibilities and theories of his current situation. 

when jungkook gets home, he notices the “birthday boy” banner taped to his door. a small smile spreading on his lips, he mentally thanks his roommates and steps into his room. he can almost feel the drawer of his desk staring at him. jungkook lazily drops his bag onto his bed, trying to ignore the desk drawer. he swears its glowing in the corner of his eye but thats impossible.

he also used to think multiverses were impossible until now, so he guesses maybe anything is possible. jungkook gives in, slowly opening the drawer with a defeated exhale and of course. the diary is still there.

he knew it would be and yet he kind of hoped it wouldn’t, this just confirms everything he’s been overthinking about today. the mess of science and make-believe thats ran through his mind like its running in circles. 

opening the diary, there sits a new entry. scribbled gently in dark pink gel ink, neat and clear. nothing compared to jungkook’s rushed handwriting at all. honestly, this girl’s pen-game makes his handwriting look absolutely appalling. 

september 1st

first of all, that kiss was a dare. this is a judgement free zone, diary stealer. and i have a name, idiot. my name is yn and i’m 19, i live in itaewon with my mom and my brother. 

can you stop reading my diary now? 

jungkook can’t help but crack a smile at the sassiness written in the ink, he can almost hear it in his head. that attitude, that tone. 

this is what’s pulling him in.

this sassy, funny, mysterious stranger is who’s pulling him into all this. the one who’s magnetic. the one that’s been sitting in the back of his mind all day. 

she lives in itaewon and she’s 19, surely jungkook knows her? surely she goes to the same university as him? maybe they’ve bumped into each other? all these questions fill jungkook’s mind as he begins to daydream. 

jungkook sits comfortably on his desk chair, the wheels squeaking as he shuffles closer to the desk. he holds the diary open, grabbing a black bic pen and popping the cap open to scribble his own entry. 

september 1st 

it’s my birthday, yn. be nice! i’m jungkook, 28 (today) and i also live in itaewon. can i ask you what year it is for you? 

jungkook sighs and leaves it at that, closing the diary and placing it back into the desk drawer. an exhausted sigh leaves his lips and he spins gently on the chair. 

the concept of speaking to someone in a different timeline scares him, either he’ll be the one keeping secrets of the future or he’ll be speaking to someone who knows something he doesn’t. it sends shivers across his body.

“happy birthday to you,” jungkook’s thoughts are interrupted as his roommates step through the door, cake with lit candles in hand. they sing, out of tune of course, but it makes jungkook smile like an idiot. 

“you guys didn’t have to-” jungkook begins but his roommate, taehyung, shakes his head. he sets the cake on jungkook’s desk as their other roommate, hoseok, takes a seat on jungkook’s bed. 

“here, we got you this” hoseok says brightly, a shining smile on his face as he hands jungkook a carefully wrapped gift. jungkook opens the present with hesitancy but he can’t help but chuckle like a kid once he sees them. 

socks with his friends faces on them.

jungkook breaks into laughter, holding the socks with their faces on it. “seriously, guys?”

jungkook wakes up to a buzzing sound, its 4am and he is not in the mood. he sleepily sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he searches around the room for whatever is buzzing. following the sound, he’s lead to the desk drawer. an old, small clock he used to use for alarms is buzzing away. one without batteries. what the fuck.

jungkook smacks the side of the digital clock, hoping it shuts up and it does. his eyes glance for a second at the diary and he feels that pull again, his heart naturally racing. a gentle sigh leaves his lips and he grabs the pink diary. 

jungkook shuffles to his bed, clicking his bedside lamp on as he opens the diary. he flicks through the pages as he finds the last page he wrote on and of course, there is a new entry.

september 1st

happy birthday diary stealer! i hope you did something fun for your birthday, there is lots to do around here so i hope you enjoyed it. we went to the skating rink for mine! they played lots of backstreet boys and nsync songs, it was a whole party. 

its september 1st 2003! goodnight xo

jungkook feels his chest tighten and he swallows harshly. 2003? this is a fucking joke. surely it is. 

he rubs his forehead, feeling even more stressed about the situation. jungkook gets out of bed, the diary in hand as he steps out of his room and out to the hall. barging into taehyung’s room, he turns the light on and throws the pink diary onto the bed.

