#like it’s almost too big a question. too much changes. like HALF THE GRID

[moonshynecybin]

Alternatively an au to an au what would be the major changes in same age au if Vale was born in 1993 instead? Don’t think fundamentally many things would change but the people they compete against changes and that’s going to have to cause some differences.

LESS fun. i don’t like thinking about how much more motogp would suck if vale’s whimsical swag had not flown in on a rocket ship in 1996 and immediately set records in the measurable stat of bits-per-lap

[inkkayyy]

[ ꜱᴋᴢ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ: ᴇᴘ.ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ]

> will i still be here tomorrow to say sorry- because autumn is suffocating me with her cold grip and i am bruising blue with morning frost.

The third episode of JYP Entertainment and Mnet’s, 2017 reality show Stray Kids (스트레이 키즈), shows behind the scenes of the trainees very first music video and the announcement of their next mission; a 3-3-3 unit performance.

"I’m sorry, who kissed you?”

“Changbin! I made him kiss me on the cheek because it was either me or Minho and Minho’s death glare was so fucking scary!” Felix screamed down the phone, switching to English mid sentence.

Sunhee sighed, meeting the gaze of a confused Jisung and Jeongin thought he practice room mirror. “I don’t even wanna know what’s happening on your team bonding trip. Maybe I should fear mine.”

[ ep. 2 ]     [ ep. 4 ]     [ sunhee’s masterlist ]

( wc; 6.1k) (format; english in italics)

They’re given the location a few days before they started filming- some abandoned buildings in Gimcheon. Pictures of it seem vaguely familiar so she ended up reverse image searching it and falling down an internet black hole about the place.

Apparently it was supposed to be a health university but construction had stopped in the late 90’s. Two big circular atriums sat on either side of a standard rectangular school building. Concrete worn down by time and blackened with neglect, it seemed like a ghost story almost. Or at least that was what Sunhee kept babbling excitedly to the other members.

Set up in a side room of one of the atriums was an elevator set, all spray-painted brass and squeaky grid doors. It still stunk like fresh paint but that hardly mattered, because in Jisung’s words, “We aren’t famous enough to film in 4-D yet.”

Sunhee: Yet? Jisung: Well maybe one day, Sunhee: No one needs to smell your lackluster deodorant. Jisung: Lacklustre? *sniff’s shirt collar* I smell fine.

“Exactly, ‘fine’.” Sunhee bit back with a sweet smile that did not match the undertone of her voice. Jisung just frowned in response. “I don’t get it.”

Explaining that girls liked it when boys smelt ‘nice’ not ‘fine’ wasn’t something she’d ever thought needed  explaining. Apparently it was new information to him. She’d sighed and given up after four minutes, heading off for the costume change.

The makeup artists said she was their favourite because she didn’t flinch away when they curled her lashes and applied mascara- unlike Yang Jeongin who kept leaning away with a frown whenever they brought the brushes near his face.

The first set of costumes were basically the same as their performance outfits, with just a few basic changes like no more caps and the removal of a couple jackets. And the next set they filmed in was more fun and bright- something about ‘lost kids trying to find their way’, which she supposed was their whole brand but there were just a few items that were notably ridiculous. At least in her opinion. (That weird half flannel stitched onto the bottom of Chan’s jacket? Yeah that should be burnt).

Her outfit, luckily, was humane- a pair of light acid washed jeans and a long sleeved shirt that sat in the questionable zone between pale red or pink, It hung deep on her frame, hem well past her hips and sleeves almost dipping over her palms. She spent far too much time that day waving her arms around to get the sleeves to slide back above her wrists so she was capable of actually holding objects. It pissed her off.

(And maybe Chan wanted to tell her she looked good with the drooping collar that emphasised the sharp angle of her collarbones and pale expanse of skin- but he wouldn’t dare, not if she’d barely spoken to him for a week.)

Sunhee’s favourite part of the day is when they were given spray paint.

Now it’s private property so they couldn’t actually graffiti, but the set designers put up some fake plaster around so they could go crazy. Of course Chan wrote the band name (and 3RACHA on the opposing wall).

The temptation to draw a penis was far too strong for Sunhee who had restrained herself to simply writing her own name, ‘Sunny’ with little sun streaks coming off the top left of the ‘s’. And of course a few of the other members' names who proved to be hopeless with spray paint (namely Hyunjin who’d flinched when the can hissed and just ended up making a dripping line of black. He whined at Sunhee until she’d taken the can and written his name cleanly beneath her’s).

Rain was unexpected but welcomed and Sunhee stood in the centre of the atrium and held her hand out to either side, head turned skywards as thick droplets of water fell on her cheeks. (this clip would later be shown in the bridge during her harmonisation with Jisung- much to the members delight because the production manager had actually scolded her for getting her outfit wet).

The final scene was odd, with the vague instruction of act like you’re friends- you know, teenage delinquents’.

It was a circle of concrete filled with random furniture, one ugly couch that looked like it was from the sixties in the centre. Jisung was seated on it, then Changbin crashed down next to him. Chan dove in next with a little too much enthusiasm and tipped the entire thing over. Sunhee had admittedly bolted in and squished Jisung’s cheeks between her palms as he laughed, pretending to fuss over him to hide her actual worry. Suenmin had stormed in next and dismissed all her worry as he began bashing them with couch cushions, providing adequate distraction.

The day concluded with one last choreography round, in the dark with red washed lights and a spotlight swiping over them occasionally. The lights made her dizzy and Sunhee ended up doing half the dance with her eyes squinted or closed- but it was a fairly cool shot, she deemed it worth the black spots that spiralled though her vision for the next ten minutes.

Deciding on how to tackle their next mission was difficult- far more than Hellevator had been because it was a 3-3-3 challenge.

Each member at risk of elimination, (Minho, Hyunjin and Jeongin) had to be in a different group. They’d tried to divide before digging though the tracks but it was ultimately decided to just split people as they went, so everyone had a track suited to them.

Sunhee didn’t have any particular needs for a performance, she was pretty versatile, with vocal and dance- and no one could hang around 3RACHA as much as she had and not pick up a few rap techniques. But if she was allowed particular wants for the performance? She really wanted to be paired with Jeongin.

It was where she felt she could help the most, she could assist with Dance and vocal- maybe a bit of confidence boosting too. But if she ended up in a group with either Minho or Hyunjin she wouldn’t really help much, their rapping was what put them on the elimination radar, and Minho was a better dancer than her anyway.

Jeongin tended to get caught up in his nerves and let it bleed through into his performance. If she could assist him with the vocal side of things as well as using a more revision based style of dance instruction- rather than the drilling and repetitive style that Chan and Hyunjin favoured (it worked for them but not so much the maknae) then Sunhee really felt she could help him the most.

And when they started going through the tracks, her confidence wavered just the slightest. The first being the backing for an unreleased 3RACHA song, which would be quite stifling to those who’ve heard the finished song, the beat and melody being rather memorable, and in Sunhee’s opinion, would be particularly hard to ignore when writing new lyrics. Jisung backed her up, and Changbin snorted a laugh from beside her and started rapping his own verse- so it was unanimously decided that it wouldn’t be used.

The second tack was slow, in the grey area between ballad and pop. It would need steady and reliable vocals, like the end of a concert as Seungmin pointed out, there were stars in his eyes at the sound of it- it really would suit him, the performances so far (showcase and hellevator) hadn’t done much in terms of promoting vocals so his excitement was understandable.

Track three was even slower, a piano beat with lingering notes. Minho leant into her side, snagging her attention off the soundwaves display on Chan’s computer. “I think this would be good for me, like a melody rap sort of thing, since PD-nim told me not to sing.”

She jutted her food against Changbin shoe, effectively dragging him into their little huddle and Minho repeated his thoughts. Changbin nodded enthusiastically, taking the idea and announcing it to the group. The decision made was that Minho could do something without a beat, which took a lot of the pressure off for fast verses and spat syllables.

It’s laughable how easily the tension and pressure of their decisions was snapped when Chan hit play on track four, the high-pitched buzzing a gold mine of mosquito jokes for Felix’s highly regarded mozzie impression. They made a few jokes about cutting the noise with a well-timed smack of the imaginary mosquito before MNet told them to move along.

Track five was exactly what she’d been hoping for. It was bright, fun and didn't hold the pressure or stress to be serious like the first four had. And it started with a school bell, so naturally everyone screamed out that it was Jeongin’s song.

But really, it had to be. Something that Jeongin often had trouble with was his facial expressions, he’d do fine with bright and upbeat songs but for more intense performances he often struggled with keeping his smile at bay. It was something easily fixed with time and experience as a performer, but Jeongin hadn’t done many proper performances outside evaluations and the showcases- and hellevator of course. If he did this fun, bright song then it gave him one less thing to worry about.

He seemed to like it, and with the steady recommendation from the other members (particularly 3RACHA because everyone trusted their judgement on track arrangements), the fifth track was officially Jeongin’s- Changbin’s assurances of “You’ll go to a confirmed debut member- I’d bet on it.” did wonders for his confidence about the choice.

Next came the question of everyone else’s preferences. It was widely agreed that each group would have a member of the production team- and if not, Sunhee as the very least, she was perfectly capable of writing lyrics and melodies. Admittedly her last melody had been a point of criticism and she still wasn’t comfortable with Chan taking the blame for that (maybe she’d had barely spoken to him all week and it was petty, but after watching him get scolded for her mistakes Sunhee really didn’t feel like dealing with his self-sacrificing tendencies because it would no doubt lead to an argument).

Seungmin was quick to answer, putting dibs on song two, Hyunjin following suit with his own sappy spiel of how, “we’re both high school students and the same age and it’d be nice to work with someone I can relate to.”

“I go to school too.” Changbin was having none of it, posing his so-called ‘appeal’ to Hyunjin but was having none of it, looking away and poorly hiding the smile on his face. “Hyunjin-ah, look at me in the eyes.”

Ultimately he still chose Seungmin. Changbin offered no other argument other than vague threats. (“Hyunjin have you ever been hit with a coca-cola can?”)

They’re put back on track by Chan making Minho and Changbin sit next to each other (meaning Sunhee swapped with Changbin and was stuck next to Chan) as they both wanted song three.

Everyone has a bit of a laugh about how awkward the two are without Sunhee in the middle acting as a bridge. The pair had never really had a lot of one-on-one time and it was funny to watch Minho silently place a coke bottle between the two of them. 

Changbin: Why are you building a wall? *moves coke bottle away* Minho: *moves coke bottle back* Changbin: Put it in front of us. *moves coke bottle* Minho: *moves coke bottle back again*

“Personally I’d like to work with Jeongin.” that earned a surprised glance from Chan which she pointedly ignored.

Jeongin on the other hand, lit up. “Really noona?”

(his single person interview with the MNet staff would later show him gushing in excitement about working with her but she wasn’t supposed to know that)

“Yup.” She stood and made a point of planting herself beside him, nudging Jisung aside with a poke of her shoe against his leg.

“Well then I’d like to work with Sunhee and Jeongin!” Jisung declared and dragged a grumbling but compliant Sunhee back into his embrace, his legs on either side of her and his chest against her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder with a pointed look at Chan that was a bit too much to unpack then and there.

Felix stood and announced his allegiance to Changbin and Minho’s group, dropping beside them. It’s briefly debated that they don't have a vocal, but easily bruised off with compliments to Changbin’s singing (who muttered in denial until Sunhee forced the compliment on him with the throw of a half full bottle of coke at his lap. “Oww! Was that necessary?” “Yes- take the compliment you grump.”) and the last team is completed by default, although, Seungmin and Hyunjin didn’t seem displeased at all with having the leader on their team.

“Woah, the vocals are so strong on that team,” Hyunjin pointed out, gesturing to the magnificent trio that would become Jisung, Jeongin and Sunhee. The compliments were quickly lost in the hilarity that was Changbin and Minho’s awkwardness (the coke bottle was still sitting between them).

Lyric writing had to be a team effort. That much was decided by Sunhee because well, as much as Jisung loved to go hide off in some secluded corner and hiss at anyone who dared approach while he was writing, the song itself was titled school life and he didn’t exactly have the standard experience with that. Then again, neither did she, so Jeongin was dragged along too.

The three of them piled into a tiny little studio already half filled by a keyboard. Sunhee was in the corner, back to the door, facing Jeongin who’d sat in the opposite corner. Jisung had taken ownership of the singular chair, hunched over a notebook that was precariously perched atop the keyboard that he’d been using as a desk (every time he put pressure on the paper a crude and ugly set of notes would play through the speakers that he’d forgotten to mute again).

He was wearing that stupid yellow flannel of his again- because all he owned were fucking flannels, which in response to her comment regarding his fashion he’d chose to complain to Sunhee about her ‘stupid combat boots’ She’d frowned. “What’s wrong with my boots?”

“You don't even own any other shoes!” 

“Well of course I do. I just choose not to wear them. Back me up Jeongin.” Ever the conflict driving maknae, he hadn't taken her side. It was like he laid eyes on the oldest person in the room and immediately entered fight mode. The argument had quickly been dropped when another mess of piano keys had slammed down, prompting Jeongin to groan in the most aggravated way they’d ever heard from the maknae and just switch the damned instrument off at the power point.

Sunhee had brought some of her notebooks upon special request, ones from her first year in Korea when she’d struggled a lot with school- which of course reflected in her poetry, and the literature notebook she’d used the year prior when they’d done a poetry unit in school.

They were spread out haphazardly around her, pages covered in sticky notes and scrawled over with messy pastels (because of course Jisung didn't use fluorescent highlighters and only kept pale yellow and pink in his pencil case). It truly was a sight to behold and Jeongin had already taken a photo and sent it to the group chat to brag about how great their lyrics would be.

There was an interesting conversation between Seungmin and Hyunjin who were asking if it was ‘too late for a refund’ while actively ignoring Chan’s messages as well as a few declarations of war (in terms of lyric writing at least) from Changbin. Overall, what they should have expected.

But their lyric writing session devolved to an ‘interrogate Jeongin session’ as the youngest had put it. 

“What do you think about on the way to school?” Jisung asked, turning to look at Jeongin, who’d sighed in response. “You know you can just ask Sunhee-noona that. She goes to school too.”

“She doesn’t count. All Sunhee thinks about is being a trainee.” He waved a dismissive hand in her direction- she threw her hands up in exasperation because, yes, Sunhee went to school in Korea. Did she pay attention? Not really. And sure she only went a few days a week but that didn’t mean she had no input to offer. Jisung ignored her groan of exasperation though, just continuing with his eyes set on Jeongin. “We’ve done a song about that already. This one's about ‘School life’.”

Jeongin tilted his head back against the wall, staring at the fluorescent white light that occupied the tiny rectangular room with a death glare that probably wasn't great for his eyesight. “I don’t know- I just think about how early it is and that I wanted to sleep not walk to school.”

Jisung nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his notebook. “How about, I wanted to sleep so I tried sleepwalking walking to school? Does that sit right?”

Sunhee hummed in though, face screwed up the slightest while she rolled the line over in her head.

“I think we need to break it up a bit more, try separating it into two likes instead of one big one so it fits better with the flow.  Like the first could be “I wanted to sleep so I figured out,” She gave a noticeable pause, snapping the last syllable the way she knew Jisung liked to do, before continuing. “‘How to sleep while walking to school’. I think we want to keep the lines short and snappy, you know, give it that childish and teenage feel.”

“Right, right.” he murmured, scribbling over the top of some of the already written lines.

“Okay, and do you guys actually wear the uniform so lazily? Like I've seen the two of you in proper formal blazers and stuff but in tv shows they always have other clothes underneath.”

“Well SOPA is a bit more strict in their uniform code…” Jeongin mumbled, still having his staring contest with the light fixture.

“At Bora, lots of kids wear coats and jumpers over their uniform or even underneath sometimes too- if they ditch the tie and leave their shirt unbuttoned.“ Sunhee thought back to the friends she’d made at her school- or well, Changbin’s friend group that she’d been adopted into by force. “I donno. School in Australia was really strict about that stuff. Or at least mine was.”

Jisung sighed and let his head tip forwards and drop against the keyboard. The lack of a mash of ugly notes was the best silence she’d ever heard.

Her assigned job (because apparently they needed those- Jisung was head songwriter, Jeongin was in the research department) was ‘assistant lyricist’ which felt like some kind of jab but she’d ignored that in favour of finishing  the chorus- which they had established early on, commenting on the monotony of school life and how it feels like the same day over and over. Not that the three of them could relate- school was at the bottom of their priorities.

This left the second verse and pre chorus left, because Jisung was working though his own rap through brute force and incessant interrogation.

Something hard collided against Sunhee and knocked her forward an inch, enough power behind it to have her whining and rubbing at the back of her head where the door slammed into it. She pivoted to scowl at the offender who dared interrupt their lyric writing.

And of course it was Chan, because when wasn't it him, checking in on the members, giving up his own time to help them. What a stupidly idiotic, self-sacrificing man. Maybe her intense displeasure was evident on her face- it definitely was, because Chan was quick to apologise, reaching his hand down to smooth over her hair but Sunhee dogged it, scooting back further away for the half opened door and scowling at him over the top of her notebook.

“Right,” Chan hesitates, glancing between her and the other two who look as if they know it’s not something for them to watch or comment on, but aren’t making an effort to look away regardless. “Never disturb a writing Sunhee. Should have learnt that one by now.”

His laugh is dry and misses the mark, but he continues on in true Bang Chan fashion, not letting anything faze him. “Did you guys manage to shorten the track alright? No points that need adjusting?”

Jisung gave an uneasy look to Sunhee who scribbled away furiously with a pen before he answered. “No hyung, we got it sorted- but I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“Sure. Right, okay.” Chan gave a look to Sunhee in the corner, like he wanted to say something, but just sighed instead, heading out the door. “I’ll see you guys back at the dorm then.”

As soon as the door shut Jeongin let out one of his dramatic sighs that she was positive he’d learnt from the trashy American tv shows Felix made him watch, and dropped his head into his hands briefly. Then he decided to glare at Sunhee instead of the light fixture. The maknae’s fury was no joke, they let him prance around and boss them around because none of them really cared, but faced with his frustration, Sunhee may have gone as far to say she was scared- only slightly, but still scared. “When are you going to stop fighting with Chan-hyung?”

Sunhee didn't move for a few seconds, blinking at him with wide eyes as he glared at her. “What?” 

“God noona,” Jeongin whined, running a frustrated hand down his face with a heavy sigh.

“We’re not fighting!” Sunhee defended. Then she actually thought about it, a frown appearing on her lips. “Just not talking about the issue.”

“Oh my god- can't you see that not talking is fighting?” Jeongin groaned out, like it was the most obvious thing  in the world and Sunhee was a special kind of stupid. But how could you fight if you didn't talk? That was her belief because if she had a conversation with Chan then it would no doubt end up in yelling and tears over both her stubbornness to prove herself and his insistence to protect his friends.

 Apparently the others had picked up on this stance though- if Jeongin of all people was losing his cool. The maknae was scowling at her from his seat barely a metre and a half way, the cramped room flooded with his frustration. “He looks like a kicked puppy! Take pity on the man and make up or whatever you old folk do.”

“Old folk- I’m not even two years older than you.” Sunhee sputtered in a poor attempt at a subject change. Again, a failed tactic.

“He’s not wrong though.” The small murmur caught her attention, dragging it away from a fuming Jeongin. It’s the volume that gets her, he sounded so small, and it’s a rare occurrence to see him in such a state. His hands are  in his lap, fingers twisting together with downcast eyes. He looked nervous. And Sunhee hadn’t seen him nervous when talking to her in a long time.

“Jisung?” Her voice came out softer than intended, but he glanced up to meet her eye anyway.

“Well you and Chan-hyung- it’s just you guys you know? It makes sense to see you walking side by side or do that stupid shoulder thing. So much changed when you joined the company. Having another Australian around it made him… happier.” He mumbled. It was something she’d been told before that their leader used to be scary but her presence reminded him of home and mellowed him out, made him less grumpy and weighed down- but she’d always taken it with a grain of salt. Who could possibly think Chan was scary? 

Jisung sighed again, running a hand through his hair before rumbling his palms against the fabric of his jeans. “It’s not a good time to hang onto grudges noona. Not with all the cameras, and the expectations. I don’t like seeing you guys at odds.”

The look he fixed her with was nothing short of world-ending, those big brown eyes of his staring right at her. Jisung, despite his spitfire tendencies to battle everyone who dared oppose him, was fragile- and at that moment, he looked ready to break.

“Look,” Sunhee sighed, something she seemed to be doing a lot of. “I’ll talk to him soon, but can we keep writing for now? We should really get this done.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah Sung-ah.” She held her hand out for him to take with a weak smile, winding their pinkies together and stamping their thumbs together as she'd learnt to do in Korea. “Promise.”

MNet had once again decided that the sombre mood of teenagers fighting for their career in a very stressful environment was too gloomy. More bonding!

The activities were practically shoved in their face, every group being assigned something to do.

And of course the vocal group was given karaoke. Because what else would they do? Go out to the Han river or bowling like the other groups? Why would they waste possible clips of them slaying at karaoke?

Jokes on them, Jisung and Sunhee were having none of it, singing their absolute worst- not to mention Jeongin’s instance on performing trot.

Overall, it’s probably a good thing the reserved room was so tightly packed, it meant the crew had set up cameras and booked it out so there would actually be room to move. 

Sunhee navigating the machine controls is unfairly hilarious, the board of buttons, numbers and flashing lights completely foreign in her hands. She kept accidentally playing Twice’s ‘TT’ because apparently there was a button for that???

She ended up with some ballad that was clearly from the early ninties and thus not within her time-period of existence. The melody came out stressed and jumpy, much to the boys’ delight, who found their noona’s struggles with the song hilarious. (Jisung had shoved the mic into her palms, explaining, “Come on, let us have this one victory. You can go back to day6 once you get through this classic”.)

Safe to say, Kang Sunhee’s rendition of Steel Heart’s ‘She’s gone’ was cut from the episode.

They exhausted their hour of rented karaoke time pretty easily and were left to their own devices by the MNet staff- quite irresponsible really, leaving a few high schoolers alone in the big city (they raided a convenience store).

With Sunhee’s visa card in hand, the three of them spent the allocated 15,000 won- it was her snack budget for the week but she figured it was a good cause. Shitty cup noodles- one each of course, and convenience store soft drinks- Jisung’s Fanta an ever-evolving point of contention. Jeongin buys a can of coke as they pull out the camera for ‘product placement’. 

Sunhee replied that she was so proud of him for ‘becoming the proper entertainment industry slave she knew he could be’ with the maknae in a headlock as she messed up his hair. He wasn’t pleased.

But the three of them filmed their walk back to the dorms where the others would be- they’d all filmed in turns that day, Minho’s group in the morning at Han river, Hyunjin’s in the afternoon at some bowling alley, and now Jeongin’s group at night.

There was temptation to steal a traffic cone found on a side street but under Jisung’s scolding and reminders that Koreans took traffic and road regulations very seriously, she relented and kept walking.

It was nice to walk and listen to the pair squabble. They wouldn’t be as energetic the next morning when she forced the choreography down their throats but that was an issue for the next day. Yet as she parted with them at the dorms, insisting she head back to the company- (and Jisung made one sideways comment about how she was “just as bad as Chan-hyung” that left an odd feeling to brew in her stomach) she felt determined to have the choreography finished by the next morning so she’d be able to teach them the full song.

Sunhee was in charge of dance on their team, admittedly it felt good to have such creative control again. She used to help the boys with their dance, being the better dancer in the dance line as well as the eldest- a few months ago she’d conceded the role to Minho, who admittedly suited it very well. She wasn’t bitter about it, despite her complaints about being shipped off to the main vocalist position. (When he’d joined the company the pair had actually spent a significant amount of time together, catching up on all their performance choreography- which he’d picked up alarmingly fast). 

But it was nice to take the reins for a bit. She’d worked it through with the choreographer of course, and they agreed on some light foot work and fun slow moves so that it wasn’t too exhausting and vocals would still be stable.

She knew some of the others were poking about the company somewhere but with the track texted to her by Jisung, guide recorded and all, (the chorus pilfered from Sunhee’s notebook and the second verse complete by her amongst the cramped practice room) playing on repeat through the speakers, she didn't have much else to channel her energy into. 

Her phone rang through the speakers, pausing her music on the tail end of the performance where she was free-styling to try and fill the awkward void before the track cut. She would have been mad, actually, she was mad. Stomping over to the speaker system to unplug her phone and grumble at whoever dared disturb her, expecting Changbin or even some of the friends she’d made at school.

She was pleasantly surprised. 

The plain contact name she used, no images because she had always been too lazy to sort through and find appropriate profile pictures for every contact, came as a curious appearance. 

Because it was 3:24am korean time, which meant it was 2:24am in her hometown of Australia. So why on earth was her little brother calling?

“Sunwoo-ya, What the hell are you doing awake?” If the sleep deprivation hadn't been getting to her Sunhee probably would have switched seamlessly back to English the way she always did when speaking to him,  instead, she had to suffer through his laughter and teasing for it. “Woah Sunny- look at you, a proper little Kpop idol now aren’t you? Too busy to even speak to your lowly brother?”

“You better give me a good reason that you’re awake at two thirty am or else I’m telling mum.” She grumbled back, leaning against the wall beside the aux cord, taking a quick break, panting into the air as her brother laughed on the phone’s other end.

“Geez calm down,” he teased, an edge of seriousness there with the threat of their mother involved. Kang Minyoung was a terrifying woman when she wanted to be. “I have an English assignment due tomorrow.”

A sigh slipped past her lips, blending in with each heavy breath. “Let me guess- you haven’t started?”

“No! I’m actually nearly finished.” He sounded far too proud about that.

She laughed though, knowing that feeling now more than ever- her assignments were done in school lunch hours, other opportunities stolen by her rigorous schedule. “I’m willing to bet you only started when you got off the bus this afternoon though.”

“You know me so well sister-dearest.” His smile was almost audible, and she could picture it on his face the way his cheeks bunched up under his eyes- a trait they’d both inherited from their father.

“Aish- you cause me so much stress you know that?” She mumbled, digging her notebook out of her backpack, flicking to the last two pages and uncapping the peg with her teeth, spitting it into her lap. “What is it you need help with?”

“My conclusion.”

“The conclusion is just your introduction backwards.” She scolded, knowing that had to be the hundredth time she’d told him that. Sunhee placed her phone on the floor next to her notebook, switching it to speaker. “Read it to me.”

“The introduction?”

“No dummy, your whole thing.” Maybe the interruption was more welcome than she had thought, because Sunhee would never turn down a conversation with her brother, not for the world- not when she missed him as much as she did.

And Sunwoo whined about it but he compiled, Sunhee silently making notes on her paper as he went through, pulling out the relevant points to address and a few mistakes that he could fix. 

It only took half an hour, but by the end of it, he’s got a proper conclusion, written mostly by her that probably seemed a bit too advanced for a year seven student so they went through it again and she dumbed down some of the vocabulary. “Send me the document and I’ll proofread it for you tomorrow- When is it due?”

“Three pm, end of the school day.”

She hummed in response, packing up the notebook as Sunwoo spoke up again. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah, I was dancing. We have a big evaluation coming up.” It was easy to dismiss those worries of his, it always had been. The five years between them meant that while he was capable of recognising her stress and worrying about it, without really being able to wrap his head around why she was stressed. It created an odd paradox- one she’s reminded of when he gets like this, worried about her even though she was technically an adult, freshly eighteen.

He perked up a bit though as she talked about what she’d been doing- the way he always did, fascinated by how she spent her days in the bright and bustling country of Korea, wanting to hear all the nuances that differed from their hometown in Australia. “The one mum was talking about- with the groups of three?”

“Yup.”

He paused for a moment, hesitating before he spoke softly. “Sunny, you should go to bed- you sound tired.”

“Says you-” She scoffed playfully in response. “you’re only thirteen and up at three am.”

Sunwoo laughed into the phone. “Touché.”

They bid goodbye under the mutual agreement to not snitch to their mother regarding their horrid sleeping habits and the promise of taking better care in future. 

And Sunhee always kept her promises, so as she hung up and shut off the speakers, switching out the lights, she left. Heading back to the dorms huddled up as the chill of changing seasons came to bite through her coat. Mid-September was rolling through and it always seemed strange to her because in her hometown the winter fell from June through August, meaning her birthday in late July was always cold. And, when spring came in, it was with full force, sticky and hot September and beach days spent celebrating her little brother’s birthday that came around at the end of the month.

She wondered how warm it would be back home this year, if the flowers of their pear tree would be in bloom and if he’d spend it at the beach as he usually wished. It wouldn’t be the first one of his birthdays she’d missed- the last one had already gone by without her there to smother him in the affection he pretended to hate.

The first thing she remembered doing when she moved to Korea was buying a coat, a big obnoxious puffer one in power blue, off-put by the cold November that was so different to how it felt back home.

It was that same coat that hung over the end of her bunk that welcomed her home that night, as a strange sense of homesickness pooled in her mind, accompanied by a slow roll of nausea that made her pause in the doorway to chase it away.

Chan wasn’t there to bid her goodnight this time, but she crawled into bed, all the same, breathing deep through her nose and playing the most obnoxious Korean tacks (mainly the trot she’d discovered at karaoke earlier- thank you Jeongin) through her phone that sat stuffed under her pillow. It echoed thought eh cushioning, but thrummed deep in her ears, chasing away the thought of the homely Australian accent she usually sought out at time like those.

[ <<< ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ]      [ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ]       [ ɴᴇxᴛ>>> (coming soon) ]

[beigehearts]

Multiple requests are fine! Requests are unlimited. 

This is a cool idea so hell yeah

Yandere Adult Trio finding you after a few years after escape CW: physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, blood, needles

Hisoka

This is rather nice actually. A quiet life in the middle of nowhere where no one questions you. It’s somewhat of a farming community you live in. You work at a farmers market, selling fresh fruits and vegetables to the same people every day. Everyone here recognizes you under your fake identity, and treats you as part of the community. As if you didn’t randomly appear one day. As if you aren’t in hiding. 

It’s been about three years you would say. Three years since you escaped... him. You dyed your hair, wore colored contacts and completely changed your clothing look. You moved countries, learned a new language, and completely dropped your entire identity and life. It was the only way you could escape him. How you escaped him remains a mystery to you too. He was always attentive but- you escaped that last time. Slipped through his fingers. 

Mr. Grady, the oldest farmer in town hobbles over to your stand and smiles with his big loose mouth. He only has a few teeth but you don’t need many when you blend all of your food anyway.

“Oh hello Charlie. How are you today?” He asks with his frail old man voice.

You smile back and begin bagging up the usual for him. “Very good Mr. Grady. How are you?” 

Your conversations are never short but it’s almost become a highlight of your day to hear the old man ramble. “Oh you know. The sheep dog are sick, so I tried rounding those cows up with my cat. He practically got trampled!” He throws his arms up as if it’s unbelievable. You somewhat listen as he continues. “... moral of the story is, cats are unreliable and only have two lives.” 

As you hand the paper bag over the counter the old man stops to think for a moment. “I saw someone new up by the shops today, he was a real character. Quite tall too.” 

You nod and get the change for the money he hands you, “Oh really? Did you talk to him?”

“He wasn’t much interested in me. Though he didn’t seem like a normal traveler. He was much too eccentric for that.” He offers one last toothless smile, “Don’t work too late. It’s time for the foxbears to come out of hibernation soon.” 

Before you can further question him, he hobbles off pretty quickly for an old man. Of course you’re overreacting but someone eccentric and tall randomly coming to town? No it couldn’t be. It’s been over three years since then. And he wouldn’t go this far for you would he? 

After closing up the shop you grab the keys to your car and head for the ‘parking lot’. It’s a field with white lines spray painted on the grass with a single light to illuminate the whole place. You hop into your car and are just glad to finally go home after a long day. It was rather slow but that’s because it was a tuesday. It is very busy on friday-monday. You start your car, and turn on the air, you plug your phone in and relax some into your seat.

You adjust your rear view mirror and scream when you do. You just barely catch the reflection of someone in the back of your car. He’s sitting in the back seat watching you closely. You decide against turning around to face him.

“Hello y/n. Or is it Charlie?” He asks calmly, as if it were a casual conversation.

You clear your throat and try to control your shaking. “What are you doing here Hisoka?” 

He ignores your question completely. “You really know how to choose a nice town. Quiet, friendly, off the grid.”

“I suppose.” Your hands grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, well, it was quite hard really. You did a good job. But once I found the first person who helped you change your identity, it was just a matter of going down the chain.”

You’d rather not think about what happened to those people. “And what are you doing here?” You repeat your question.

“Well there’s only one thing I’m here for of course.” He leans back in the seat, just barely having enough room for his legs. “I’ve come to bring you home.” 

“I don’t want to. It’s nice here.” You state as if you have an option. 

He leans forward this time, and cranes his head around the drivers seat to whisper in your ear, “It’s really not up to you pet.”

Before you can even react, there’s a rope around your neck, and he’s pulling you hard against your seat. You claw at the rope and gasp for air. You try to turn some but the rope burn hurts too much. You manage to get your fingers under the rope around your neck, and throw yourself forward.

His head smacks the back of your seat but your head smacks the wheel, honking the horn. There’s no doubt that you’re bleeding. You throw the rope over your head and jump out of the car, and run. But he’s much faster.

He jumps out of the car and before you know it, he grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you to him. He holds you against himself with his arms, leaving no room for escape. But you have one more trick up your sleeve. You throw your head back as hard you can and headbutt his face. There’s a loud crack that you can only assume is his nose. 

He groans and his nails dig into your skin through your clothes. “You really got feisty while I was away.” His nails begin to pierce your skin, ripping through the cloth of your shirt. “But it’s no matter, it only turns me on more.”

Illumi

To say you’re on the run is an understatement. You’re practically sprinting away even all these years later. You know that if you stop for even a few days that he would find you. You spend no more than three days at a time in the same place. You’ve travelled half of the world by now- and quite honestly it has been somewhat nice. Not just the freedom from the suffocating grasp of your captor Illumi, but being able to see the world. You would never have done this if not for the situation you were in. Maybe things happen for a reason.

It feels like forever since you’ve been travelling. But the reality is that it’s only been two years. Two long years of not stopping. You have a new name and often go days without eating. It’s not easy getting money when you aren’t in the same area for long. 

It was late night when you escaped from him. He never let his guard down so you just had to go for it. He wasn’t expecting you to make a mad dash out of the manor, and hide out in the woods for a few days. Slowly but surely you managed to get out of the mountain prison, leaving through the small door next to the office. The man working at the entrance was sipping tea and reading the newspaper when you left much too busy to pay attention to you. You’re more than sure he was punished for missing you leaving. But sometimes you wonder if he chose to ignore you on purpose, and let you escape. 

It’s a beautiful morning. You slept on a few blankets and a sweatshirt as a pillow on the ground of a cave. It was hard to get any sleep at first but you managed to get used to the back pain. The sun is shining through the canopy, streams of light illuminating the cave. The grass outside of the cave is wet with dew droplets. It’s only slightly humid but the breeze with the warm weather is heavenly. It’s not every day you get good weather like this. 

You sit up and stretch your arms in the air, yawning tiredly. Your usual morning routine was to get a fire started, and put the tiny kettle above it. In your small backpack you have a few essential items. Coffee being one of them. You get out your tin can after jimmying a fire and filling the kettle with water from a nearby stream. You drop some instant coffee grounds in the kettle and bask in the aroma of coffee. 

You pour yourself a cup and put some powdered milk packets and splenda in the cup, stirring it with a stick that looked relatively... clean. But you had a feeling that today was the day. You weren’t sure why this morning you knew he would find you. But you did. Almost on cue, you hear footsteps approach behind you.

You bring the tin cup to your lips, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. 

“So this is where you’ve been.” You don’t even flinch at his words. You knew this was inevitable. 

The coffee burns your tongue. “Yes, I must have stayed here for a day too long. Don’t you agree Illumi?”

“Yes. It was quite stupid.” There’s a silence between the two of you. You continue sitting on the ground with your back facing him. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks as if he’s picking you up from and elementary sleep over. 

“May I finish my coffee first?” 

“I suppose.” Though he doesn’t move from his spot, his gaze staying firm on your back.

Luckily you haven��t spent all this time just running, but training. In self defense to be specific.

Quickly you jump up and turn around, you move your arm to throw the coffee on him in hopes of burning him. He grabs your wrist, but the coffee does land on his forearm. You bring your leg up to kick him in the side but he grabs it right as you make contact. The only hit you actually manage to land is when you throw a punch with your free hand at his throat. If it were anyone else they would be stunned for at least a few seconds. But this wasn’t anyone. He shows no sign of flinching. 

“Are you ready now?” He asks.

You allow your body to relax and he lets go of your limbs. “Go ahead, put a needle in me.”

He doesn’t argue with your point, pressing a needle to your chest and the last thing you hear is “Don’t fight it.”

Chrollo

The very thought that all of these people by his side had no qualms about you being kidnapped makes you sick. All of them had many chances to set you free and yet they stayed loyal to your captor, as if this were normal and okay. So many people witnessing this unhealthy obsession and not even muttering a word about it. Honestly you find it more ridiculous than you do sad. How did he have all these people under his thumb? Was he really just that powerful? 

Wherever he went, you went. One day he had what they called, ‘a mission.” You had caught a cargo train out west and jumped on, as stowaways. It’s not as if anyone checked each boxcar. All of you had fallen asleep in the small space of the boxcar. The train was at full speed, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cargo trains were much faster than you anticipated. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you stood up casually as if you were just stretching. In case someone woke up. Which they did. Nobunaga peeled his eyes open and examined you. But he was too slow, you leaped out of the car before anyone could grab you. You went tumbling through a field after hitting your head very hard against the ground. It wasn’t the perfect escape but it was an escape.

After that you found a nearby farm, and while it was still night you stole a horse from a barn. You rode for many miles, until days later you found a very busy city. Somehow you managed to make a life for yourself, becoming a low grade secretary. 

Today was a slow day, your employer did not have many clients today. You checked in on your boss to see if she needed anything but she waved you away. You decided to play solitaire on the computer, a perfectly valid way to waste time. 

The phone rings and you pick it up while still keeping one hand on the mouse to play solitaire. 

“Hello this is the Seedling Lawyer’s Office. How may I help you?” You stick the phone between your ear and shoulder, playing solitaire. 

There’s a chuckle from the other side of the phone. “So it is you.”

Your blood runs cold, and the only thing that your head is telling you is ‘run’. “I’m not sure who this is, could you please state your name and purpose for calling?” Playing dumb seems like the only decision right now. 

“My darling, there’s no need for the semantics. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Perfectly on cue, the sliding doors of the building open and you drop the phone, standing up abruptly. 

His eyes show affection and kindness, but there’s a glimmer of... rage. You look around but no one is in the waiting room and you know the cameras are fake for security. This is a cheap layer’s business after all. 

“There’s no need for the semantics Chrollo.” You try to say mockingly but it comes out more as fearful and unsure.

His smile drops and he begins walking towards your desk. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions y/n?” He scoffs kicks the heavy desk to the side as if it weighed nothing. “I missed you of course.” 