“enough, taehyung” jungkook says frustratedly, his exhuastion present in his tone. a sleepy taehyung stirs and covers his eyes. “i didn’t mess with the toilet, i promise” taehyung responds with a tired whine.

“no, this! this! its a sick joke, taehyung!” jungkook argues loudly, picking up the diary and holding it. he again throws it onto taehyung’s bed. “i know you love your pranks, tae” jungkook begins, rubbing his eyes, “but this is sick.”

“i’ve never seen this diary in my life,” taehyung murmurs, inspecting the diary tiredly. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, confusion contorting his face. “who’s is it then? hobi’s?” he questions, taehyung shakes his head. 

“you really think hobi would own a pink y2k ass diary?” taehyung remarks, chuckling lowly. jungkook can feel himself going slightly more insane, his mind twisting and his chest burning. even more frustrated, he grabs the diary back and stomps back to his room. “well goodnight to you too, kook,” taehyung says dryly.

jungkook closes his bedroom door a little too hard, the walls shaking gently. tossing the diary onto his desk, he sits on the edge of his bed and clenches his fists. the irritation of having zero answers to his own questions sends surges of annoyance through his veins, an exasperated sigh coming from his chest.

then, he thinks back to the girl in the pages. the girl who loves dawson’s creek and listens to britney spears on her cd player. the innocent girl who also has no idea whats going on, the only one who currently understands him. a hint of guilt sits in his chest, its not her fault. she didn’t do anything wrong.

acting on his guilt, jungkook gets up and sits at his desk. he fumbles the pages of the diary and grabs a pen, tapping it back and forth against the page as he prepares to write a response. finally formulating the words in his brain, he rushedly writes a new entry.

september 2nd

2003? i’m in 2025. this feels surreal and my head is all over the place, diary girl. how are you feeling? are you a mess like i am? are you struggling to comprehend this too? 

from, jk. 

jungkook closes the diary, stuffing it back into his desk drawer and popping the cap back onto his pen. he exhales heavily and slumps back into bed, getting comfortable under the covers. maybe tomorrow, the diary will be gone.

it's not gone. it's not gone. jungkook feels defeated, the universe is supposed to send you signs isn't it? maybe this is meant for him. maybe this journey is meant for him. jungkook holds the diary in his hands, sitting on his bed with a sullen look.

the only person he has to talk to about this is yn herself, she's the only one who won't truly think he's crazy or going insane. jungkook gently turns the pages, one after one. he gets to last night's entry and finds a brand new one.

september 2nd

i told you i have a name, dummy. use it! you HAVE to tell me about 2025!!! are there flying cars? can we download our dreams onto cd's like movies yet? YOU NEED TO TELL ME! and yes. i am freaking out, it makes no sense. there's no science about this and i hate geeky things like that. do you have any theories?

lighten up, diary stealer. yn xo

this entry makes his heart warm, a toothy grin appearing on his face. the excitement in her written words, it makes him feel something that he can't quite name. diary stealer. jungkook kind of loves this nickname.

jungkook grabs a pen from the metal holder on his desk, clicking it and holding the diary steady. for the first time, the words come to him with ease. his hand moving as the pen moves naturally against the page. a small smile curving on his lips as he writes.

september 2nd

but i prefer your nickname, yn. 2025 isn't as futuristic as you may picture, we have ai if that counts? we have robots but they don't exactly do much. we do not have flying cars and no we cannot download our dreams. i also hate geeky science stuff, so i guess we're both screwed. the only theory i have is that the multiverse does indeed exist.

i'm lighter now, diary girl. jk.

a/n: i'm hoping that each chapter i will write more words hahaha. hope you enjoyed it!