“Ah well, maybe I needed a break.” It comes out as a question. 

He corners you against the wall and places a rough hand on your cheek. “Oh darling, oh my sweet darling.” His smile reappears, as sweet as it always has been. “I’m going to kill your entire family.” His hand grips the side of your face roughly and he tilts your head back. 

“You really are something. I would never hurt you, you know.” He places a gentle kiss against your cheek despite his tight grip on the side of your head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for what you’ve done.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and grab his wrist. “Well you’re hurting me right now.” 

Immediately he drops his hand and sighs. “I would never hurt you intentionally, or if not necessary.” He grabs your throat, holding it so tightly you wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk again. He’s crushing your air ways and vocal cords. You claw at his wrist but its useless. “Disciplining you does not count as hurting you.” He leans forward, and if you could yelp you would.

He bites your cheek, definitely leaving a mark. After drawing blood, he licks it up. Your vision is going dark but you’re simply not strong enough to fight back. “Do you understand darling?”

[mackeydoodledoo]

Twice the Chaos: Chapter 1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x (Fem!DemonHybrid)OC: Pandora Barlowe

Summary: You were only passing through. You had nowhere to go; you were the spawn of Satan himself. There was no place in the world for you. Until you met a blonde vampire. 

Warnings: Parental Abandonment, Depression, Chaotic Life

A/n: Listen... I’m just tryna see something here...

Key: Bold/Italics = Telepathic Conversation/Thoughts

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

Your mother had left you when you were of age; not wanting to take care of a freak. That was how your mother always referred to you. Your Father? He was never around. Since being left out into the streets, life has been absolute chaos. You try to make a living for yourself; but you began developing new features.

“I’m sorry, we can no longer have you be working at our establishment,” The owner comes up to you

You were just trying to clean tables; next was you getting fired?

“What? Why? I haven’t violated any of your rules,” You try to counter-argue, “More so, I’ve been trying to not violate them...”

“Your... Vibe... Everyone’s giving us weird looks... It’d be better if you no longer worked here,” He doesn’t budge

You storm out of your former workplace. 

That is IT! I’m done! 

You try running your hands through your hair but you felt something knock against your fingertips. 

Stubs?! That can’t be... 

You saw something move from the bottom corner of your eye. 

A tail?! What the absolute hell is happening?

You run off to the woods in order to avoid getting any further attention from humans. You did everything... Just simply trying to get through like at the age of 18. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen... 

You are beginning to become like me...

Who said that?! 

You were beginning to freak out.

Your father...

What are you talking about?! My dad was never around! He could be dead for all I know and care!

You don’t get it do you?... I am your father...

Father? 

You were sure your father just ran off with another woman. But, it wasn’t logically possible to have someone telepathically speak to you. 

Why am I going to believe some voice in my head that’s never been around until now?! 

You just try to get the same voice out of your head.

You’re like me... You can come home. You won’t have to worry about being judged here...

Home?! My mother threw me out as soon as I turned 18... Since then I couldn’t even keep a single job afloat without anyone that comes within my radius getting me fired because of my “bad vibes”! Well, look at it this way-

No! Face it! There’s no place for me!!!!! Heaven or Hell? Doesn’t matter... There’s no damn place for a freak like me...

The voice in your head ceased then. But, the development of new features hadn’t. Your stubs? Grew into small horns. Tail? Resembled a Demon’s tail. Pointed end and everything.. It’s been months since you had your last job... Anyone really. You use a beanie to cover your horns and you shove your tail into your pants or jacket; whichever was comfortable. You mysteriously was still stable enough to create your own little place in the woods. But, it was still depressing for you. You still thought about how your mother abandoned you, getting fired just because of the vibes you give off, despite trying to be a normal human.

“Why me?...” You ask yourself, “Why me?....”

You look up as soon as you felt a single raindrop fall. 

I need a new tarp... But, I’m not in for going back into town... They wouldn’t eve just as so sell me a new tarp... Whatever I guess...

You had passed out while the rain was going on. However, when you open your eyes, you were expected to feel wet. But, you felt warm. You look up to see a brand new tarp draped over your small hideout and you look back down to see a Sherpa-lined blanket engulfing you in warmth. 

Who?...

“Got me these?...” You ask yourself

You crawl out of the hideout and try to look around the woods to see if there was anyone else that had been camping out. But, no such people were there. You scoff but felt thankful that someone was sympathetic enough to give you a whole new tarp to go over your head and a blanket. 

Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time you went out to go fishing to get your fill for the day. To be honest, it didn’t feel so bad when you would be out fishing, you found a big enough lake to see the sun rise and set over the horizon, you were able to catch a handful of fish to get you through each day. 

I see you’ve grown accustomed to living on your own... Nice job kiddo.

What did I say about coming out to “chat”? Don’t try and persuade me to “Come home”.

I’m not. I’m just checking in on you. You claim that there’s no place for you here... Yet, you’ve made a small place for yourself?

Might as well be somewhere off the grid. 

Not to that once blondie...

A blondie?... Who?...

Not sure, but that new tarp and blanket? That’s from her.... She’s been coming nearly every night...

You watch me sleep?...

I do it to protect you so you could sleep. 

Don’t try and act like my dad... I’m fine without him.... 

You still don’t believe me?..

Still haven’t seen you face to face. 

You wouldn’t want to see me face to face....

Good, we’re on the same page then. Don’t think I’d want to meet my old man anyway...

Once dusk had hit, you were putting out a firepit you had set up to cook the fish you had caught not too long before. 

I got you kiddo. Go ahead and sleep.

I said don’t treat me like you’re trying to be like my dad. I never knew him anyway... 

You take the blanket and use a couple of your flannels as a pillow.

Goodnight...

Night.

The same old routine persisted. You felt the off-putting vibes on how you were able to be this stable, especially living in an unused shed of all places that was clearly in a state of decay. 

I think that blondie has taken a liking to you.

She’s still in question? She doesn’t even know me... How could you know?

When she would come check on you, just last night she was lying next to you. I know because she’s been visiting every night. 

And she can’t see you?

No one can. 

That’s a ‘shocker’... But can she not hear you?...

Only you and myself.

“Weird...” You take a deep breath as you sit against the tree 

You were kind of fishing from sitting on a tree branch, decently high from the ground. 

You’ve thought about the last several nights you were sleeping in your little hideout space. You would open your eyes, but still be half asleep. As you were half awake and half asleep; you could have sworn you felt an arm hooked around your waistline. But you don’t think anything of it as you pass right back out. The feeling would be gone in the morning. 

You really think there is someone?

She’s come every night. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be taken to where she lives.

Out here? In the middle of nowhere? I doubt it.. 

Like clockwork, you set up your makeshift flannel pillow and lay across the old tarp you decided to use as a covering form the molding hardwood floor.

You open your eyes and realize the cold morning feeling is no longer around. Your eyes begin adjusting to so much light coming into the room.

“You’re awake now?” A feminine voice asks you

You were startled. Startled to the point where you fell off the bed. You groan at the impact. Trying to gain your vision back, a figure comes walking over to you. You immediately sit up and begin backing away.

“You-you don’t wanna be near me,” You say, almost in a drunken state, “I’m no good around people...”

“Says who?” She asks

“Says the many people that have fired me from jobs because of the vibes I give off,” You groan when you feel the wall against your back

“Well, they just go by the book cover,” She says, helping you back into bed, “You should lay down... You hit your head there pretty hard.”

In your still blurred vision; the woman’s hair was brunette. 

That isn’t her... 

But, she isn’t giving off any bad vibes...

I’ll be the judge of that...

You try to sit up again but a hand is gently pressed against your shoulder.

“My daughter will be here any minute to check on you,” She says, calmly, “You should thank her when you have the chance... She felt miserable watching you every night.”

She... Felt miserable?...

See? She does like you.

But, she still barely knows me. I don’t even know her name and vice versa. 

That could change here.

Will you just stop talking?....

The next time you open your eyes, your vision slowly coming together; you saw a faint color of blonde. 

Could it be?...

“I told you you shouldn’t have brought that... Thing in here. She’ll get us all killed,” A male voice tries to persuade the blonde

“I couldn’t just leave her there,” She argues, “She was miserable. Carlisle and Esme already said she could stay here under my care.”

“If you get us killed it’s your fault,” He replies

You hear him storm out of the room. 

“You’re awake for real now?” She sits at the bedside

“Where?-” You ask, trying to sit up

“My family estate,” She explains

“My-my stuff, some of my stuff-” You begin freaking out

“Already taken care of,” She slightly smiles

You sit up from the lush bedsheets, taking deep breathes as you try to wrap your head around the last several hours.

“How long was I out?” You ask the blonde

“Several hours,” She answers, “I continuously checked on you... You were... Crying, tossing and turning, talked in your sleep...”

“Oh? What about?” You ask

“Does... ‘Why me?...’, ‘What am I?...’ Ring a bell?” She asks

It does for me.

Shut up. 

“I may have had those kinds of panic attacks while I slept...” You explains, “Which is why I look like shit right?..”

“I was going to say that you’ve slept for so long,” She says, cocking an eyebrow at you, “But if you think that too than you do you.”

It was an awkward silence for the both of you. You didn’t know what to make of this blondie.

I like her.

I said shut up. 

What? She’s pretty, she’s looked after you the last serval nights.

That doesn’t mean she’s my soulmate or anything... We barely know each other, let alone each others’ names.

“My name’s Rosalie Hale,” the blondie answers

“Huh?” You ask, removing the bedsheets from your legs

“You... Didn’t know my name so... Thought I’d tell you,” She says, “Now, you must be hungry.”

“Yeah,” You say, in a suspicious tone, “Lead the way blondie.”

“It’s Rosalie,” She corrects you

“Alright blondie,” You continue using that nickname

Rosalie turns to you to try and hit you. You easily block her arm with yours. For the first time since childhood, you laughed. A genuine laugh had come out of your mouth. You stopped dead in your tracks; making Rosalie turn to you.

“You okay?” she asks, walking up to you

A chill runs up your spine as you feel her gentle touch against your forearm. You look back at her with a slight surprise. But, Rosalie didn’t seem phased by your sudden change in expression.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I haven’t laughed in awhile... It’s.. Been a very long time.”

“How long is a long time?” She asks

“Probably when I was a little kid...” You sigh, “Since then, I’ve never really learned to smile, laugh or experience any sort of positive thing...”

“I’m so sorry,” She says, her expression changing to concern, “Well, what matters most is that you now have an actual roof over your head. You are under my care now.”

“You- don’t do me any favors blondie!” You try to protest

“Too late!” She smiles, letting out a small giggle

Ooooh, I do like her.

Aren’t you a fire spirit or something? Lay off buddy.

Oh we getting jealous now huh? 

What?!- No! You aren’t physically here, so that means you can’t have blondie.

So you can?

That’s not what I’m saying- you know what, shut your trap!

“Your friend there is fond of me I see,” Rosalie blushes

“What? Him?” You ask, “You... Can hear him?”

“He’s in your head no?” She asks you

“Well, yes but- how can you know that?” You ask

“Let’s just say I’m full of surprises,” She smirks 

You watch her walk off into the kitchen as you make eye contact with what looked to be her family members. 

“I hope you’re well rested now sweetheart,” A brunette speaks

“That’s the adoptive mother and father; Carlisle and Esme,” Rosalie explains to you

“I’m sorry you have had a tough time these past few months,” Carlisle says, “But, you are more than welcome here.”

“Oh, just at least I can get back up on my feet,” You say, bashfully, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more space than I already have..”

“Nonsense!” A male voice enthusiastically says

Your feet lose contact with the ground. You let out a yelp as you try to get a vision of who had just grabbed you.

“That is my brother... Emmett Cullen,” Rosalie scoffs, “He’s a little bit... Chaotic..”

“Chaotic is my middle name,” He jokes as he sets you right back onto the ground

“Four of our other kids are somewhere around...” Carlisle explains, “Oh, they must be out hunting. You’ll see them when you see them.”

“Thank you again,” You say

Quite a family...

You’re telling me...

After you had gotten a proper meal for the first time in months, you found yourself in the library. You don’t really read that often anymore as you have come to the conclusion that it would take you a century to read a single book. 

“Looking for something in particular?” Rosalie asks from the doorway

“To be honest... No,” You answer, “I guess I’ve just been wandering aimlessly. Never really been in a house this... Spacious..”

It’ll be much more spacious when you come live with me.

Like I said before. You are not my father and don’t try to have me come to wherever the hell it is that you live in.. Not a chance..

“You don’t get along with your dad very well?” Rosalie asks

“Never knew him...” You sigh, looking out to the forestry that surrounded the estate, “My mother said he left as soon as I was born...”

“Hey, before you go on, do you... Want to talk about it elsewhere?” She asks, placing her palm over your upper arm

“That would be nice,” You slightly smile

“I know a place,” Rosalie smiles

In one swift motion, Rosalie hoists you over her shoulder.

“You better hold on leech,” Rosalie teases

“That should be ME telling you that,” You nervously chuckle

Rosalie hops out of an open window; breaking into an inhuman speed. You weren’t sure where to hold on along Rosalie’s clothing without touching an area where Rosalie wouldn’t want you to touch her. So you just hang over her shoulder. Almost like a heavy weight.

“You doing okay?” Rosalie asks

“Yep!” You sort of lie, “Good as we can be blondie!”

“We’re almost there!” Rosalie announces to the both of you

Chapter 2

[debbiechanclub]

Know You Better Now (*new* BTOOT sequel), Part 1

The title is the same, but I assure you the content is all shiny and new! The revamped BTOOT sequel is here!

Thank you to everyone for your patience on this. I just lost interest/direction for the original sequel after Ethan all but disappeared off Dynamite, but I'm honestly kind of glad I did because I like this new version so. Much. More. And we have Kenny's facial hair to thank for it.

So enough talking - enjoy! And please let me know what you think!

Know You Better Now

Synopsis: Nearly nine months have passed since Alex's freak shoulder injury, and she's still not cleared for action. But while Kenny has been a source of strength for her throughout her recovery, all her other relationships are in shambles - and she's finding it harder and harder to reconcile the Kenny she knows behind closed doors with his persona as the "Belt Collector."

Part: 1/?

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x TBD 👀

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Find more of my fics here.

Tag squad: @galacticstat @hotyeehawman @hdbngsprnva @heelchampbucks @kingswitchblade @bec0m @betsy-bradock @linziland13 @librathepheonix13 @gabbynorth98 @exe-babymox-exe @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @brokenglassslippers @rocca09 @meteora-fc @kawaiikels @adriii-omega @thatgirlforever5 @sugar-melts-mo-fo

May 30, 2021 AEW Double or Nothing

Surgery with six to twelve months’ recovery time. That was the prognosis Alex had received when she’d dislocated her shoulder in September. Now, nearly nine months later, everything had changed.

“Well, there’s good news and there’s not-as-good news,” Doc Sampson started. He’d just completed yet another check-up exam on her shoulder, and Alex could tell he was trying to keep up morale. But she already knew what he was going say. “The good news is you’ve gotten the full range of mobility back. The bad news is the strength isn’t quite there yet.”

She scoffed lightly to herself. It was exactly as she suspected. “So it’s no news, in other words,” she quipped.

“At least it’s not bad news?” Kenny hopefully offered.

Doc smiled sympathetically. “Just keep at it. Resistance bands, weights; you know the drill.”

Alex’s eyebrows arched. “Yeah, I do,” she returned. It seemed like weight training and physical therapy was all she did anymore.

“Just a few more weeks,” Doc said; but in medical-speak, time was relative. Alex knew all too well that weeks could easily mean months. “Good luck tonight, Kenny,” he added, and he went out the door.

Alex’s head fell back and she groaned in frustration. Kenny wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. “It won’t be much longer,” he assured with a kiss on the side of her head.

“It’s been almost nine months,” she muttered.

“I know. But you don’t want to rush your recovery, especially for something like a shoulder injury.”

She frowned. “At this rate Anna will be back from her shoulder injury before I am.”

“What?” Kenny laughed and hugged her tighter. “No, she won’t. I give it maybe another month and you’ll be back better than you were before. Which reminds me, you should probably have some new gear made. I bet your old stuff is too big on you now.”

The sound of her laugh was muffled by his shoulder. “Because you’ve been kicking my ass every week for the last six months,” she said. If there was a silver lining to her injury, it was that she’d gotten into the best shape of her life what with all the training she’d been doing—and it was all thanks to Kenny. Truth be told, Alex didn’t know what she would have done without him over the last nine months. He’d moved her into his house so she wouldn’t have to struggle through the weeks after surgery alone; he’d set her up with his doctors; he’d driven her to physical therapy appointments and trained with her every single week. He’d been there for her in ways she couldn’t even express, and she’d fallen even more in love with him for it.

It made it that much more difficult for her to admit that the Kenny she knew in private was a far cry from the one who called himself the “Belt Collector.”

“I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t think you could handle it,” he returned with a peck on her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna recognize you out there tonight.”

Alex momentarily tensed in his arms, but she didn’t relax quick enough. Kenny felt it—and he knew exactly what it was about.

“You’re not having second thoughts about it, are you?”

She looked up at him. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she admitted.

Kenny’s face fell. “Alex… we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” she breathed. She stepped back from him, suddenly anxious. They had talked about it, at length. It was a big statement for her to accompany him for his match tonight, because she hadn’t been seen since her injury. In fact, she’d all but gone off-grid. She hadn’t been on television; she’d barely posted on social media; she hadn’t responded to any questions for comment about her recovery or her thoughts on Kenny’s pursuits. She’d just wanted to fly under the radar until she was back in that ring for good.

But then, two-and-a-half weeks ago, the match between PAC and Orange Cassidy for a shot at Kenny’s AEW World Championship had gone to a no contest. As a result, it was decided that Kenny would defend the title in a triple threat match against them both at Double or Nothing—tonight. And as soon as the match was booked, Alex knew—she knew—that Kenny would find a way to pull her into it.

But she didn’t know if she could—or should—go out there with him. Not with the way things currently were between her and the people she’d thought were her best friends.

Kenny reached out and took her hands in his, and she looked back up at him from the floor. His blue eyes were concerned. But she could tell he was frustrated.

“I want you out there with me, baby. And yeah… I’d be lying if I said Orange wasn’t part of the reason why.”

She frowned. “Kenny—”

“Just hear me out,” he gently cut her off, and she pursed her lips. But she let him continue. “Best Friends are actually supposed to be your best friends, right? But when was the last time any of them checked in on you? I know Chuck did for a while, but Trent? He’s been a complete asshole to you.”

Alex fidgeted, her chest tightening. His words were like salt in a wound—but he wasn’t wrong. At first, Chuck had checked in on her fairly regularly… but his texts and FaceTime calls had tapered off after the first couple months. At the time, she’d just chalked it up to circumstance. She was out of sight and out of mind, and he and Orange had been put through more than their fair share of bullshit by Miro, Kip, and Penelope after Trent had torn his pec muscle in December. She couldn’t really blame him for going quiet.

But then, two months ago, Trent had returned with Kris in tow—and Alex hadn’t been able to chalk it up to circumstance any longer. And when Kris seemingly became an official member of Best Friends, she couldn’t ignore the twinge of jealousy in her gut, either. She felt forgotten. Replaced in person just as much as she had been on the Best Friends t-shirt. And the thing of it was, none of them seemed to even miss her.

Least of all Trent.

Kenny squeezed her hands, redrawing her attention. “Look… I’m not trying to turn you against them. But I can see how hurt you are by how they’ve acted over the last couple months, and it kills me. And yeah, it pisses me off, too. So… why not come out there with me tonight, looking absolutely fucking fantastic, and show Best Friends just how good you’re doing without them?”