previous chapter // next chapter // fic masterlist

golden-loona 2025

[inamagicalhallucination]

ok gift giving is a big part of atsushi’s love language 

this wasn’t meant to be long but-

whether its becuz the tiger’s cat-desire to hunt for the agency translated to something more human (along with cooking but my cooking atsushi headcanons will pop out sometime else) or just becuz atsushi has never been gifted anything pre-agency and to him its something very precious who knows

it’s not that he spends ages pouring over what to give the agency members (well not always) its more like if he goes to the store and sees a type of candy ranpo likes he’ll buy it for him

when atsushi’s new at wanting to give his loved ones gifts, he does over think it tho cmon its atsushi

like he’ll see a nice pen, buy it for kunikida, but then he’ll feel like its such a dumb little thing and he should’ve put more effort into a gift because of that he ends up hoarding a lot of trinkets becuz he’ll see them and buy them as presents but be too shy to give them up

(and he’ll also spend ages pouring over what the perfect present for everyone would be but always finding some fault in his ideas)

it’s not until dazai’s breaking into atsushi’s apartment to teach him the joys of stealing other people’s credit cards that he notices a neat stack of containers with atsushi’s friends and stuff’s name on it and asks atsushi about it that something ever happens

dazai: don’t tell me atsushi, you were planning on chopping us all up and storing us into these containers ? u’d need bigger ones for that by the way

atsushi, horrified: WHAT?? of course not!!! these are-

atsushi, flustered: these are just things that i dont know i bought becuz i thought you’d like them. but theyre silly so i didn’t give-

dazai, already opening his own box: ATSUSHI!

atsushi, trying to pull him away: what

dazai, pulling out a tiny void eyed black cat keychain: did you buy this for me? how did you know i wanted it?

atsushi:

atsushi: you wanted it?

dazai, lying but atsushi doesn’t need to know that: yeah i wanted something like this. how cruel atsushi, buying it and storing it away~ not giving it to me :(

atsushi, pleased and happy: do you um want to look at the other stuff ?

//

so essentially dazai in his own strange way of not actually addressing the problem convinces atsushi to give his silly little gifts to the agency members

(and tho he did not want anything like the keychain before, he’s quite pleased by it and all the other things that atsushi got for him)

so atsushi in a moment of joy and happiness places all the containers in front of each members door with his name signed and bolts (kyouka’s is placed near her stuff right before he leaves since he wakes up before her) (things for non-agency members like lucy are left in places where they work/hang out a lot) (fukuzawa’s in front of his office doors)

//

the morning at work, atsushi’s shaking with nervousness 

the first one to arrive after him is kunikida (who’s usually the first to arrive)

kunikida greets atsushi politely - theres something about him that seems different, a little red on his cheeks but atsushi cant tell what; he’s too busy being relieved that kunikida isn’t upset about his gifts

when kunikida opens his book, the pen he pulls out is the one atsushi gifted him and atsushi is immediately filled with warmth and contentment (when he moves his head, atsushi notices that his hair is tied with the ribbon atsushi gave him)

kunikida doesn’t say anything but his gratitude and his appreciation for atsushi’s gifts is clear (also he may or may not ruffle atsushi’s hair more than usual that day)

//

after kunikida and dazai’s appreciation, atsushi is more excited about everyone’s reactions

junichiro is flustered and pleased and thanks him profusely, grinning the entire day - naomi tells him about each gift and why she likes it 

kenji tries to gift him a cow which is banned from the office by kunikida - who points out that atsushi wouldn’t know what to do with it, so kenji comes back with chickens, and then after the same thing happens, gives atsushi stuff from his garden

haruno and the other staff all thank atsushi with hugs or shoulder pats

ranpo doesn’t look at atsushi as he approaches him but he’s wearing the pins atsushi bought him and the fact that he’s holding out a candy for atsushi to take is telling enough

yosano thanks him fiddling with the bracelet atsushi bought

kyouka apologizes for not giving him anything and atsushi has to explain to her that he’s just getting gifts becuz he wants to not becuz he wants them to give hm something back 

fukuzawa does the old person affection thing by placing his hand on atsushi head ya know the thing

anyway

lucy is blushing when he goes down to the cafe and calls him dumb and then gives him extra cake so-

//

the only person who atsushi’s bought gifts for but hasn’t given them to is akutagawa

their relationship isn’t as hostile as before but atsushi doesn’t know what to do with it but he thinks theres a tiny chance that akutagawa might like them so he makes up his mind and ships them to him (he does not include a return address or his name)

akutagawa, climbing through atsushi’s window a few days later: it was you wasn’t it?

atsushi: stop climbing through my window asshole????

akutagawa, coughing and showing atsushi the black bracelet atsushi got him: answer me

atsushi, remembering the gifts, flushing: wh-what ? noooo-  I uh. I mean i don’t know what you’re talking about

akutagawa: it has to be you. no one else would give me something as strange as a plastic skeleton

atsushi, weakly: it fit ur aesthetic ?

akutagawa, ‘glaring’ at him: 

atsushi: ...sorry?

akutagawa, looking away, coughing, ears red: whatever. i don’t like being in debt. tell me what you want, i’ll buy it for u

atsushi: oh no no no. you don’t have to do that! honest. it was just a few silly things that reminded me of... you... r u okay ur face’s red

akutagawa, grabbing atsushi and pulling him towards the window: shut up im buying u dinner

atsushi, very confused: ok?

anyway yeah

might add a part 2 becuz i wasn’t gonna post the start of atsushi giving gifts but just him giving ppl gifts but i cant help myself

also howd akutagawa get here

[toskarin]

what warband mods would you rec? I only ever played vanilla warband years ago and that was probably on fairly low AI settings, but I'm definitely intrigued by getting the full feudal clusterfuck experience as well as indulging in some nostalgia.

there's a few qualifications to these, because I usually like them for different reasons and I have something wrong with me, but...

< ! PREEMPTIVE WARNING ! > you should be running modules in Warband Script Extender even if they don't say they need it! people have historically been really bad about clarifying when it's expected

Bannerpage - vanilla for people who want More of it, and then more after that. it reminds me of a spiritual successor to Floris Modpack. an enormous expansion that's also a bit of a tongue in cheek what-if for "Bannerlord, except as continued development of Warband" with increasing complexity. this one will probably spoil you a bit on other modules just because of how many little enhancements it pulls on the native systems lol

Prophesy of Pendor - the premier feudal fantasy rpg experience. this one is brutally difficult and throws some battles at you with genuinely bewildering enemy force sizes. I'd feel fairly confident in calling this the most difficult of the major total conversion modules that maintain core M&B gameplay

Touhou Gensokyo Warfare~the Castiron Flame - this is straight up glorious kusoge and I love it dearly. it often breaks so severely due to its own design decisions that it creates a unique high-skill gameplay expectation that exists in literally no other mods, but also it can't really be called "core" M&B gameplay anymore. this module actually consists of three chinese mods (Touhou Tinder, Touhou Origin, and Touhou Beat), one of which is derived from a fork that was extended by /jp/, another which was just translated by /jp/ (a shoddy translation but not distinctly a 4chan translation, if that's a concern), all of which were merged into one mod and managed by a passionate and cool chinese mod team. none of this comes to a consistent artistic vision. every single character looks like kigurumi cosplay and they all look like they're from different manufacturers. this is my favourite module. I could play it for years.