Alex’s brow furrowed. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was a petty part of her that wanted to do exactly that. But the softer side of her just wanted her friends back.

“I get what you’re saying, I just... I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

“I know you do,” he sympathetically returned. “But I’m not asking you to go out there and try to keep Orange from winning. I just want you in my corner. And maybe I want to show you off a little bit, too.”

He grinned and pulled her closer, and Alex couldn’t help the coy smile that pulled at her lips. Through all their ups and downs, Kenny had never failed to make her feel special; wanted. She didn’t take that for granted—especially not now.

“I did bring a really cute outfit to wear,” she said, sliding her hands up his arms. “It would be a shame if it went to waste.”

His smile widened. “Well then you gotta wear it.”

Alex bit her lip in thought. But she didn’t think for long. She put her hands on either side of his face and gave him a tender kiss. “You know I love you, right?”

Kenny gripped her waist. “Of course, I do. I love you, too,” he returned, and he kissed her again. “Come on, you should go get ready,” he said with a pat on her backside. And as they left the exam room, Alex knew that accompanying Kenny for his match was the right decision.

It was the potential consequences that worried her.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Holy shit, I almost didn’t recognize you!”

That was what Stella had proclaimed when Alex walked into hair and makeup. It was followed by a chorus of more of the same, a parade of hugs from everyone in the room—and dozens of questions.

“How are you? You look incredible!”

“Is your shoulder cleared?”

“So, are you officially living with Kenny now?”

“I’ve been dying to know how you feel about everything going on with him.”

And Alex had done her best to field each one of them.

“I’m doing pretty well, and thanks. It seems like I’ve been filling all my free time with working out.”

“No… not yet. But hopefully in the next few weeks.”

“I mean, not officially. I still have my house in Virginia—my cousin’s been renting it out. But I don’t know. It feels like I’ve officially moved in.”

“It is what it is. He’s just being Kenny Omega.”

Thankfully, no one pressed her on that last one.

Instead, Stella was all too happy to dish on all the latest and juiciest backstage news and gossip. Anna Jay and Jungle Boy were an item. Cody had estranged himself from nearly everyone. Callie had left AEW and pro wrestling altogether—and moved in with Cash. Alex had already known about that one, but it was still strange to hear. Looking back, it was hard to believe her friendship with Callie and relationship with Cash had ever even happened at all. It felt like another life; another time.

“You’re all done, my dear,” Stella said. She handed her a mirror—and Alex was taken aback by her own reflection. Long, sleek dark brown hair; glowing fair skin; pouty nude lips; a sexy reverse cat eye that made her hazel eyes pop. She sat up a little straighter. For perhaps the first time in months, she felt herself again.

She thanked Stella and hopped out of the chair, a pep in her step as she went out the door—

“Alex?!”

She halted in her tracks. Even though she hadn’t heard it in forever, she’d recognize that voice anywhere—Kris. She held her breath and turned around; but relaxed in relief. It was just her and Orange. At least she wouldn’t have to face them all at once.

“Holy shit!” She hurried over and wrapped her in a tight hug before she could even blink. Alex was stiff and awkward as she returned it. She hadn’t expected that reaction.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d be here tonight?” Kris asked as she stepped back from her. Alex hesitated to answer.

“Um, I thought about it. But given why I’m here…”

She trailed off and looked awkwardly at Jim. He shrugged. “It’s business,” he returned. “So I guess this means you’ll be in Kenny’s corner tonight?”

Alex crossed an arm over herself and nervously fidgeted with the skin on her elbow. She nodded. Jim’s expression remained as indecipherable as ever.

“And you look hot as fuck,” Kris perceptively interjected. “Seriously, I think I might be questioning my sexuality.”

Alex breathed a laugh—

“You should come say hi to Chuck and Trent! Trent’s gonna shit himself.”

Just like that, her smile vanished. Her lips parted in silent question, uncertain if Kris was being serious. But she looked too genuinely excited not to be.

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alex said. “I mean, considering the last time I talked to Trent…”

She trailed off and looked down at her shoes. There had been things said by both her and Trent in the heat of the moment that had made an already uncomfortable situation worse. They hadn’t spoken in more than five months, since right before he’d gotten injured. She didn’t think now was the time to start.

“Trent has his head up his ass,” Jim said, and Alex flicked her eyes back up at him, surprised. “You know how he is with this stuff. You’ll probably have to be the bigger person.”

Alex sighed. He was probably right. But again—tonight wasn’t the night. “Now’s just not the time,” she remorsefully returned. “But I’ll see you out there. Good luck—really.”

And before either of them could say anything else, she turned and continued down the hall, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out there… you’re gonna distract me walking around like this.”

Alex looked at Kenny through the mirror as he sidled up behind her. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her neck, and she tilted her head so he could press his lips against her skin.

“It's too late,” she returned. “I’ve already gone through all the trouble of getting ready.”

Kenny hummed. “Well, I can take it all off for you, if you want.”

He nipped her neck, and she smirked and squirmed. Her mood had completely turned around from earlier in the night; it was amazing what a little hair and makeup and the right outfit could do. The white bustier-style crop top she wore wasn’t her usual style, but it showed off the hard work she’d put in at the gym—and it didn’t hurt that it made her boobs look amazing. And even though she’d made the outfit more “her” with a pair of distressed boyfriend jeans and her white low-top Chucks, Kenny was right—they probably wouldn’t recognize her out there.

But truth be told, she’d never felt more confident.

“You can later,” she smirked, and she felt a low growl rumble in his bare chest.

“Get a room!”

Alex rolled her eyes. Matt’s voice was an unwelcome interruption from across the locker room. She’d almost forgotten that he and Nick were there.

Kenny shot a glare over his shoulder. “Why are you looking?”

Matt opened his mouth, but two quick knocks on the door cut him off before he could make a smart-ass retort, and then Don Callis walked in.

“We’re up, Ken.”

Kenny smirked at Alex. “Let’s go give the people what they really want.”

He picked up his AEW World Championship, and she helped him secure it around his waist, followed by the Impact World Championship, which he strapped across his chest. Then, he picked up the AAA Mega Championship and old TNA World Heavyweight Championship and held them in each of his hands. And Alex had to admit—it was an impressive sight, Kenny draped in championship gold. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on.

“How do I look?” he asked her.

She bit her lip. “Good. Really good.”

He grinned, cocky.

They started for the door; but before Alex could follow Don and Kenny out, Matt stopped her. “Alex.” He pushed himself up from his chair and cast Nick a glance. He stood too. She rolled her eyes. They weren’t subtle at all.

Matt gave her a discerning look. “You are one-hundred percent in Kenny’s corner… right?”

Her brow lowered dangerously. Was he really questioning her loyalty now? “Are you serious?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Well… I know Orange is one of your best friends—”

“Or he was,” Nick interjected.

“—and I just want to make sure that there aren’t any conflicts of interest.”

He smirked, obnoxiously smacking his gum between his teeth. Alex bit down on her jaw. She’d thought that maybe—maybe—Callie’s departure and her relationship with Kenny would have led her and Matt to at least be friendly with each other. But she’d thought wrong.

She gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Matt. The only conflict going on here is the one between what you think that outfit looks like and what it actually looks like.”

He abruptly stopped chewing his gum. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Alex was already out the door. She caught up with Kenny and fell in step beside him. “Forget something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Just got held up.”

They arrived at Gorilla, and Don went on and on talking Kenny up, boosting his confidence, assuring that neither Orange nor PAC stood a chance; but Alex tuned him out, nervously looking around. Waiting. And then she saw them: Orange, Chuck, Kris, and Trent.

Her heart jumped into her throat when her eyes met Chuck’s. He flashed her a smile; but it wasn’t as wide or as bright as she was used to.

“Hey. It’s good to see you,” he said, and he gave her arm a squeeze as he passed. She said nothing in response—just a tight grin of acknowledgement. Entirely impersonal compared to how they used to greet each other.

It’s the circumstances, she tried to tell herself.

Orange and Kris greeted her in much the same way, with awkward half-smiles as they walked by; Kris seemed apologetic, for some reason. And then, Trent reached her. His expression was cold, his eyes hard, and then he muttered underneath his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, “Thanks for telling us you’d be here.”

He kept walking, not waiting for her to even process what he’d said, and Alex’s heart sunk petrified into the pit of her stomach.

This was how things were now. She felt stupid for hoping for different.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex had known it would be difficult to be ringside for this match. But, sixteen minutes into it, she hadn’t realized it would be this difficult.

PAC laid on his back, staring up at the lights courtesy of a bridging deadlift suplex into a pin attempt from Kenny. So, with him taken care of for the moment, Kenny turned his attention to Orange. He pulled his right kneepad down, and Alex had to stop herself from watching through her fingers as he kneed Orange hard in the face, once, and then again. She could feel the eyes of the fans at ringside watching her with keen interest, trying to gauge her reactions. They’d been shocked to see her come out with Kenny, and now her presence provided them with an extra layer of entertainment. At least Chuck, Trent, and Kris weren’t at ringside, too; they’d walked Orange out and promptly disappeared backstage. Alex didn’t know what she would have done if they’d stayed.

Kenny backed toward the ropes, aiming to deliver a third and final V-Trigger. But before he could, Orange held up his hands as if to tell him “stop.” And then he plunged them into his pant pockets and fell facedown onto the mat.

Kenny laughed, but he couldn’t care less. He walked over and started to pick Orange up; but then a revived PAC grabbed him and hit him with a hard forearm. They traded blows and kicks in the middle of the ring until Orange suddenly intervened and hit Kenny with a Michinoku Driver. However, Kenny rolled away and PAC hit Orange with a brainbuster. He covered him, but Orange thankfully kicked out at two.

Alex put her hand on Kenny’s shoulder as he laid underneath the ropes, halfway out of the ring. “Are you alright?”

But he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “Go get one of my belts.”

She looked back at him in confusion. “What?”

“Go get one of my belts in case.”

Alex blinked and shook her head. She could not believe what he was asking her to do. “What? No, Kenny, I’m not doing that. You don’t need—”

But he rolled away, back underneath the ropes into the ring. PAC and Orange were in a precarious position on the top turnbuckle closest to them. It looked like PAC was trying to execute a superplex—but Kenny jumped up and shoved PAC off-balance, causing Orange to tumble from his grip and bounce off the ring apron to the floor. Alex started to check on him—but then she remembered she wasn’t out there for him and stopped short. She ran her hands over her hair, helpless. Inwardly hoping that he was alright.

Meanwhile, PAC had reversed Kenny’s attempt at a One-Winged Angel from the top turnbuckle and sent him sailing across the ring via a sunset flip powerbomb. They stood atop the opposite turnbuckle now, and Alex’s eyes widened in horror when PAC delivered an avalanche Falcon Arrow. But then, Orange suddenly scrambled back into the ring, tossed PAC out, and hooked Kenny’s leg. Every single person packed into Daily’s Place jumped from their seats as Bryce Remsburg slid to the mat and started to count. Kenny barely kicked out before three. Alex leaned her elbows on the ring apron, her head in her hands. That had been way too close.

All around her the fans started chanting, “That was three!” booming in her ears, and she bit down on her jaw. Kenny rolled out of the ring and stumbled over to her. For some reason, she already knew what for.

“Alex, go get one of my belts,” he said again. It was an order, not a question. But she stood her ground.

“No! I’m not helping you win like that!”

He let out a frustrated huff. “Baby, now’s not the time to argue about this. Just go get—”

She cut him off with a gasp as PAC came flying over the top rope headed straight for them. Kenny shoved her out of the way at the last second, taking all the impact himself and getting knocked to the floor. PAC, meanwhile, sprung back up and to the top turnbuckle. He slowly stood—and when Alex saw him jump into the air and perform the Black Arrow, she knew she had just seconds to act. She jumped over Kenny and rounded the turnbuckle as PAC hooked Orange’s leg. And just before Bryce could count three, she grabbed Orange’s boot and put it on the bottom rope.

Bryce stopped the count and pointed at Orange’s foot, none the wiser to what had happened. The fans, on the other hand, showered Alex with thunderous boos. Realizing what she’d done, PAC turned and shot her a glower that seemed almost inhuman. But she just pursed her lips and raised her chin in defiance.

Kenny pulled himself up by the ropes and ducked back into the ring, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, and the match went on, back and forth between him and PAC—until Orange scored another near-fall after he hit Kenny with a frantic Beach Break. PAC then tried for a Liger Bomb on Orange, but he fought out of it and landed a hard Orange Punch across his jaw, dropping him to the mat. Then he gave one to Kenny, and the crowd came unglued.

Orange fed off their energy, pumping himself up as PAC staggered to his feet. He hit another Orange Punch and went for the pin. Time seemed to stop as Alex watched, her heart in her throat and her hands on her head. She didn’t want Kenny to lose at all, let alone like this. But just as Bryce started the count, Don appeared out of nowhere and pulled him from the ring by his ankles.

Alex stood frozen to her spot as Bryce and Don yelled at each other, and she fully expected the former to expel the latter from ringside—but he didn’t. He simply got back in the ring, and the match continued. Don walked toward Alex, straightening his suit jacket. “Good work putting Orange’s foot on the ropes,” he said to her.

She didn’t say anything in return. She didn’t want a compliment from the likes of him.

Back in the ring, Kenny had been knocked to the floor once again—and PAC had the Brutalizer locked on Orange. When Kenny finally made it back through the ropes, he kicked PAC in the face once, twice. But he didn’t let go of his hold on Orange. So instead, Kenny made the desperate decision to hit Bryce with a hard double axe handle to the back.

The crowd booed, and Alex hid her face in her hands. “Come on, Ken…” she breathed. Not like this.

Meanwhile, Don took the initiative to do what Kenny had been asking Alex to do all along. He grabbed the Impact Championship from the timekeeper’s area and tossed it to Kenny in the ring. Kenny caught it, and then he turned and clocked PAC over the head. He dropped like dead weight to the mat, and Kenny tossed the belt aside, the fans still booing all the while.

But apparently, one belt wasn’t enough.

Don tossed in the Triple A Mega Championship next, and as PAC staggered to his feet, Kenny hit him again. Then he threw in the TNA World Heavyweight Championship. Alex had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at Kenny to stop. She looked away just before he hit PAC a third time.

Finally, Don handed Kenny the AEW World Championship. He took it and held it high above his head, gloating, reveling in the crowd’s hatred. Somehow, PAC was still moving, trying to stay in the match. But just as he climbed to his feet for a third time, Kenny hit him again and knocked him down for good.

Kenny held the championship up again, parading around the ring. He didn’t notice Orange darting toward him until it was too late. He laid him out with another Orange Punch across the jaw.

Orange crawled toward Kenny, obviously going for the pin; but Bryce was still down from Kenny’s earlier attack. However, it didn’t matter. As soon as he draped himself across Kenny’s chest, Aubrey ran down to the ring. Alex grabbed her own throat as she counted.

One.

Two—

But unexpectedly, Kenny reversed the pin and rolled Orange’s shoulders to the mat in a crucifix. Aubrey counted again.

One.

Two.

Three.

That was it. The bell rung, and Kenny’s music started. Alex let out a breath. He’d won by the skin of his fucking teeth.

She and Don both rushed to Kenny’s side as Justin Roberts officially announced him the winner. He clutched his jaw, and somehow his left hand had been sliced open. “What happened?” she asked, looking over the blood on his fingers with concern. But he wasn’t able to answer her before they were suddenly swarmed by both the Young Bucks and the Good Brothers. Matt and Nick practically pushed her aside as they congratulated Kenny, and Nick and Karl Anderson put an arm each over their shoulders and helped him up the steps to the entrance ramp. And as they all celebrated, reveling in Kenny’s stolen victory, Alex felt a sourness curdle at the back of her throat.

She was in love with Kenny. He’d come to mean the world to her over the last nine months. But she hadn’t signed up for this world.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 12

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword. 

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well. 

It isn’t really funny at all.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,704 (good lord I’m tired...)

Warnings: angst, swearing, one brief moment of sexual harassment, lots of assumptions made, Dark Din returns and some familiar characters make themselves known

Author Note: Believe me I want Din and Cupid reunited as much as all of you do, but my dark side keeps saying just stretch it out a little bit longer 😈 All the love to each and every reader out there, the support you give me keeps me sane and happy each week ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 11 and Part 13

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You wipe furiously at your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, while inwardly cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of Gideon. A lump forms in your throat as you replay the last sixty seconds on loop in your head, imagining exactly how Din will react to each sentence, especially those last two words: let go. This will be the one and only time you’re thankful you can’t feel Din’s half of the bond. If he’s feeling even a smidge of the throbbing, torturous pain you’re feeling right now, experiencing both sides would have overwhelmed you. Of all the commands Gideon could have chosen, why would he choose to taunt Din with that one? It’s as if the Seraph is purposefully trying to piss Din off.

Maybe he is insane, you think, not for the first time, just as he starts to clap his hands together in applause.

“Well done,” Gideon says, almost in admiration. “You’re a much better actress than I imagined you’d be.”

“It wasn’t an act,” you snap back.

“Regardless, you’ve served your part well.” He reaches forward to pat your head, and you honestly deserve an award for not giving into the urge to break his hand. “If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget this moment ever happened. Should I require you to send a second message, it would certainly make it all the more bittersweet for you to think it was your first attempt.”

His words make no sense at first, and you merely sit there in the chair blinking back at him, some distant part of you aware of how your eyelashes are still wet and stuck together. Involuntarily, you find yourself recalling Din’s reaction to your memory loss, how he had muttered under his breath he thought someone was responsible for the blank spots. Your mouth falls open in shock as Gideon’s meaning clicks.

“You...You tampered with my memories?” you whisper.

“It wasn’t personal. There are holes in every Cupid’s head.”

Why would he use his powers so cruelly and invasively? How does he choose which memories to erase? These questions and more run through your head, but you don’t voice them aloud. Everything you’ve heard about and actually seen in person about Gideon has solidified your opinion he is a certifiable control freak. Of course he would use his memory-erasing ability to further establish his position of authority amongst the Cupids.

Your eyes drift to the Cupid twi’lek behind him. “Is that why she’s here? You brainwashed her into joining you?”

“I made my own choice,” she replies, tone as sharp as the knife she twirls with nimble fingers. It doesn’t gleam like metal, instead faintly sparkling just like your arrows do. Kyber crystal, you realize with a chill of uneasiness. “You don’t see me in a collar, do you?”

“Indeed, I cannot alter memories, only erase them. It was free will that brought Xi’an to me, not manipulation,” Gideon says with a smile, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes your throat close up with fear. “She has become a loyal and valuable ally.”

Valuable. One word and your suspicions are confirmed. Collared or not, Xi’an is just as much a toy for Gideon to play with as you and Din are. The only difference is she doesn’t seem to realize she is one. Or, and this is a dangerous possibility, she does know and simply doesn’t give a damn.

“She’s your ally?” you echo, nervously licking your lips. “What does that mean?”

“She has dedicated herself to the achievement of my goal.”

You know he’s purposefully baiting you, but still you find yourself asking, “And that goal is?”

Gideon leans forward, invading your personal space even as you jerk backwards in your seat. The smile has been wiped from his face, replaced with narrowed eyes and a twisted scowl. He deliberately presses the unlit laser sword against the middle of your chest in the space between your breasts, thumb teasingly hovering over the activation button.  

When he answers, you’ve never heard anyone else speak as seriously as him.

“To finish what I started.”

The words linger in the air the same foreboding way Din’s reapers linger around hospitals. You don’t realize you’re not breathing until Gideon steps back after several pounding heartbeats pass and your lungs are on fire. You suck in a breath of relief, but your body remains tense, recognizing the dangerous situation you’re still stuck in.