Perisno - a strange bird of a module that I don't see mentioned much anymore. a shame, honestly, because it's quite fun if you like higher fantasy settings. a bit overconfident with its own setting lore at times, but that really just makes it more authentic as a high fantasy setting, doesn't it? anyway they funnelled the mod development efforts away to a standalone game in the setting because of that, and I wish them well, but you know how it goes with that sort of thing

Gekokujo Daimyo Edition - a modification of an older warband module that was originally a touhou hijack that was originally a mod for the non-Warband game made by japanese players annoyed that nobody in the western playerbase was making mods with a japanese setting. it's buggy, it's incomplete, it will explode at you randomly, but it's still pretty neat. there's really no other mod out there that gives you such a thorough "I HATE THE TANEGASHIMA I HATE THE TANEGASHIMA" experience. Sengoku Era, a successor mod, will probably replace it on recommendation lists when it eventually releases.

Warsword Conquest - this is the Warhammer Fantasy mod. it has all the problems you'd expect from that. that being said, the sheer level of detail in this mod makes it more than worth dropping in to check it out. some of the environments are gorgeous enough to make Warband feel like an entirely different game, and with a surprising variety of firearms, the average campaign ends up being a pretty wild ride

Brytenwalda - I'm not recommending Brytenwalda as an experience, because it's actually not that good a very interesting moment in M&B modding history. Brytenwalda is the birthplace of a lot of mod tropes that became standard in mods going forward, namely most culture-related systems and the modern standard for module graphics. it also introduced tripping and represents the moment people started making really annoying attempts at jury-rigging balance into the game before Warband Script Extender came around and actually allowed them to modify the lower systems of the game. still kinda neat if you like historical settings, and definitely foundational enough to warrant a look

Last Days of the Third Age - infamously hard-headed in a way that only a mod for a feudal warfare simulator rpg made by Tolkien nerds who insist on book>movie aesthetics could pull off, this isn't really core M&B gameplay and is very rigid, but it's another case of something being so detailed and passionate that it's a fun experience anyway.

Solid and Shade - this is actually the best hardcore survival horror experience made for Warband, which is a bit like saying that Harvester is the best FMV game ever made about waking up in a town named Harvest. the Harvester comparison is more than surface level. the writing often feels like Harvester. this is one of the only modules (hell, one of the only games even!) I've ever seen that successfully pulls off the concept of corrupting players with the promise of immortality. it's a horror mystery where every single character creation option affects your longterm gameplay... but to provide a fair warning, reading the developer's commentary on this mod will sour you on it. the developer is an edgelord who just kinda kitchen-sinked horror elements in a way that reminds me a lot of Revolution of Terror (the old Well of Souls mod). the compelling esoterica and atmosphere seem to have been achieved largely on accident

[tactical-jellyfish]

Damaged, but not beyond repair

Warnings: deep pain and sadness (reader), big, ugly mental issues and also chronic pain caused by past neglect and injury. Pneumonia. Kortac finally getting a feature! Say hi to my garbage takes on König, Horangi, and Swagger. Yes, I wanted to add a whimsical Polish man (and yes, this urge was founded by yooo-lets-go). Characters playfully threaten cutting off each other's penis (flirting).

"Not everyone's made for the SAS. We see a fair share of... disappointments, every year. The people who just can't hack it."

The voice ringing in your ears makes you push harder still, redoubling your efforts to break your limits one more time, to push through and make it, to get this done.

A sharp, hot flash of pain chases its way up your ankle as you re-rack, letting the weight finally leave your tired hands, but it's worth it to hear the quiet, for just a minute.

Of course, it can never be that easy. No, you can take it. You don't want it easy. You can take it.

Maybe that's why you reach directly over the Austrian sitting on the bench next to you, grabbing your own water bottle instead of the one offered to you in a thick-fingered hand, and taking a few short sips. Too short, and you know it.

He knows it too, and König quickly makes it your problem.

"You are not drinking just that, yes? It is not enough."

He sounds almost annoyed. You'd rather he was, because you can hear the choking tentacles of concern staining his words, and it makes you scoff as you set the water bottle back into your gym bag, wordlessly leaving the small olive branch to rot in the soil beneath.

König quietly holds that feeling, counts to ten, and lets his eyes follow the way you favor one leg as you leave.

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

Time always passes, but only cowards let it escape them.

Papers shroud the neat, smooth dark wood of your desk, clashing doubly with the flat surface and your own skin. Something tries to dig itself up in your mind, but you dutifully shove it back down and pick up your pen, jotting down the post-mortem of another mission in smooth, inky strokes. If you can't train, you will work.

Paper's texture has always let you drift away from the moment you're locked in. The rolling of the pen's ball scratches almost silently, filling what was once (and still is) soulless, bureaucratic nonsense with your work.

There is much to do, and you are nothing if not productive, so you do it. You work weeks ahead, and it's somehow a relief.

Your hip and ankle have been flaring up more and more lately, but the papers let you push that slow creep back for just a little while longer.

And, before you know it, it's been hours, and a Korean is at your door, with knit brows and a quiet voice.

Your name leaves his masked lips first, and it draws your attention to the following string of words you can't quite parse.

"괜찮으세요?"

When you raise a brow, still flat-faced and just itching to get back to your work, Horangi musters the nerve to ask in a way you'll understand.

"Are you okay? You've been working longer than me, and the day's over."

His voice is accented, clipped in spots you don't recognize. Then again, every sounded different here, who were you to judge?

"Sou bem, gato."

You're clipped, irritated, but he knocks on the doorframe twice, a silent call for translation. Blast that stupid Austrian and his little niche bullshit rules.

"I'm fine, Horangi."

He leaves unsatisfied and a bit annoyed. Your pen embosses the paper with the new force behind the nib.

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

There's this one new rookie that keeps popping up around base and bugging you.

He doesn't seem to be malicious, but he's... fuck, he's actually not that bad. Even if he approaches you halfway through your meal time and stares for a good while before sitting down across from you.

You peep a small Polish flag on his vest, so imagine your surprise when you hear him greet you.

"Bonjour."

What the fuck.

"Oh, you're French."

Some deal of shame actually hits you, and you narrowly follow your words with a polite apology.

"Sorry, It's been a time since I heard the language."

There's a muffled noise (you hope it's a chuckle) beneath the gas mask you see, before it's taken off and set on the table.

His nose is thin, but the corners of his lips are twitching up as he looks at you, one brow raised in playful question.

It brings a shame that you didn't know you had, and you cough into your elbow to clear your throat, waving your other hand as if to silently waft away the social faux pas.

Swagger–no, you're not joking, that's his callsign–doesn't let you forget it.

Not for months, as he slowly pries his way into your routine. You know what he's doing, but you don't stop him.

You let him bring coffee sometimes, but you return the protein bars he keeps trying to get you to eat, because the things are genuinely repulsive.

It seems to put off König, but Horangi seems to be in a much better mood, lord knows why.

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

This goes well until the misfortune of your biology forces you into an unprompted state of weakness.

It's been a long time. Or, at least, you think it has.

The world around you is warping, twisting like the drawings of a drunkard. Your sparsely-decorated walls are bending beneath their own weight, every noise sounds more and more like the foundation of your mind snapping beneath itself, threatening to crumble.

You only feel how sweat-soaked your sheets are when the door opens, prompting you to raise your iron-weighted head as much as your neck will allow.

There's a noise, a hollow, death-rattling wheeze that accompanies the movement. You don't know where this noise has come from. It seems to stress the figure in the doorway, it speaks to something you can't see.

The words are wiggly and clumsy, like they were shifted in just the wrong way in your ears to somehow make them illegible despite being spoken. Maybe it's just your mind shutting down.

Hands are everywhere. On your face, forehead, thighs. You don't know why, but it feels as though you're being submerged in a cloud, allowed to drift free of the mortal shackles that bind you to a faulty body, even though it must not be the case.

The force holding you up to the sky struggles briefly, and you feel something trying to worm its way up your throat as you're jostled. More hands, this time on your chest, and a soothing croon that you can't decipher.

You're tired. The hands let you sleep.

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

Wakefulness is back before you know it.