“Mayfeld,” Gideon addresses the man armed with three guns who immediately straightens. “Take her back to her cell.”

You don’t resist as Mayfeld grabs you by the upper arm and tugs you out of your seat. It’d take a miracle to incapacitate him and everyone else in the room before they subdued you. No, you can’t make any rash decisions. The right moment will come, you tell yourself. It has to.

...Right?

“So, what’s it like being Death’s soulmate?”

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Mayfeld’s voice. You side-eye him, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“I mean, I’ve heard he never takes off the helmet,” he continues, unbothered by your silence. “But surely you must’ve seen what’s underneath there. If it were me, I’d definitely wanna know the face of the guy I’m allegedly destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Allegedly?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not so much a believer in fate or destiny or true love. And now that I know the guy who’s the boss of Cupid operations?” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Forget about ever trying to convince me the universe has a mortal’s best interests in mind when it allows a Seraph as bat-shit crazy as the Moff to have the power he has.”

“If you think he’s insane, why do you work for him?”

“The pay’s good,” he answers with a laugh. “Plus, if he really does pull off this plan of his, well...let’s just say I’d rather be in his corner than anywhere else.”

“You do realize though that anyone in Gideon’s corner is an enemy of Death’s?” you say, half-taunting him half-genuinely curious about his reaction.

“That thought has recently crossed my mind,” is all he replies.

The conversation comes to a halt when you arrive back at your cell. Mayfeld pushes you inside, but the force is noticeably gentler than the thug who had manhandled you earlier. Standing near the pallet, you watch as he digs a remote out of the pocket of his pants and activates the laser grid with a single press of a button.

Interesting.

You expect Mayfeld to immediately return to Gideon’s side, so you’re surprised and more than a little confused when the man continues to linger. A minute of silence ticks by and your confusion changes to frustration. What does he want?

Just as your mouth opens to snidely voice the question, the baby chooses that precise moment to sneak back into your cell. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush forward to grab him, torn between forcibly shoving him back into the hole or foolishly attempting to hide him behind your back.

“There’s the little green guy,” Mayfeld says, and you pause at the audible note of cheerfulness in his voice. The baby coos in your arms, waving his hand in the man’s direction.

They kriffing know each other?

Mayfeld notices your bewildered expression. “What? You think none of us noticed he doesn’t like staying put? We might be mercenaries, but we’re not complete idiots.”

“You’re a heartless bastard,” you spit, holding the baby tighter against your chest. “He’s a baby and you’re doing nothing to get him out of here.”

“First of all,” he counters, holding up a finger. “Ouch. And second,” he points that same finger directly at the baby, “that little guy is older than me so calling him a ‘baby’ isn’t exactly fair.”

Your eyes sweep over Mayfeld, estimating him to be at least forty. You then look at the green face smiling back at you. Yeah, there’s no way he’s telling the truth.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maker, the hits just keep on coming.” Mayfeld rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about his age?”

“I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Exactly.” He nods smugly. “Look, he fooled me, too, with those big brown eyes of his. If I hadn’t witnessed what he can do when that collar’s off, I might have been suckered into releasing him. He’s cute, sure, but he’s also secretly a menacing gremlin.”

You frown. “What do you mean you’ve seen what he can do?”

“I mean he’s got powers. He can lift things with his mind, throw men against walls five times his size like they weigh nothing. What’s worse is he uses those powers to steal. I had a pack of cookies I was saving and he levitated them right out of my pocket.”

Your disbelief falters at that last bit. You had already surmised the baby had stolen the cookies, but not like this. Looking down at him again, the collar stands out more prominently than ever before. Xi’an told you they were purposefully designed to prohibit the use of powers. Why else would the baby wear one if he didn’t possess some type of special ability?

“You really have some serious trust issues, don’t you?” Mayfeld says, almost sounding impressed by your stubborn reluctance to believe him.

“I’m currently being held hostage by a psychopath,” you retort. “I think I’m allowed to be suspicious of a mercenary who says everything that pops into his head.”

His lips purse. “Alright. That’s a good point.”

“Isn’t it risky?” you ask, stepping closer to the gate. “Sharing all this information with me?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate the value of it all.”

Your brow furrows, not understanding.

“Look,” he lowers his voice meaningfully. “One way or another, Gideon and Death are gonna face each other and only one side will win. Gideon wins, great. Status quo unchanged. But if your soulmate wins?” He grimaces at the prospect. “By talking to you, I’m trying to cover all my bases here.”

Your brain works rapidly to fill in the blanks. “So, let me get this straight. You think that by getting on my good side, Death won’t murder you?” A wide grin stretches across your face, not the least bit friendly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to do so much better than that. With what you’ve given me so far, the only kindness he’ll spare you is ripping your throat out quickly so you don’t suffer long.”

Take the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” A flicker of nervousness flashes across his face. He shifts his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “What would I have to do to not have that happen? I’m, uh, open to suggestions.”

Good, good, good.

“You get me the keys to these collars, I can guarantee you’ll walk out of here with every limb attached and not one drop of blood spilt.”

A long beat passes wordlessly. It would be completely silent if not for the baby’s quiet whining as he cuddles against you, unsettled by the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not the only one with trust issues,” Mayfeld says at last. “Maybe you can guarantee Death won’t kill me, but how do I know you won’t kill me with your bow yourself?”

You say nothing, not because you’re guilty of thinking of that specific scenario, but because you don’t know how to convince him you haven’t considered it. Anyone else in your same predicament would undoubtedly shoot him the first chance they got. He is an enemy after all. A minor one, true, but nevertheless contributing to the effort of keeping you separated from Din. He also clearly only has his own self-interest in mind, making him unpredictable and untrustworthy. Who’s to say he won’t attempt to double-cross you somehow?

All these reasons are valid and should make you hate him, but something inside of you isn’t allowing you to commit wholeheartedly to the feeling. And as much as it pains you to admit it, you know that ‘something’ is fear. You’ve never killed anyone before. Shot someone with an ichor arrow? Yes, several times, but not once was the wound fatal. As your list of escape options continues to dwindle though, you’re terrified of the possibility you’ll have no choice but to personally be responsible for ending someone’s life.

“There’s my answer,” Mayfeld says. His words are distressingly ambiguous, but it’s the way he bobs his head in a decisive manner and turns his back on you that causes your stomach to tie itself into knots.

Throat suddenly dry, you struggle to choke out, “Wait, I—”

He starts whistling an upbeat tune as he walks away, ignoring your attempts at reclaiming his attention. You listen hopelessly as the sound gradually grows farther and farther away, until eventually all you can hear is silence.

And once more, it’s just you and the baby alone in the cell.

~~

You lie on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling with the baby sleeping on your stomach. You reflect on everything that has happened since you left Arvala-7, taking every moment apart piece by piece to figure out what you know.

From what you’ve witnessed, you don’t think your superiors are involved in or even aware of Moff Gideon’s plans. Lang, Hess, and Morgan were his associates, not allies like he’d called Xi’an. The difference is subtle, but profound in meaning. You wonder if the three of them have had memories erased too, if they know Gideon was responsible.

He had told them you were being hidden away to prevent other Cupids from knowing you had a second soulmate, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Gideon wants you as his hostage because you’re Din’s soulmate. He wants to use you as leverage to get Din to do what he wants. Initially, you assumed that meant kill those who Gideon considered enemies, but that assumption was proven incorrect when you sent the message to Din without naming even one potential target.

Unfortunately, you think that is not the only wrong assumption you’ve made recently. Gideon had forced you to tell Din to let go. The bond had cried out with agony when you’d said the words out loud as it had thought you were telling Din to let go of you. But looking back at the incident with a clearer head, you find yourself wondering why hadn’t Gideon included those two extra words if that was what he meant? It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of space left to write them on the paper.

If he didn’t mean for Din to let go of you, then logically that would mean he wants Din to let go of something else. Something important enough that Gideon is taking advantage of your relationship in order to convince him to release it.

But what could Din possibly possess that Gideon wants this badly? Din doesn’t own anything valuable except for the Crest and his armor, and you doubt either of those will further progress Gideon towards his goal.

To finish what I started.

Hours later and you still can’t figure out what the kriff he’s talking about. No matter which way you twist or turn the phrase over in your mind, it’s incomprehensible. What did he start? When did it happen? How does he intend to finish it?

Considering how your previous assumptions were both flawed, you really shouldn’t be making another one, but you can’t get the moment of when he’d pressed the sword against your chest out of your mind. The action itself screamed intimidation as well as sexual harassment, but when you think about how he did it at the same time he revealed his goal, your gut instinct is telling you to definitely assume the two are connected to each other.

And then there’s Mayfeld’s comment about there being an inevitable clash between Din and Gideon. He had sounded so certain there would only be one victor, but, unlike you, he hadn’t immediately placed his bet on Din. Which makes no sense to you. Everyone knows it’s an indisputable fact Din is the most powerful entity in the universe, second only to the Maker. The chance of Gideon winning their fight is so slim it’s infinitesimal.

It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword.

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well.

It isn’t really funny at all.

~~

Over the span of Din’s existence, he had witnessed entire civilizations wiped out by war, genocide, disease. No matter the reason behind the tragedy, the universe always called him there in the final moments to walk amongst the ruins left behind, to watch those last to die mourn those who passed before them. In those moments, he felt powerless, knowing there was not one thing he could do to change any of it.

He realized the universe was trying to instill a lesson in him: what is meant to happen, will always happen. Regardless of who is hurt in the process.

And maybe he would have surrendered to the harsh teaching if his angel hadn’t been stolen from her rightful place at his side. No one, not even the fucking universe itself, is going to stop him from getting her back.

From their first meeting, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Then when she asked him question after question about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite sights in the galaxy—he made the risky decision of trusting her. He revealed his face to her, allowed her to know every part of himself, and was stunned every time she didn’t fear or run away from what she discovered. He didn’t know whether to consider her stupid or brave, but the moment he first heard her laugh at one of his sarcastic quips he knew it was a sound he wanted to hear everyday for the rest of eternity.

When she showed him her marked hand, claiming they were each other’s soulmates, he swore to himself he’d dedicate himself to her happiness. Anything she wanted or asked for, he would give to her without question.

Except now she has asked him to do the impossible: to let go.

He replays the transmission enough times every word, every quiet hitch of breath, and every subtle twitch of her facial features is embedded in his mind. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh after the eighth loop, squeezing the bridge of her nose as if a headache was forming, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the hologram long enough to glare at the reaper. She doesn’t have a soulmate, therefore she can’t even begin to fathom how it feels when his half of the soulmate bond slams itself against the invisible wall separating him from his angel with all the unhinged ferocity of a feral beast.

If Din didn’t know his angel as intimately as she knew him, he might have believed those were her own words coming out of her mouth. However, throughout the entire length of the message he notices how her eyes nervously flick to the side every few seconds, as if she needs to reassure herself someone offscreen isn’t making any sudden movements. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know she’s being used as a mouthpiece against her will to demand Din gives up searching for her.

Din refuses to yield to the whims of an enemy who doesn’t have the balls to face him directly.

He channels his seething anger into steadfast determination as he stretches his powers out across the galaxy for a second time, this time searching for the twi’lek Hess so graciously identified for him. Her being the one to have dragged his soulmate out of Cupid headquarters couldn’t have been a random circumstance. If she has even the slightest notion of who the elusive immortal is that is responsible for shielding his angel from him, he’ll beat the name out of her just as he had her Cupid superior.

Bo-Katan, never one to stand still when she can be doing something useful, sends a message out to her fellow reapers to fill them in on the developing situation. Only Din can give them orders to follow, but she strongly recommends they interrogate any Cupid they come across for information about Xi’an.

Transmissions start flooding in an hour later of reapers reporting what they’ve learned. Turns out Xi’an is the type of person who finds joy in antagonizing others. No one claims her as their friend nor do they know what region of the galaxy she usually operates in. The most interesting tidbit learned from the interrogations is that several Cupids have admitted they often saw the twi’lek in the archives at headquarters, studying datapads and flipping through holobooks.

“She was searching for something,” Bo-Katan murmurs, brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Or she was gathering information on someone’s behalf.” Din’s eyes remained closed, focus split between the conversation and the search. “Only Cupids are allowed at their headquarters. She’d have no issue slipping in and out without anyone giving her a second—”

Every soul has a unique aura that can only be sensed by power-sensitive beings like himself. No two are the same, similar to fingerprints and snowflakes. Having a specific target in mind hastens the search of detecting them amongst the trillions of other beings inhabiting the galaxy, but it is not the fact that Din’s powers have just locked onto Xi’an’s soul that has his eyes snapping open. It is her location.

She’s on Umbriel.

“Stay with the ship,” he tells Bo-Katan.

Din teleports before the reaper responds, arriving at the front entrance of his soulmate’s apartment in the next blink. The front door is wide open and his jaw clenches as he recognizes the gesture for the taunt it is. Rolling his shoulders back, he enters the apartment, purposefully shutting and locking the door behind him.

“About time you showed up.” As soon as Din hears her voice, he’s reminded of a loth cat screeching when its tail is grabbed. The anger he’s been forcibly holding back starts to simmer beneath his armor, fingers twitching at his sides with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze.

He finds a purple-skinned twi’lek Cupid standing in the center of the living room. Or, what used to be considered the living room at least. Every piece of furniture has been broken and torn apart. The pile of newspapers kept in the corner are shredded and scattered across the floor. If he didn’t know how precious they were to his angel in her quest to reclaim her memories, he wouldn’t have cared about the mess, but he does know and his wrath increases exponentially.

“Xi’an,” he says, the name bitter on his tongue like a curse.

“The rumor mill says you’ve been looking for me,” she drawls, looking coy and fluttering her eyelashes. “I gotta say, I’m flattered by the attention.”

“Tell me where my soulmate is and you won’t meet the same fate as your boss.”

Her head tilts, tapping her fingers against her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are you referring to Hess? I heard no one’s been able to reach him lately, but since I report to someone of much higher ranking I could hardly bring myself to care.” Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, revealing the faintest glimpse of her fangs. “You’ve piqued my interest now though, what’d you do to the bastard?”

“I ripped out his soul and crushed it into dust.”

She giggles, unpleasant and shrill. “How scandalous.”

His patience snaps.

“Enough of this.” He steps forward. “Tell me who you work for and where is my soulmate.”

A pair of knives appear in her hands, summoned in the same quick manner as his angel had drawn her bow.

“My answer to the first part is no. And as for the second, you need to be more specific.” She sneers. “Which part of her are you looking for?”

The noise that tears itself out of Din’s throat is one never made by another entity before. It is an outburst of ravenous fury, a promise of bloodshed and carnage, and a predator’s roar before they consume their prey all blended into one deafening war cry.

Xi’an maintains a brave face as she throws knife after knife at him, but as each one harmlessly deflects off his beskar and dissolves into a flicker of light, he sees her mask begin to crack, revealing her nervousness.

She resorts to throwing punches when he’s close enough, but there is no finesse and each one is sloppy. He catches her fist mid-swing with his own hand and twists, shattering her wrist. She gasps out a curse, but the unexpected reappearance of her mischievous smirk manages to catch him off guard.

“Are you gonna do it?” she asks, voice tight with pain, but the intent to provoke him is clear. “Unleash that beautiful darkness I can sense writhing around inside of you?”

He pins her against the wall harsh enough her teeth audibly clack against each other. Still she keeps smirking, still her voice drips like poison into his ears.

“You know you want to, sweetie, so just let go.”

Din’s powers lash out, incensed by those two words he’s sick of hearing. Latching onto her soul, she starts to choke, but the deranged glimmer of glee in her eyes makes him think she’d be laughing if she could.

Darkness starts to ooze out of his armor, resembling thick, black smoke. He can feel the sinister energy emanating from the very core of his being, as if the box it’s been trapped in has been unlocked and is seconds away from bursting open.

Some distant, far part of him is ringing every warning alarm and urging him to stop. But he ignores that voice of reason when he sees Xi’an’s soul start creeping up the back of her mouth, glowing brightly as it squirms in a futile attempt to free itself from the hold of his powers.

He grits his teeth, impatience prompting him to tug at it again, and—

The world lurches and transforms in a blur. When his vision adjusts, he’s no longer standing in his soulmate’s apartment, but instead surrounded by an abundance of scorched trees. Chest heaving, he struggles to clear his head of violent thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Someone suddenly calls out from behind him, “I summoned you here to speak with you.”

Din recognizes the speaker’s voice before he actually turns to see the female togruta. She wears her usual blue-and-silver tunic and a brown headpiece embedded with a gem over her montrals. The ground is green beneath her feet, the only glimpse of flourishing nature for miles.

“I was in the middle of something, Ahsoka,” Din answers, stalking forward until they stand nearly toe to toe. He’s lost count of how many encounters they’ve had with one another over the years, but no matter the number he remains reluctant to consider her a friend since the Oracle has the irritating knack for disrupting his life when he least desires her presence.

She stands tall, but her hands move to rest on the hilts of the two sabers attached to her belt. “Have you forgotten your creed? When the universe needs you, you listen to it.”

“My soulmate needs me!” he shouts, trembling as another pulse of dark energy discharges from his body. It washes over Ahsoka like a harsh gust of wind, but while she remains unaffected, the patch of grass withers instantaneously.

“The universe recognizes that,” Ahsoka says, and while her calmness does nothing to ease his frayed nerves, her next words have him freezing in place. “And I’ll take you to her so long as you promise me one thing.”

Tentative hope slices through the erratic storm of frenzied emotions in his chest like a beam of sunlight. He searches Ahsoka’s face for the faintest hint of deception, but finds only sincerity.

“What is it?”

“You cannot kill Moff Gideon.”

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[kippykasey]

Snowdrop Chpt 3

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5033

Series Summary: Bringing Zemo in to help fight against the rise of the new group of super soldiers brings in a new, yet famailiar face into the mix.

Chapter Summary: Sharon uses her contacts to find out information about Nagel. Meanwhile, Bucky and (Y/N) do a little catching up. Sharon's lead sends them to the docks to confront the man behind the serum.

Chapter Warnings: Episode level violence. Brief mentions of injuries and blood.

A/N: So this chapter took me a while and it kind of took a mind of it's own. There is a character mentioned in this chapter I can not take credit for and that will be 'Ghost'. Credit for that character goes to @darke-15 who is one of my favorite authors with an amazing story in which reader is 'Ghost', so big thanks for letting me borrow your character for a chapter!

Disclaimer: All languages that are not English were provided by Google translator with the translations following in bolden italics. Gifs used were found under the gif tab provided by tumblr.

Catch up on Snowdrop here: (1) (2)

“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice came from the hooded figure. Zemo turned around, The female sounding figure, while pointing the guy towards Zemo, reached up and pulled down the hood. The face revealed was familiar, at least to most of the group. “Drop it, Zemo.” Zemo set down the gun he had in hand while Bucky stepped forward looking confused. “Sharon?”

The blonde woman stepped forward, gun raised pointed at Bucky. (Y/N) moved to step forward but Sam grabbed her arm to keep her in place. “You cost me everything.” She mentioned in a low voice. “Sharon, wait,” something was kicked as she approached the four person group as Sam tried to explain what was going on to the woman, “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Her head nodded to the side in understanding. “That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” The woman’s eyes looked at Bucky like she blamed him. “So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked and his tone was almost gentle as he spoke to the woman. “I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” The gun moved to point at Sam then to Bucky before landing on Zemo again, “so that you could save his ass from his ass.” (Y/N) who was pretty hidden from Sharon’s view was smiling at her comment.

“I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.” Sharon shrugged her shoulders finally lowering the gun. “Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run too.” Sam’s town was low and serious as his attention was focused on Sharon. “Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon spoke and this whole conversation was starting to confuse the other woman who wasn’t around for the events that were being discussed. “Listen, Sharon was it? We need your help blondie.” (Y/N) tells her as she steps up into sight between Zemo and Bucky. Sharon looked her over as she let out a chuckle. “Please.” Bucky adds stepping up next to his old teammate. Sharon let out a sigh as she shook her head slightly. “This isn’t over. I have a place up in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

Bucky, without asking or offering, scooped the nurse next to him up into his arms. “Don’t argue, you kicked off your shoes and I’m not letting you cut your feet on something.” The rumble of his chest reminded her of a time where the only person she could trust was him. She simply nods her head, glancing over the leather jacket to see Sam push Zemo forward. The group made their way to Sharon’s car that she drove over to her place in High Town.

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam comments as he takes in the place the blonde woman was staying. “I thought if I had to hustle, I might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” She gestured to one of the paintings on display as she talked. “Ey easy. Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.” Sam tried to correct her but Zemo cut him off. “No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.” Y/N nods from Bucky’s side. “It’s true, Wilson.” She confirms before Bucky adds his own confirmation, “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”

“Okay guys, I see what you’re doing here. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” The southern man spoke, pulling out his phone to google the truth. Deciding to catch up with Sharon and Zemo who had kept walking, the lone female of the group giggled as she passed by Sam. “Yeah. What’s google say?” Bucky asked, patting his friend’s shoulder as he passed following his old partner. “No shit.” Sam muttered before Sharon called back to them to change before her clients arrived in an hour. Sharon left the men with a cart of clothes before dragging the other female with her to another room to change.

Sharon led them back into the main room where the three men were left. She commented on Sam's change of clothes, or middle of change considering he was still shirtless. Y/N, now dressed in a navy blue dress pant-suit that was surprisingly comfortable and easy to move in, moved to sit on the couch next to Bucky. She reached over to smooth out the lapels of the black jacket the former soldier now wore. She could hear Sam questioning Sharon about why she never came back and how Sharon would be locked up if she returned. Yet hearing Sharon talk badly about the shield drew the nurse’s attention to her rambling about hero business being hypocrisy. “He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo comments holding a drink in his hand. “By the way, how is the new Cap?” Sharon asked making Bucky’s eye’s roll as he replied, “Don’t get me started.”

Sharon scoffs as she moved towards the couch. “Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” The silent nurse shifts uncomfortably as she listens to the conversation. “Before you were his pet psychopath you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” Bucky could probably feel the tension growing between the two females that were now seated on either side of him. “Wow. She’s kind of awful now.” The 106 year old man’s face was blank as he glanced up at Sam who was adjusting the neck of a shirt deciding it best to change topic. “Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” Sharon shakes her head at the statement “You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety.”

Y/N stands up rubbing her palms over her hips before stepping around the couch to stand behind Bucky. “Sure there is a risk sweetheart but until I… we find out who cracked the code,” She started correcting herself as she spoke. Although his face was as blank as ever a metal hand reached up and back to rest on the hand just next to his shoulder. It wasn’t much but the nonverbal comfort that was given was enough. “We got a name,” the dark head of hair leaned back till the nurse could see the blue eyes she had known for years, “Wilfred Nagel.” Sharon’s eyebrows scrunched together before she moved off the couch, “Nagel works for the Power Broker.”

Sam bargained for Sharon’s help in exchange for clearing her name. Meanwhile the nurse was behind Bucky muttering, “We don’t really need her. Just give us a few hours and we can do it ourselves.” The small tug of a smirk against the stubble jawline of Barnes could be seen before he shook his head slightly. “Trust, doc.” His voice rumbled like low thunder as he spoke to her. She was never one to jump full into a plan without looking at all possibilities, which is why Steve always liked her opinion back in the war.

“They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.” Sam’s comment on Bucky drew the nurse’s attention back to the main conversation in the room. “I heard that.” Bucky comments as the nurse moves back around the couch to sit back down next to her dark haired friend. “I don’t trust charity.” Sharon mentions. The nurse groans dramatically, making the room turn towards her. “She’s as stubborn as Peggy. Look toots, it’s not a hand out. You’re doin’ a job. You’re going to help us and in exchange bird-man is gonna get your name cleared.” Sharon took that as a deal and agreed to help using her sellers as a network to find out what she can, leaving instructions to lay low and blend in before she heads to the front to start greeting guests.

The four still sitting in the back didn’t move for a moment. Zemo was sipping from a tumbler, probably a whiskey, which Sam moved over to the other two. “So what did you mean earlier about you and Bucky being seen together?” The room again lulled into silence before the woman hummed and looked from her hands to Sam. “In the days of the Winter Soldier, seeing us together meant death, if you didn’t die that day you would die in a year. Seeing just me represented mercy, if you saw me alone the chances were the Winter Soldier wouldn’t kill you. That’s why I was Snowdrop. The meaning and folklore around the flower was my duty, besides keeping the soldier in prime condition”

“She also was his partner. On a mission if she was not nursing an injury it was her job to cover his right side, the side deemed weaker without the metal arm. She was trained to stay out of his way but move in tandem with him, like magnets.” Zemo added to the woman’s explanation. The nurse stood up from the couch. “It’s in the past. I am not Snowdrop. Just like Bucky is not the Winter Soldier. I’ll see you gentlemen out there.” She left the three men in the room alone. Sam turned his head towards Bucky silently asking if there was more to the story. The man shook his head pushing up from the couch. “Come on, we should blend in.”

The music was definitely not anything Bucky or Y/N were used to. The two war vets met by the bar, both nursing a tumbler of whiskey over ice. “Where did you go after you got out?” If it wasn’t from years of memorizing the tone and every aspect of the voice talking to her (Y/N) might not have heard him over the music. Her eyes glanced up at his as she stepped around to his left side, a nonverbal ask of permission to touch his arm. The man let out a soft grunt, raising the glass to his lips. Sliding into the spot next to him and placing his arm around her waist for casual onlookers she leaned up to talk.

“They were going to use me to get you back, Zemo let me out when he found out HYDRA’s next plan for us. They were going to force Project Chroma onto me...us. I was to be transferred to the lab when my escape happened. First thing I did was go home. Security sure has changed in the years. I saw the war monument in Washington. I got to see the tribute made out to Rogers at the Smithsonian where you were mentioned." She bumped her hip gently against his and even caught a small smile before it was covered by the glass of whiskey. She took her own sip before continuing, walking with the man as he led the way around the outer perimeter of the room. "Most action I got to see since my escape besides what is going on now was the slight trouble I got in with my new hacking hobby and helping someone." Bucky's blue eyes glanced down at her. "I shouldn't be surprised you always were a bit of a tech nerd. What about this person you helped? That's dangerous for you right now until you get pardoned." His hand brushed over her lower back as she turned to face him. "Now listen here James I made an oath when I became a medic, I was going to help everyone I could if I was able to so that's what I did. Now hush or you won't get the story before Sam tracks you down." From the way her eyes darted across the dance floor Barnes knew she had a location on all of their friends. He nods his head pressing his lips into a firm line.

"Zemo called me. Needed me to be ready for a job he was doing. Flew me out to Vienna, Austria. I was there the day you were framed for that bombing Buck." She rubbed a hand over her face thinking back on the day and how worried she got for him after that day. "I was okay, sugar. Now tell me about this kid you helped." Bucky soothed pulling her closer the way his arm felt around (Y/N) was always comforting to her. Maybe it was how safe he made her feel and knowing the damage that arm could do. Her fingers brushed over the metal plating of his left hand.

"They sped up on this bike, jumped off it and were heading straight for the building like they knew what was going to happen and needed to warn everyone. They never made it inside. The explosion, it...it seemed to trigger something and they froze. Just standing there. Something fell from above, a piece of concrete you know the kind with the support pipes, it caught them on the way down. Person was unconscious and more debris was falling. I did the only thing I could think of, took them back to my hotel a block away, away from curious eyes. They woke up when I was laying out the first aid kit.

I nearly got punched in the face if it wasn't for working with you. Stubborn kid that one was, laceration from shoulder to inner elbow on the right side, dislocated shoulder, and there were already some previous injuries. The kid called themselves 'Ghost' so I told them to call me 'Grace'. Fixed them up and sent them on their way with the car I was using to get out of there. After that I went to Visit graves.."

Bucky was quiet for a moment before ducking his head down towards her ear. "Hearing someone call you Grace got to you didn't it?" He asked as his mind went back to how he felt when Steve called him 'Bucky'. "Amazing Grace, Ghost said the whole thing when they left. I didn't think anyone would remember me as Amazing Grace after the war."

"Wait, you're Amazing Grace from Steve's war stories?" Sam's voice asked in shock over the music drawing the faux couple out of their own world to let him join. "Best nurse you may ever meet. Plus she always sang for the injured soldiers. Got the nickname Amazing Grace because that was her go to song and some of the men started to think she was an angel." Bucky looked down at the blushing nurse next to him, eyes swimming with pride and fondness for her, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Sam definitely took note of the change of attitude the grumpy old man always seemed to have after spending time with the woman who was so casually wrapped up next to the man that Sam wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it. The nurse patted the tall man's chest a few times before pointing into the crowd of partiers to where Zemo was doing his own dance.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Sharon was able to find the man they were looking for but by the time the guest had cleared and the trip to the docks was made it was light outside. Small conversation was made as Sharon led the way. With word that she would keep watch Sharon sent them inside after handing over an ear piece to each of them. Sam opened the door to the container. Bucky and (Y/N) exchanged a look and there was something in his eyes that she knew meant that he was worried for her. The container was empty upon entry. Yet that was soon disproven by Zemo and his flashlight finding a secret door within the back wall. Zemo pushed open the door as the other three drew a gun. Sam moved to the font of the line followed by Zemo. Bucky kept an eye on the back with (Y/n) between him and the German man.

Music was playing, masking the sound of their entry. The hidden lab was dimly lit with fluorescent light casting a gray tinge over everything. The nurse took a silent deep breath as she took in the lab around her. She could remember the day Erskine brought her in see him work on the serum used on Steve Rogers. She could remember the failed attempts she had in the HYDRA labs and the even worse side affects her body went through upon testing. All the flashes of the serum in her brain and the trouble it caused made her uneasy for a moment as she took a small step closer to Barnes, his eye catching the movement and moving to cover her.

Sam and Bucky lead the way towards Nagel while (Y/N) stays at Zemo’s side. Bucky pulled the needle from the playing record making the music stop. Nagel turned from his workstation to find out why his music stopped only to let out a gasp at the sight of Sam standing there with a gun. “Dr. Nagel?”

“Who are you? What do you want?” The doctor questioned quickly, probably nervous. Sam rose his head slightly and his voice was gentle when he answered. “We know you created the super-soldier serum.” That did not trigger a positive response as the doctor stepped forward ordering him to “Get out of my lab.” The doctor walked past Sam as if to escort him out but froze upon seeing the former Winder Soldier standing there, dark ice blue eyes locked onto him. “You know who he is, right?” Sam’s voice was still calm as ever even as the doctor stepped back away from the direction of Barnes and turned towards the other blocked direction where Zemo and the nurse stood. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him too, right? Maybe even her?”

The doctor was escorted by Sam to the more open area. Zemo followed him as (Y/N) stepped up to the workstation to take a look at just what they were making the serum with. “You seem like a smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.” A slight rattle drew her attention back to the doctor and the interrogation that would soon occur. “How about a counter proposal?” The doctor offered, “Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.” Sharon’s hushed voice came through the earpiece warning them of some company arriving outside. The lone female in the lab stepped forward into the doctor’s line of sight. She moved forward with a sweet smile on her face before reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt to force him down into a chair. “Look here doctor, I’m a pretty patient lady, but if you don’t start talking he’ll start shooting. Got it? Now I’m not too happy about you messing around with my serum.” There was a brief glance towards Bucky as she spoke to the doctor, a firm tone hardening her voice. She didn’t ever realize how she had referred to the serum as hers, which in a sense it could be after Erskine’s death she was the only one that knew how to do it.

When Nagel didn’t respond but just glared at her a warning shot was fired off behind his head before the gun moved back to pointing at the side of his head. “Okay, okay. I was brought into HYDRA’s Winter Soldier program to pick up her work, after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When HYDRA fell I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system.” (Y/N) listened, taking a small step back just barely catching a glimpse of a small head shake from Bucky as he looked at Sam. “After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god-” The woman standing in front of the doctor raised her gun aiming it right between his eyes as she cut him off, “You are not a god.” Buck made a nonverbal command for Sam to move over towards the nurse who seemed to be taking this harder than anticipated. “I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do.” The doctor completely ignored the woman as he spoke to Sam. Zemo moved from the woman’s side to walk around and look at the equipment in the lab. “But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines,” A dig at the radiation chamber used to help Steve, “or jacked up bodies.” A dig at Bucky. “Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Nagel. She wanted to punch him, it was almost like an insult to herself the way he spoke about her work. She had been there right next to Erskine the day Steve received the serum. She had given Rogers the morphine before he entered the chamber. She had read over Erskine’s destroyed notes so many times the day before because she was scared for the test subject’s safety. Then when HYDRA captured her and she was forced to start recreating it she refused to try it on anyone but herself. The amount of times a HYDRA agent found her near death was probably close to a dozen before she perfected it enough to start inducing it on Bucky. Sergeant Barnes was so weak the first time she gave him a shot of the serum, a test to see if his body could handle it. When she was contacted and brought back, it was a life or death situation that led to her giving the remaining required dose of the serum to Bucky.

“How have we never heard of this?” Sam’s voice brought her back to the present. Her eyes glanced over at the other super soldier and he was already looking at her. Bucky had seen her far off expression. He almost wished she was outside helping Sharon. “Because before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, and the program had been abandoned so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” The doctor explained the woman in the room taking a step back to recollect herself. She really wanted to put a bullet through this Power Broker at the moment. “How many vials did you make?” She asked as calmly as possible, trying to match Sam but she could hear how annoyed she was. “Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so.. Could only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”

“Where is Karli now?” Sam asked as the nurse looked over her shoulder at Zemo. The two made eye contact and in that moment a silent understanding was passed between the two. “I don’t know but a couple of days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.” Nagel explains as Zemo came back to rejoin the circle. “What happened to her?” Sam’s question didn’t get a direct answer since the doctor didn’t care to find out since it wasn’t his business. “Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky questioned, looking down at the man. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he waited for the response. When the man did nothing but look at him Barnes pushed the barrel of his gun to the side of the man’s head earning a quick ‘No’.

“Now what?” Bucky wonders aloud looking towards the other three, not moving his gun from the man’s head until he sees Sharon enter. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” Sharon insists, her entrance being just enough of a distraction for Zemo to raise the gun he had found strapped under one of the lab tables and shoot Doctor Nagel. Sam pinned Zemo to the wall as Sharon knocked the gun out of the baron’s hand. (Y/N) quickly moved to the doctor, the impact of the shot having knocked him back in the chair and falling backwards. “What did you do?” Sharon asked in a panicked voice. The nurse checked for a pulse but the man was dead. “He’s gone.”

An explosion broke out as something shot into the lab. Bucky grabbed onto his old friend/partner and covered her from the blast as he dove out of the way. An emergency alarm sounded out against the slight ring caused from the explosion. Groans came from everyone as they recollected themselves to get up and move. Bucky and (Y/N) were the first to move onto their hands and knees given the enhancement provided from the serum. “You good?” Bucky breathed out as he struggled to get up. “M’fine.” She muttered using something near her to push herself up before helping him stand. Things were shaking, glass items clinking together. “This place is going to blow, we have to move fast.” She urged Bucky forward as she began to move both of them looking back at beakers of chemicals. “Anyone see Zemo?” Sam wheezed before (Y/n) helped him up from the ground as the chivalrous Barnes helped Sharon up. “Let’s go.” He ordered. The lab explosion happened right behind the two super soldiers that kept the other two moving.

The four now, without the sign of Zemo, were now outside where the company was waiting for the smoke to clear to take fire. “All right, wait for my signal!” Bucky instructed but went unheard as bullets started to ping off the shipping container around them. Sam shot back as he moved in a different direction. Sharon and (Y/N) followed Bucky around the other way, guns at the ready. It sounded like fireworks with the amount of bullets being shot through the air. Only a few actually hit a target. Sam was taking cover already when the three arrived, Sharon moving to cover Wilson as he reloaded. “And you like living here?” Sam asked in an exasperated yell to Sharon to be heard over the gun fire that sounded way too much like a war field. “It’s not terrible.” The woman behind Sharon scoffed at the answer as she and Bucky shot at targets in opposite directions, each covering the other’s blind spot.

Bucky’s gun clicked a few times proving it was empty. He let out a short frustrated yell, something (Y/N) wasn’t used to coming from him since way back in the days of the Howling Commandos when his gun would jam. He rushed back under better coverage calling over to Sam, “I thought we were going left?” Sam glanced over his shoulder for a moment to the man yelling at him.

“You went the wrong way!” Sam points to him as he yelled back

“I cleared the way!”

“I came out first. You’re supposed to follow me.”

“And where are we now?”

“Guys, not the time!” Sharon called back to them from where she was still shooting nearing the end of her ammo. From across from her (Y/n) was in the same situation as she called back. “We can sign you two up for couple’s therapy later!” The nurse called back completely unaware of the therapy session the two have already been through together. “I’m out!” Sharon called, ducking back out of direct fire. A moment later the other female ducked back too, “So am I.” The two men are still arguing over who should have led. None of them were prepared for a second explosion. Recovering from having to quickly duck and cover from the flames they all looked out to see a masked Zemo jumping into action taking care of the remaining men. Bucky tapped on Sharon’s back, “Go.” Sharon jumped into action and made a run for it, “Come on. Let’s go.”

There were still bullets being fired rapidly as they wove through the maze of shipping containers. Opening up an empty container to hide inside didn’t help as they were quickly located and shot at. Sam and Sharon were already inside. With his left hand Bucky broke off the metal lock bar off the container while pushing (Y/n) inside with his right. He used the bar to knock one man unconscious before turning, raising the bar like a spear and throwing it with the left arm with enough force to pin another person through their shoulder to a shipping container. “Come on, let's go.” Sam grabbed onto Bucky’s jacket pulling him into the container.(Y/n) walked through the dark metal box to the other side. Bucky bit the other doors with his metal fist before she could even lift her leg to break it open. As they stepped out of the container screeching tires alerted them to a fast approaching vehicle. Zemo rounded the corner in a supercharged Pontiac Firebird.

“You’re going back to jail.” Was the first thing out of Sam’s mouth as they all glared at the man. “Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo asked, turning his head away and then back to them. “He’s right. We need him.” Bucky looks at Sam as he helps (Y/N) into the back seat of the car. “There’s three of us and at least twenty of them.” The super soldier says as he gets into the car himself. “Fine but if you try that shit again.” Sam’s voice was hard as he pointed at Zemo while climbing into the back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo states as Bucky turns to glare at him.

“Well that was one hell of a reunion.” Sharon sighs, closing the car door for them. Sam tried to bring her back again but she refused to go without the pardon. That was when they parted ways with Sharon Carter. Sharon walked one way while Zemo drove off in the other heading back towards the airstrip to leave Mandripoor behind them.

[itsbenedict]

I didn’t post about everything I played this year, so here’s my opinions on the stuff I played that I didn’t make a rec post for:

Raging Loop 

Raging Loop is one of them twisty meta Zero Escape-y branching-path visual novels where an ensemble cast is trapped in a mysterious circumstance where people are dying gruesomely, and you have to find out what’s happening and stop it by looping a bunch. 