The walls are straight again, and the wetness in the sheets beneath you is gone. It makes you groan, tired and confused.

A head pops up, and a stressed string of German greets you.

It makes your brainstem throb with discomfort, and the discomfort must be on your face, because two scarred, big hands reach forward. One takes your shoulder, and the other dares to reach to a small box of tissues, plucking one to gently sponge away the moisture on your face.

You want to be angry, but you let this moment hang in the air of the room, allow König his closeness to you, for just a little bit.

He hesitates before speaking again, watching your face for discomfort.

"...You are very sick. Should have told team."

He masks his frustration just for you, wraps up the feeling and jams it into the back of his mind. There must be a reason you're so unwilling to open your mouth and let your mind talk, he knows it. It will take time.

König can be patient, for you.

Your own eyes take more note of the room around you.

Another body rests near the bed, a head of somehow-messy, pin-straight hair is leaning against the bedpost, sleeping on the floor. Horangi.

"How long have you been here?"

Talking seems to agitate something in your throat, tracing the vibrations caused by your voice down to waterlogged lungs, drawing out a cough.

It doesn't stop at one. More and more liquid phlegm finds its way into your throat as you hack and shudder, trying desperately not to vomit at the sheer volume.

König shifts closer too quickly, gathering you up as distantly as possible–one hand on your upper back, the other on the crown of your head–to keep you steady. He looks wired, but in the stressed way, like a mother hen.

"Spatz." He mutters, following his words with a gentle shushing noise, trying to gently guide you back down from the coughing fit.

Horangi is awake again when König coaxes you into spitting the fluid into a tissue, and he takes it upon himself to wipe the tears from the corners of your eyes.

He worries over your wrist with his thumb, keeping a gentle hold over your hand with his free one, more gentle than the normal playfulness he shows you.

Dark, monolid eyes look you over, and he cringes under his mask, clicking his tongue.

"You look good for a corpse." Kim's voice is sleepy, still, a little bit deeper than normal despite him trying to pass it off as normal.

Before you can react, König smacks the back of his head (a little too hard), cussing once or twice before scolding the Korean beside him.

"Scheiße, do not flirt! They are pneumonic!"

"That's not how you use that word." Kim snarks back, undeniably wearing a shit-eating grin beneath the fabric that shrouds his mouth and nose. This earns him a scoff.

"Shut up."

He doesn't.

"Why do you hit me when the weird Polish one is still outside? Hit him!"

The bickering brings you some comfort, but you have to pause when you hear a reference to someone you think you might know.

You've learned your lesson from speaking, so you whisper a question. Its answer will either confirm or deny your suspicions.

"He speaks French?"

"How do you know that?" König tries to ask, before being interrupted by Horangi.

"He speaks French? He's Polish!"

Or it won't. Sure, that works.

"Gas mask?"

König nods.

"Ele é meu amigo. Let him in."

Neither knock on the nightstand to make you translate, but there's a confused glance they share before König opens the door, and shakes a silhouette sitting on a plastic chair in the hallway.

Swagger almost trips over himself, but wakes up quickly, dumping his ass right next to you on your bed, almost bringing on another cough.

He jams a small styrofoam container into your tired hands with his own, followed narrowly by a spoon.

"Peux-tu manger seul?" The thick accent makes you look up tiredly, and it seems that he's answered his own question, shaking his head as he opens the container.

Soup. It's not warm anymore, just room temperature, and it's composed of a very thin broth, but you only scowl when he tries to get you to drink from a spoon that isn't in your own hand.

"Mon ami, I will cut off your penis. Eat."

You shouldn't laugh at the threat, but you do, and it makes you cough (thankfully, less than before), into your hand.

"Merda, you're stupid."

You return, but just before you can close your mouth, he gently kisses the seam of your lips with the spoon, trying to guide you into eating.

And, despite yourself, despite the fact that both König and Horangi can doubtlessly see you being that vulnerable, you let the liquid into your mouth, swallowing it down slowly.