I can’t wholeheartedly recommend it, because... it tries to have its cake and eat it too with the supernatural elements. Clearly magic is real and has important impacts on the scenario, but then other parts are trickery you’re supposed to see through, and it’s entirely uninterested in cluing you in to how that trickery was accomplished. Not exactly a fair play mystery, in that regard- you have to kind of just be along for the ride, rather than try to figure it out.

That said, it’s a good ride- pretty strong character writing, and the central conceit of the Werewolf/Mafia-style murder scenario creates really interesting drama. It’s more concerned with making itself feel clever than letting the player feel clever, but it’s still well-paced and gripping and has a pretty decent resolution.

Detective Grimoire

I recommended Tangle Tower, the sequel, pretty strongly- and this one, while obviously a little rougher around the edges with the art and mechanics (the suspicion tracker system is a total dud; I didn’t even realize it existed until I realized I was missing an achievement for using it), it’s still pretty darn good. Really fun character designs and animations, fully-voiced, and a solid whodunit backing it all. Plus- while the two are more or less self-contained, the continuity threads with Tangle Tower raised some really interesting questions.

Contradiction - the all-video murder mystery

This one was pretty fun, largely on the strength of the actors. The main mechanic of interrogating people on evidence and using their own statements against each other was some good stuff, too. Definitely had that Phoenix Wright quality to the deductions, and Jenks is a really fun character. (Had a few points where progression was just linked to standing in a certain previously-abandoned area of the map where a clue was suddenly there for no reason, there- good thing it had a hint system.)

As a mystery, it could use a little work- most of what you end up finding out is sequel bait (for a sequel that never actually came together, unfortunately), and the actual whodunit is just sort of hiding in the cracks of all that. And... cornering the culprit just sort of happens out of nowhere once you’ve got your hands on the right piece of evidence, without much fanfare. You’re following up on leads like usual, you find a little lie in someone’s testimony, and then- oh, shit, they’re just confessing everything! Unlike all the previous times you questioned them and they were super evasive like everyone else! And then the game is over. 

All in all, it’s pretty meaty and entertaining and I’d recommend it, but unfortunately the creators have moved on to other things, so there’s not going to be any follow-up on the stuff it left unresolved.

Ikenfell

Ikenfell is a tightly-designed RPG about kids at a magic school, with Paper Mario-style action command mechanics and a battle system that makes a big deal out of careful positioning and movement, which was really enjoyable. The difficulty’s a little high (I recommend always always always speccing into max damage because killing things before they kill you is worth more than any amount of defense, speed doesn’t work, and healing is cheap), but I found it really satisfying.

There’s... something... off? About... I don’t know how to put it, it’s... doing that “yes, everyone is queer and mentally ill, deal with it” thing, which, sure, okay. But for a lot of them it’s such a background thing, like... half the playable cast is unambiguously nonbinary, but like... I don’t know if it’s trying to make some statement on how there are no rules to being NB and you can 100% perform a particular binary gender presentation but still count, or if they wrote the whole story and then changed the pronouns of some of the characters for Representation Points, or what. Probably the former? I dunno, it just feels weird. Maybe I’m just not woke enough to Get It.

(unrelatedly: why the heck is the official art they use everywhere so... off-model? none of them look like they do in-game- they look like the creator commissioned someone to draw a group shot with one reference image each and didn’t tell them anything about the characters. how much you wanna bet they commissioned a friend and it came out wrong but they were too polite to say “sorry, no, this is wrong, can you do it over?”)

Trails of Cold Steel IV

Hoo boy. It’s... not great, and it’s not great in a pretty predictable way for an even-numbered entry in the Trails series. It happens every time- first there’s a game in a new engine with new characters and a new world to explore, and it’s really nice and does interesting things... and then it ends on a cliffhanger, and then there’s a sequel game in the same engine with the same characters and the same world, reusing as many assets as possible. Also the League Of Generically Evil Anime Supervillains is there causing trouble for reasons they refuse to explain, and the plot is a storm of magicbabble and macguffin-chasing that makes little to no sense. 

Cold Steel IV is that for Cold Steel III, full stop. Welcome back to all the same places you visited last game, except this time there’s some stupid magic apocalypse happening (not that it stops you from taking the time to do random sidequests constantly, of course). The whole “oh, the evil curse mind controls people and that’s why they do stupid bullshit that’s in no one’s interest” plot point is leaned on super hard, and it’s just a big yawn the whole way through.

It’s still really fun, though, because the battle system remains really well-designed. (The same battle system that was just as fun in Cold Steel III, mind you, but it hasn’t gotten old.) And- though they’re struggling to square it with the dumb mind control apocalypse plot, the NPC dialogue continues to make the world feel believable and lived-in. They don’t slack on the parts that make Trails good- it’s just the parts that make Trails bad are making themselves more evident than ever.

did finally get to date Towa though so that’s a win

One Step From Eden

OSFE is... uh. It’s fucking hard is what it is. It’s sort of a deckbuilding roguelike, and there’s this combat that takes place on a grid, and- wait, it’s like Mega Man Battle Network, it’s exactly like Mega Man Battle Network. Man, I forgot about that, but the mechanical influence is extremely obvious. It’s MMBN meets Slay the Spire.

Except it’s super duper hard as hell, because unlike MMBN you can’t pause and swap out chips or anything- everything is just always happening so much, all at once, everywhere, and you have no recourse but to git gud and learn all the enemy patterns and the behavior of your own spells and develop the twitch reflexes necessary to not fucking die from all the shit that’s on the screen always.

(What’s the story? Uhhhh, there was some kind of magic apocalypse, and some anime girls are trying to reach a city for some reason that doesn’t really get explained ever. The game doesn’t really care to build its world at all- it’s all mechanics plus a little token character dialogue that doesn’t say much.)

The point is it’s really frickin’ hard but I am an epic pro gamer and I got ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS, MOTHERFUCKER. If you’ve played it, I expect you to be really god damn impressed with me, okay???

A Short Hike

This one was really relaxing! It’s a platformer where you explore an Animal Crossing-y island of cartoon animal people, collecting mobility upgrades- but like, mainly it’s about straight chillin’. The flight controls are fun and there’s lots of little secrets to find and it’s just a nice time that doesn’t drag on too long. Not too much to say about this one.

Pokémon Sword

Ehhhhh.

I’m not here for the hot takes about how Dexit is good actually. Development hell happened, they had to make cuts for time, I get it. It’s disappointing and makes the game a little bit worse, but it’s not the end of the world.

Apart from that... perfectly serviceable? The Wild Area could’ve used a little more technical polish (as could most things in the game, really) but was a step in the right direction, giving the player a wider array of early-game team-building options than ever before. No HMs is good. Story and characters were kind of nothing, but that’s par for the course. “At least this time they’re not shoehorning in some kind of stupid evil-team-wants-legendary-pokemon-to-destroy-the-world apocalypse plot”, I thought to myself before they managed to shoehorn one in at the last minute with zero buildup- but, hey, beats wasting half the game on it.

It’s nothing special and it’s missing a lot of polish, but its problems are mainly due to being rushed, and presumably next gen they’ll be able to reuse a lot of the models and animations (maybe even improve the animations so they’re not so boring??? a man can dream) and make something interesting. SwSh seem like they were testing the waters for something else, and not taking too many chances in the meantime. 

(yo why would you sell all these cosmetic items and then turn them all off during gym battles, though) 

Hades

Hades is- oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows Hades, it’s the game of the year, greatest thing since sliced bread, Supergiant are heroes, yada yada yada. I’ve played almost 300 hours of it and I’ve completed everything except all the Resources Director levels (currently a Sigma Wraith), it’s extremely fun and you don’t need me to tell you that.

Petal Crash

It was that thing the Paranatural creator helped on? It’s, uh. It’s a block-sliding puzzle game thing, sort of in a Puyo Puyo vein. It has fun character designs and some good dialogue, like you’d expect from Zack’s involvement, but it didn’t really leave an impression otherwise (besides how got dang infuriating some of its Turn Trial puzzles can be.) The story is... kinda heartwarming, kinda didactic, kinda childish, not especially deep or interesting. Hard for it to be, when it’s told through little bits of fluffy character dialogue that exist to set up a puzzle battle as quickly as possible. Not super recommended unless you really really like block-sliding puzzles.

Hollow Knight

Man, why’d I sleep on this for so long? It’s a metroidvania platformer with heavy Dark Souls inspiration, in terms of tone and difficulty and death mechanics and environmental storytelling. And it’s... apart from all that, just really good as a game, with tight controls and juicy movement and great animation. Progression is linked as much to mastery as it is to upgrades collected- I found myself in lategame areas facing down things that would’ve killed me ten times over at the start- not because I had the best gear, but because I’d learned the game’s language and understood how to move in ways that wouldn’t get me killed.

(Usually. Sometimes I’d walk into a room and sit on a bench and suddenly there’d be a boss fight and I’d get slaughtered. Ain’t that just the way it goes?)

Anyway, on top of all that it’s just charming as hell, with a really unique and well-realized world full of little bug people. I love how, like, your character is clearly some kind of eldritch abomination, but it’s small and cute and so everyone (besides enemies that attack you on sight because they’re possessed by some kinda evil mold) is like “awww, who’s this little guy? want some help, little guy?”

(except Zote, who is just an ass hole. i love him.)

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 25

Make some dentist appointments after this chapter. (I'm not sure it applies to all)

Sorry for being late. It's my little sister's birthday today and I opted to eat food.

Table of Contents

Off the Grid

"Alex"

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

The worst part of being stomped on the face is that at the end of the day, your girlfriend would end up seeing it. This was what Alex was worried about the moment he heard the helicopter approached their location. But a part of him wanted to just lay down by the bed under Samantha's care. 

Alex expected Soap to be the first one greeting the women, but he wasn't around. He guessed that after all the chasing and the climbing, he opted to take a rest instead of facing them tired. The house was very accommodating on it's own. He didn't need to worry about entertaining everyone else.

Just as he expected, he already saw the frown on Samantha's face as soon as her eyes met his. The same frown from his imagination was manifested before him.

"Alex, Are you okay?" she ran towards him and touched his bruised cheek. Alex tried to look okay but he couldn't help but hiss at the pain.

"A little. I couldn't lie to you now, can't I?" he managed a chuckle. Samantha held his hair and that signaled Alex to lower himself a little so she could kiss him on the forehead.

"Let's get you healed up." She muttered.

"Not until I'm done helping unload these." He suggested. Samantha wanted him to skip out on helping but Alex's face was eager and she didn't want to argue with that.

"Fine."

"My room is the third door by the stairs… that is if you want us to stay in one room together."

"Of course I do, Alex." She smiled and blew a kiss on the air as his lip was too bruised to receive it.

Alex couldn't help but smile. He could feel his insides do a little dance of joy while he's carrying luggage to the second floor, placing both their bags beside each other. Inside their room, that they're going to share.

He knew they'd done this before, but the idea of getting the room all to themselves was different. They are able to move freely without worrying what they might do. And he wanted to hug her, kiss her and whisper soft words in her ear without making everyone else around them all judgy.

Dinner flew by and Roach took the girls out for a tour, Alex took this time to shower before Samantha would come nurse his wounds. He stood in front of the sprinkling hot water, his face looked up, letting the warm shower revitalize his tired muscles. It was no doubt relaxing as he closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts and let his mind ease a bit.

They're safe, Samantha's got her memories back, and they're together now. The New York attacks were over and both Shepherd and Nero were off the grid. They're planning something big and all they could do was prepare for the worst. He doesn't have to shoulder anything as of now and he should rest and recover.

After a few minutes of meditation, Alex was interrupted by a smooth touch that embraced him from behind. He could feel her skin sink against his as she tightly held him, her cheek leaned on his back.

"Alex." Samantha whispered, he couldn't barely hear it against the sound of the shower.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" she sobbed. Alex raised an eyebrow and held her hand, turning around to meet her beautiful face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the question echoed against the glass walls and bounced to the rest of the bathroom.

"On the ride here. I took a nap… then I remembered something. Before I even got to that Russian hotel I…" she sobbed. Alex pulled her closer and hugged her, she didn't have to worry. They're going to fix this together.

"I gave them the I.P. Address…" she cried. Her tears mixed with the sprinkle of the shower. Despite being already wet, Alex still wiped it off with his thumbs.

"You didn't do anything wrong… You didn't give it away… They forcibly took it from you." Alex told her, his face was angry toward Shepherd. One day he'll finally get his revenge.

"B-but…" she tried to retort, but Alex cut her off by kissing her soft lips, his tongue immediately entered her mouth as soon as she gave him permission. He kissed her hoping it would soothe her worries away, making her feel that he was there no matter what. Her moans made him comfortable that he's doing the right thing, that he's telling her that he's going to be there. So he pushed her toward the cold bathroom wall, tilted his head and showed her what he really felt towards her.

The next morning Alex and Samantha were tasked to fly Nikolai back home. The guy was missing the colder environment and since they didn't have anything at the moment, it'd be best to let him go for now. The team still owed him a cargo plane which was left back at the S.A.S. base. They'll have to deal with that after all of this is over.

Alex didn't have anything to do regarding this task, Samantha just made a few special calls and the next thing they knew, they were already waving goodbye to the Russian.

"Glad we have him on our side." Alex chuckled, hovering his arm as it reached her farther shoulder. Samantha leaned toward him as soon as she caught him doing the gesture, as they took short steps, Alex's leg clumped against the cement.

"You okay with that leg?" Samantha wondered, looking down then back to Alex.

"I got used to it, really. It's not much of a bother once you get used to it." He smiled, wiggling the fake leg, almost showing off at how good he was using it. 

"Is there something wrong with it?" He asked. Samantha's cheeks started to blush red and Alex had no actual idea what was going on in her mind.

"No no. I'm just curious. That's all… Still… it must be hard walking like an incomplete part of a whole." She consoled to which Alex replied with a laugh.

"What's funny?" She asked as Alex used his already clinging hand on her shoulder to pull her closer for a kiss.

"You already complete me, Samantha." He said. His face was too serious to be joking and yet Samantha laughed.

"You know what?! All these corny and cheesy dialogue is my thing. You complete me too, Alex. I…" she paused, staring at Alex's eyes. Alex quickly saw through her gaze, there was a particular sparkle in her eyes. The same sparkle he'd been noticing every time they got intimate. It made his heart beat so fast that he could almost predict what she's going to say next.

He placed a finger on her mouth to stop her from talking. He wanted to say it first. He wanted to be the one whose life changed because of her and not the other way around.

"I love you, Samantha Coleman." he said. Tears. Tears were the first thing he saw once he let out those words. 

"How dare you… finish my sentence." she croaked. She had the idea of cracking a joke between the sweetest of moments. He really liked that about her.

"I wanted to say it first." He whispered, inching his face closer once again. Samantha's eyes were already half closed and Alex knew what he needed to do. He planted another chaste kiss on her soft lips, but this time, Samantha surprised him by gently biting his lip, making the former CIA flinch. He chuckled and kissed back once again, pushing her toward the gazebo until they found her pinned on one of its tougher beams.

"Oh." She giggled as Alex's hand trailed on her side, squeezing her soft skin gently. Alex's smile beamed wide as he knew her reaction. 

"Are we really going to cause a scene here? Mr. Alex-?" She teased, her train of thought paused after not knowing his last name.

He chuckled in a lower register, low enough that he could feel Samantha react to it.

"It's Alexander Collins. But please, just call me Alex." he muttered, planting a kiss on her neck, Samantha moaned inappropriately, sending Alex on an excited rush.

"All right Mr. Collins. I think we should stop now. Our audiences are feeling a little uncomfortable right now." she turned to France, Maxine and Roach, who were watching 'respectfully'.

Alex waved and smiled apologetically, noting the almost embarrassed expression on Maxine's face, the slightly smirking Francine and Roach's hidden thumbs up.

"I'm sorry guys. We'll be off now." he said, escorting Samantha back to the house.

The day went by and Alex was more than happy that he got to spend the rest of the day with Samantha. Hell, even the thought of waking up spooning her was more than heavenly. 

Now, he lay gently on his bed while Samantha was out to cleanse his bruises.

"Ow. Careful nurse, I'm quite vulnerable..." he winced playfully.

"Now, now, my little patient. This will just hurt a little." She played along, wiping a soft cotton ball on his bruised cheek.

"Will there be any sort of injection? I hate injections." he groaned, fake sobbing.

"Oh? You hate injections? I personally thought you were amazing administering them?" She teased, slightly blushing at her green joke.

Alex quickly caught wind of her joke about injecting and immediately burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you said that." he said, laughing in between his words, almost choking.

"Kidding aside… I almost forgot something…" She said, setting aside her medical tools. She got up and gently straddling on his body, making Alex groan a little and hold on to her waist.

"What could you have possibly forgotten?" he asked, his face full of curiosity.

She leaned in closer to him and whispered three words that made Alex smile in delight.

"I love you." she whispered and a kiss followed. Alex knew from that moment on that he was more than willing and ready to spend the rest of his life.

Next Chapter : What's Behind Door Number Two?

Notification Squad my Beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @enderio @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach @beemybee

[stephissalty]

you still wear my jacket

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 6000

Summary: "Iwaizumi wasn’t one to believe in fate, but he could believe that there was some very, very cruel intervention that put Oikawa Tooru on the same plane, to the same destination, in the seat next to him, three years nearly to the day since the last time he’d seen him."

AO3

Part 2 - AO3

you still wear my jacket

Iwaizumi Hajime receives a text from his supervisor ten minutes before he’s set to board a plane to London.

Received, 19:04: enjoy your trip. don’t forget to turn off your phone

Received, 19:04: you need the time off

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and sends an affirmative response before tucking his phone back in his pocket. He knew he was very much in need of a break. For the past three months, he had been working twelve-plus hour days, and his team had been working nearly as many. The project his supervisor had assigned to Iwaizumi’s group was interesting, at least: the coding division was to design and perfect a code to a new kind of robot, to be used in conjunction with other existing technology that the company was working on, and compatible with several different kinds of software. Iwaizumi enjoyed his job as a team leader - he’d been offered the position after holding an internship with a sister company while in university - but these past few weeks had been wearing him down, and he was ready to collapse.

His supervisor had suggested that he take a week off and get out of Japan - visit somewhere far away, somewhere he’d never been before for a change of scenery. And he was doing just that.

But even so, he still feels the weight of his laptop in his backpack, and his work phone in one of his pockets buzzes with another text. After this text, I’ll turn it off.

Received, 19:07: Iwaizumi-san, enjoy your trip

The text is from one of his interns, a university student named Kunimi. Even my interns are telling me to enjoy my trip. Have I been overworking that much?

He doesn’t turn off his phone.

He turns his boarding pass over in his hands, fidgeting slightly with the edges of the slick paper. For the millionth time, he reads over his boarding group, which reads BSNS CLASS, and then verifies it is his name at the top of the pass. Indeed, IWAIZUMI HAJIME is printed at the top of the paper along with all of the other flight details. He’s still in awe that he has the privilege to fly Business Class, something that is because of his hearty bonus that came in a few weeks ago. This whole trip was a treat to himself, but the tickets were a splurge.

“We are now welcoming Business Class. Business Class, welcome aboard.”

Iwaizumi makes his way towards the line forming, stepping behind well-dressed men in suits carrying briefcases and women carrying designer purses. At twenty-five years old and dressed in sweats and an old Aoba Johsai jacket, he feels slightly out of place. He puts his discomfort aside as he approaches the desk, where the attendant scans his ticket, and he enters the boarding bridge.

A few minutes later, he’s settled into his seat, 2B. The window seat to his left is still empty as he fishes his headphones and charging cord out of his backpack before stowing it away in the overhead.