"Bon. See? Not bad, is it?"

You chuckle once more, but let yourself take another spoonful before your speak, silently thankful for how the salty sustenance soothes your raw throat.

"It's room temperature." You rebut, smiling just a little.

"You're room temperature."

The pair behind him loom, one over each shoulder, and Swagger doesn't realize this until Horangi is hissing threats into his ear.

"항문, don't talk that way."

König doesn't need to make threats, the force of his grip is enough. Swagger squirms in his seat, unable to pick which one to glare at first.

"Hey, I-"

"He's just that way. It's fine."

Three pairs of eyes lock onto you, and you sigh.

There is much explaining to do.

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

Recovery is mercifully short, but pneumonia has left you with three grown men who trail behind you like dogs.

König looms, straight-backed and menacing, watching as you work, spotting you as you train. He's been acting up less, so it's probably fine.

Horangi likes to push you forward through teasing. Just enough to get you to push more, not too much. He's become a good sparring partner, for you.

Swagger is that one weird dog that follows around the first person that feeds it. He's constantly with you, regardless of what's going on. Does he even have authorization to be in the range? You're not sure. But he chatters your ear off anyway, every time.

You find yourself falling into their silly little rituals more and more regularly.

In the mornings, you make the coffee. Swagger raids the cafeteria, and König glares at anyone who gets too close to the corner as Horangi wakes you back up with the stupidest shit known to man.

You have no idea why he has an account for a website that just repeatedly shows him a rainbow cockroach spinning weirdly (and several other digital curios), but you won't complain. You always thought cave divers were a little dumb, anyway.

Your head rests on Kim's shoulder as you take a bite out of a slice of buttered bread, reaching out to like the video before he can even try.

He chuckles. Swagger un-likes it, just to be a punk, before re-liking it himself.

"Hah. Very funny."

"It is very funny, mon ami, I am glad you think so."

"I'll cut off your penis." you retort.

Kim snorts, König pipes up.

"All of you are freaks."

You watch a grown man with military clearance (Horangi) blow a raspberry at his commander. Swagger chuckles.

"You love us, shirtman." He tries to tease.

"Not you." The Austrian retorts.

"Aww."

"Está tudo bem, cachorro. I like you." You pat his back. He grins, eagerly pressing his cheek into your face, hugging a bit too eagerly.

"Mon moineau, so kind." He flirts in turn, drawing another chuckle from between your lips.

Kim is doing that side-eye bullshit again.

"I don't want to hear it, Hong-jin. You've done worse for less."

He laughs, and wordlessly leans against König's side. The taller man doesn't stop him. In fact, he puts a wide hand on his shoulder in approval.

This is nice. Very nice.

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

KorTac often works with other military companies, or, on the odd occasion, some special service teams.

This is a routine sort of change, and you've long since become used to it.

Horangi naps on the plane on purpose. Swagger falls asleep despite always claiming he doesn't. König likes the one-on-one time with you, as you each hold your respective people, but he doesn't get to enjoy it as much as usual.

He worries about you. You're so fucking strong, and endless source of energy for the purpose of violence and rebellion, but you are not without damage.

The British have hurt you, specifically the ones you're about to be working closely with.

He knows you've chosen to do this. He wouldn't dare accept an assignment that didn't have everyone on board with it, but still.

It's you. And he knows you still struggle with telling others of your pains. So he asks one more time.

"You will be okay, spatzi?"

Your voice is gentler when you have Swagger sleeping in your lap.

"I'll be alright."

He nods, but reaches out a hand for you. You take it, and kiss his knuckles before releasing it. He sighs.

"I'll tell you if I'm not." You add, and it seems to bring him some relief, because you hear a short sigh, and he nods.

You follow through on this promise, but you don't end up having to tell König very much.

Seeing your old team standing next to the transport evokes... nothing but pity.

It is a scar now, the skin is healed and dull and numb to further prodding.

And you've got better people to worry about, now.

Much better people.