It’s several minutes later, and as Iwaizumi is starting to be hopeful that he may have the row to himself that he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Sorry, can I get -” as Iwaizumi looks up, the person speaking abruptly cuts off in surprise. “Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks a few times, trying to register the sight in front of him. Standing in the aisle in front of him is none other than Oikawa Tooru. He’s older than the last time he saw him, but he’s definitely Oikawa. His immaculate hair is slightly longer than it was last time, and he looks a little taller, but that might be Iwaizumi’s angle. He’s dressed in a dark shirt under a white jacket with aqua trim and dark sweatpants, and to finish off the ensemble is a head donut around his neck.

“Oikawa.”

“Uh -” For one of the first times that Iwaizumi can recall, Oikawa seems to be out of words. “Looks like I’m sitting next to you. If you want, I can try to request a seat change or -”

“It’s fine. You’re holding up the line. Get in,” Iwaizumi grunts and grits his teeth.

“Right, right.”

Iwaizumi draws up his knees to allow Oikawa to pass, trying not to flinch at the moment of contact.

They sit in silence for a while as the rest of the plane boards, allowing Iwaizumi the distraction to put in his headphones and turn on music, loud enough to try to forget that Oikawa Tooru is sitting next to him. He subtly scoots towards the aisle and pulls his left elbow towards his body, vehemently ignoring the heat emitting from the body next to him.

What are the chances?

Iwaizumi wasn’t one to believe in fate, but he could believe that there was some very, very cruel intervention that put Oikawa Tooru on the same plane, to the same destination, in the seat next to him, three years nearly to the day since the last time he’d seen him.

Three years is a long time.

“Welcome aboard flight 0104, service to London Heathrow. I’m Sawamura, and I’m joined by Azumane, and we’ll be your flight crew for today’s flight. If you’ll direct your attention to your seat-back screens for the safety presentation please…”

The plane pushes back from the gate and begins taxiing towards the runway. Begin a flight from hell.

“Iwa-chan?”

He whips his head to Oikawa and removes one earbud. “Don’t call me that.”

“Iwaizumi...san.” Oikawa has a strange look on his face, as if the name tastes strange in his mouth, which he supposes it probably does.

“What?”

“Is it time now?” The question is vague, but the meaning is clear as day.

“We have been cleared for takeoff. Secure your seatbacks and tray tables in their upright and locked positions. Flight attendants, prepare the cabin for takeoff.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, just puts his earbud back in and raises the volume even higher, to a nearly painful level.

The engines ready for takeoff, Iwaizumi looks to the window as the plane accelerates. He can see, even though the other is faced away from him, the sparkle in Oikawa’s eyes, even before leaving the ground. Once the wheels leave the ground, the city starts shrinking to a grid of yellow lights and soft neons and moving headlights. From Iwaizumi’s vantage point, he doesn’t have the best view, but Oikawa does, and Oikawa, although he’s definitely been on planes countless times, seems captivated by the city getting smaller and the sky getting more vast, getting closer to the soft clouds.

Oikawa’s always loved planes.

Iwaizumi knows that better than anyone. Oikawa’s the reason why Iwaizumi loves flying.

Once they reach ten thousand feet, Iwaizumi immediately connects his work phone to the wifi to check his messages, and, sure enough, in the Oikawa commotion, he’d forgotten to check it before takeoff. He had several messages from another one of his hard-working interns, Kindaichi.

Received 19:15: I got section 44 to compile!

Received 19:15: Yahaba-san will look over it tomorrow

Received 19:15: I’m going to start on 45

Received 19:16: You shouldn’t be doing work on vacation tho

Received 19:16: Have fun, Iwaizumi-san!

Not for the first time, he is exceedingly grateful for his dedicated interns, working even at seven in the evening.

Delivered 19:55: Thank you for your hard work.

Delivered 19:55: Don’t work too late.

He receives an immediate response.

Received 19:55: The same for you!

Delivered 19:56: Thank you.

Although everyone has told him to turn off his phone, he can’t bring himself to. He can’t bear the thought that one of his subordinates could need his help during the time that he’s in the air - after all, it’s a thirteen hour flight. A voice tries to reason that they shouldn’t be working at this time anyways, but it ultimately loses.

“As hardworking as ever,” Oikawa says, somehow catching a quiet moment in one of Iwaizumi’s songs, so his voice cuts through. Iwaizumi thinks he hears a twinge of anger in the word ‘hardworking’. He doesn’t want to think about why.

He returns his attention to his seatmate and wrenches out one earbud. “Huh?”

“You were just messaging work, no? Always a hardworker, Iwa-chan.”

“Were you reading over my shoulder?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously, ignoring the second half of what Oikawa said. He’s trying to rile Iwaizumi up, and he knows it.

“It’s not my fault if you have your brightness so high and your font so big that someone in space could read your texts.” Oikawa flashes a shit-eating, dazzling grin.

Don’t fall for it don’t fall for it don’t fall for it. “I swear -”

“Are you still at the tech company? Code monkey?”

Iwaizumi tries to rein in his temper. “I’m a team leader for the coding division, and, yes, I’m still with the same company. How about you, space boy?”

“I’m a project leader for a classified project at an aerospace firm in Tokyo,” Oikawa says, nose in the air.

Iwaizumi nods, ready to go back to his music, but clearly Oikawa has other plans.

“Iwa-chan! Tell me about your life.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Please.”

His eyes are pleading, and Iwaizumi almost breaks there. But then he remembers.

“No. Now, I’m going to take a nap. Is that okay with you, Oikawa?” he snaps. He actually isn’t tired at all and has trouble sleeping on planes, but dealing with Oikawa is too much for him today. He doesn’t wait until he gets an answer before turning away from Oikawa and burrowing slightly into the collar of his volleyball jacket that he still wears after all these years.

He doesn’t realize that Oikawa is also wearing his Aoba Johsai jacket.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure when Oikawa really changed, but he thought it might’ve been when he missed the final ball in the last match against Karasuno in their third year of high school. After that game, he was never quite the same. There wasn’t another high school tournament to prepare for, and they were done playing for Seijoh. It marked the end of an era, in a way, and Iwaizumi figured Oikawa didn’t know how to handle it.

The end of third year was rough because of that. They still attended classes leading up to graduation, toured a few universities, applied to universities, got accepted to universities, dropped in on a few practices, but all of that was tinged with a grey cloud of sadness that both of them could feel.

Iwaizumi felt it all bubble up when they had to individually choose where they would be going to university.

One Friday night, they were sitting on Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor, two laptops open, and countless pamphlets and acceptance letters surrounding them as they each tried to decide where they’d attend for the coming year. Oikawa had been alarmingly quiet through the whole time Iwaizumi had been listing pros and cons of his personal top choices - two different schools in Tokyo and one closer to Sendai.

“What’s up?”

Oikawa kept his head down.

“Oikawa.”

He shook his head silently.

“Is the university talk upsetting you?”

He shrugged, still not looking up. His hair was flopped down, so his face was hidden from Iwaizumi’s view.

“You gotta talk to me.”

Oikawa very, very slowly raised his hand and gripped Iwaizumi’s wrist, pulling it toward himself. He still didn’t speak.

Iwaizumi thought he understood, though. “You don’t want to separate.”

Oikawa shook his head violently and hugged Iwaizumi tightly. He felt a wet patch forming on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his friend.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, but it sounded like an empty promise to his own ears.

They sat there for a long time, Oikawa crying in Iwaizumi’s arms, as Iwaizumi tucked his face in Oikawa’s neck and tried not to cry as well.

I don’t want to leave him, either.

But I might have to.

The night of graduation, the two lay in silence on Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor. They’d already been to dinner with their families, already did photos, already took care of their prior commitments, They were free to just spend the evening together.

Oikawa had his head on Iwaizumi’s stomach, and their hands were intertwined over Iwaizumi’s chest. Even for them, it was very intimate, but they didn’t address it. The somber mood in the room was overbearing.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Everything’s gonna change now, isn’t it?”

They’d decided to go to different universities in the same city. They were getting an apartment together. Even though they’d be on different volleyball teams, they’d still be together. That managed to nullify both of their fears of being apart.

“Things are going to change, but what’s never going to change is that you’re my best friend,” Iwaizumi replied quietly. He ordinarily wasn’t the type to say sentimental things out loud, but tonight was different.

Oikawa pulled their conjoined hands onto his own chest and squeezed tight. He shifted his head to look towards Iwaizumi. “Is that a promise?”

Iwaizumi looked down and met his gaze, eyes soft. “Of course.”

“Even if I say something stupid?”

“Always.”

Oikawa turned his gaze away, refocusing on the ceiling fan as he ran his thumb over the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. He exhaled, seemingly thinking through his next words very thoroughly, as if he were scared.

“You couldn’t say anything that would make me not want to be your best friend.”

“Even…” Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. “Even if I were to say I’m in love with you?” The end of the sentence sounded choked, and the squeezing of Iwaizumi’s hand was almost painful - he could physically feel Oikawa’s anxiety.

Iwaizumi used his free hand to run through Oikawa’s hair softly. A giddy smile played at his own lips, and his heartbeat sped up. “Yeah, even then. I love you, too.”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure how long it’s been when he wakes up.

Just in front of him, serving the first row, he sees the flight with carts for the first in-flight meal. Considering this, he assumes he’s been out for an hour or so.

He risks a glance at Oikawa, who he finds looking back at him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to - can’t - decipher what the emotion in his eyes is.

“What’s for dinner for you guys? We’ve got vegetarian lasagna and a chicken wrap,” the attendant who’d introduced himself as Sawamura asks.

“Lasagna,” they say in unison. Iwaizumi stiffens, but doesn’t look at Oikawa.

“Great, great,” Sawamura replies, as he grabs the meals and hands them out. “Azumane will be by in a minute for drinks.”

Indeed, Azumane was taking the first row’s drink order. Neither speaks until Azumane has handed them their drinks - Sprite for Oikawa, Coke for Iwaizumi.

“Don’t talk.”

“Iwa-chan -”

The tension snaps. Iwaizumi growls, “I just want to eat my dinner. I can’t deal with you, I can’t deal with this right now, I really can’t. Stop.”

Oikawa swallows slowly and averts his eyes. He draws his left leg up to his chest, careful not to knock the tray table, and hugs it as he peels back the foil on his meal. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

He sounds defeated.

Iwaizumi can’t take it. He puts headphones back in.

The first year of university passed fairly uneventfully. There were so many changes, of course, but there were no disasters of epic proportions that Iwaizumi and Oikawa couldn’t work through alright.

They quickly fell into a routine. Iwaizumi would get back to the apartment first because his university was slightly closer, and his classes ended a little earlier. He’d start on his homework, and Oikawa would arrive sometime not long after that. After finishing both of their homework - Iwaizumi was a very good influence to get Oikawa to stop procrastinating - they’d figure something for dinner - usually Iwaizumi cooking. And after dinner they’d settle down in the living room for a few hours.

They spent a lot of nights on the couch in their apartment, a tangled mess of limbs, Oikawa’s head on Iwaizumi’s chest. Usually they’d watch a TV show or movie as Iwaizumi carded one hand through Oikawa’s hair and clasped their hands together over Oikawa’s chest with the other. He spent a lot of nights just playing with Oikawa’s hands, gently kissing his fingertips, appreciating all of the callouses.

Save for a few small domestic spats that were bound to happen to any new roommates or romantic partners, first year passed without a hitch.

Their first anniversary fell on a Saturday, so they had the whole day together. The day as a whole was phenomenal: lazy morning sex, pancake breakfast, sleepy movie afternoon, and fancy dinner.  After dinner, though, Oikawa already had Iwaizumi pushed up against the outside of their door before he’d even unlocked it. He pressed their lips together hotly, like they had so many times before.

Iwaizumi smiled into the kiss but ducked away from Oikawa’s mouth. “Not yet. We’ll get there, though,” he promised and pressed a quick kiss to Oikawa’s jaw to satiate his partner for the time being. They pushed into the apartment, but Iwaizumi didn’t look at Oikawa, instead heading straight for his own bedroom, which had barely been used since they’d moved in - Iwaizumi slept in Oikawa’s room almost every night.

Iwaizumi first unzipped his school bag, fishing around in one of the pockets to find a permanent marker. Then, he opened his closet, sifting through clothes until he found his Aoba Johsai jacket. Still not speaking, he entered the living room, still holding the jacket and marker, grabbed Oikawa’s sleeve, and pulled him into Oikawa’s bedroom. He then found Oikawa’s own Aoba Johsai jacket, ignoring his boyfriend’s questions as to what the hell, Iwa-chan?

Iwaizumi laid both jackets side by side on the bed. “Sit.” Oikawa did, still thoroughly confused. “So, I’ve had this idea for a while, and I thought now would be a good time.” He blushed slightly as he doubted his idea. “I want us to trade jackets.” Oikawa looked confused. “Well - we both still wear them fairly often, and I was thinking that even though they look the same, we’ll always know they’re the others’? Something like that? It’s kinda a stupid idea, I know -”

“I love it.” Oikawa jumped up and cradled Iwaizumi’s face. He was beaming. Oikawa kissed him gently, tenderly, slowly, in the way that he knew Iwaizumi loved most. He pulled back. “What was it you were wanting to do with the marker?”

Iwaizumi still had the marker in his hand where it was holding Oikawa’s face. Nimbly twirling it in his fingers, he replied, “I was thinking we could, uh, write our names in them before trading?” He took his own jacket and folded back the end of the left sleeve, revealing the inside of the cuff, which was thick enough material to not let the marker bleed. “Is that okay?”

Oikawa, who still had the biggest grin on his face, wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s abdomen and kissed his neck. “Of course. You’re such a sap, Iwa-chan. I love this, almost as much as I love you.”

He craned his neck to chastely press their lips together again. “I love you, too.” Iwaizumi turned back to the jacket, and he carefully wrote out HAJIME #4 on one side of the seam, the side that would be closer to the body, and STRONGER with a small heart on the other side. He flipped the cuff right and passed the marker to Oikawa, who wrote TOORU #1 and INVINCIBLE, also with a small heart on his.

“Now, Tooru, let’s pick up where we left off,” Iwaizumi said after they’d cleared the bed, a playful glint in his eyes.

Oikawa didn’t need to be told twice before he was backing Iwaizumi up onto the bed.

Iwaizumi runs his right thumb over the inside of his left sleeve cuff. TOORU #1, INVINCIBLE. He still wears the jacket because he still loves volleyball, still loves the time he had at Aoba Johsai. He remembers all of the time they had together there. The thought makes his throat clog up and weakens his heart. He swallows thickly.

He never thought he’d have to worry about running into Oikawa, especially not while he was still wearing the jacket.

To make matters worse, Oikawa’s wearing his jacket, too.

Nothing’s changed after all these years.

“Iwa-chan, why are you going to London?” He sounds scared.

Weakened by nostalgia, he replies softly, “Vacation.” Pause. “You?”

Oikawa seems taken aback by the question. “Work trip, but I’m going a few days early for a quick vacation.”

“You still wear it.” He nods in the vague direction of Oikawa’s jacket, noticing that he wears the left cuff rolled, exposing the writing from all those years ago. HAJIME #4, STRONGER. He hopes bringing this up isn’t a mistake, but a growing feeling in his gut says it definitely is.

“You do, too.”

Their eyes meet for only the third time in the entire flight. Iwaizumi briefly notes that there are still over eight hours remaining on this flight, so getting into a dangerous conversation isn’t in his best interest. Fuck it.

“Of course I do,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“Most people would get rid of their old partner’s clothes after a breakup,” Oikawa responds. Dangerous.

“Most people do, yeah.” Iwaizumi tries his damndest to keep his voice neutral, to not let his emotions show. Thinking about high school makes you weak. Now look at what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“And you…?”

Iwaizumi averts his eyes. Can’t let you go, but it’s been three years and our relationship fell apart because of me. He can’t say that so he opts for, “Apparently neither of us are most.”

Silence.

“I miss you.” Oikawa sounds scared.

“It didn’t work.” Iwaizumi is blunt.

Oikawa moves slowly, so, so slowly, as he guides Iwaizumi’s chin back to look at him with one finger. Against his better judgement, Iwaizumi allows it. Oikawa’s eyes are watery. “It’s been three years, Hajime. Can we talk about it?”

“It was my fault and you know it. There’s nothing else to talk about,” he says cooly.

“No -”

“Then let’s talk.”

During their third year of university, Oikawa proposed. It was perfect for them. Once every season, their universities played each other, and after that game - Iwaizumi’s team had won, but Oikawa was too nervous to be upset about the loss - he’d stopped Iwaizumi before he could go to get changed out of his uniform. He’d enlisted help from some of his university teammates (shoutout to Kuroo), and got down on one knee right in front of the scoreboard. That part actually wasn’t planned, but the pictures came out amazingly. Iwaizumi said yes, of course.

From there, they moved on with their lives and into their final year of university.

Iwaizumi picked up an internship, which he threw himself into headfirst, and Oikawa started spending even more time in the gym in hopes to get scouted for the national team. There had been eyes on him for the last two years, so this season would be his last chance to prove he was worthy of national play.

They saw each other less and less, but still came home to bed every night, even if it was late.

One week, Iwaizumi snuck into bed at just past midnight, having just gotten in from his internship. Oikawa was just barely still awake as Iwaizumi wrapped an arm around his middle and pulled him close.

“You’re home late again,” Oikawa whispered. It was the third night that week.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi responded, punctuating the response with a light kiss to Oikawa’s nape. “I’ll try to be home by dinner tomorrow.” Oikawa hummed. “How was practice?”

“Good. I miss playing with you, though,” he said longingly.

“Let’s go to the gym this weekend.”

Oikawa flipped around, bringing them face to face. “Really?” His eyes were shining.

“Really.”

Oikawa surged forward and kissed him deeply, pushing Iwaizumi onto his back and straddling him. Iwaizumi kissed back with just as much fervor - god, he’d missed this with how much he’d been working. “God, I love you,” Iwaizumi mumbled against his lips.

“I love you too,” Oikawa responded, and Iwaizumi’s chest flooded with fondness, just like the first time.

Received, 21:45: hey iwaizumi-san. i’ll be out for the rest of the week

Received, 21:46: i’ll make sure all of my work is finished when i return

Delivered, 21:48: Okay. Is everything alright?

Received, 21:49: yea i had a family emergency come up

Delivered, 21:50: Alright. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

Received, 21:50: thanks

“Is that work again?” Oikawa asked tentatively. It was a Friday night, and they were laying together on the couch watching one of Oikawa’s favorite movies. It was supposed to be a night for just the two of them since Iwaizumi had been working late every night that week.

“Yeah, sorry,” Iwaizumi apologized and kissed his head. He wrapped his arm tighter around his fiance.

Oikawa found the hand that was still holding his phone and pried it out of his grip. “This is mine now. You said tonight was for us,” he pouted. He was being over-dramatic in a way that was slightly childish in a joking manner, but Iwaizumi could tell he was actually upset. He’d been neglecting Oikawa for the past few months, and it was catching up. “Please, Iwa-chan.” His eyes were pleading Iwaizumi to pay attention, so he consented. Oikawa untangled their limbs and walked to their room, Iwaizumi’s phone in hand. When he returned and sat down a moment later, he said, “You can have it back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi conceded. “I’ll do better.”

Oikawa kissed the back of their conjoined hands. “I believe you.”

It didn’t get better.

It got worse.

“Okay, so we’re leaving tomorrow night to go home, and we’ll stay at my parent’s house. We’re taking the five-fifteen train, and we should be there around nine.” Oikawa was rattling off details about their trip home to see their parents over winter break. The plan was to stay home for a few days and then return to their apartment and spend Christmas Eve and Day together.

Received, 15:04: We need you in the office

Received, 15:04: There’s an issue with one of the processes and the other team leaders are already on holiday

“Tooru?”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need to take a later train. They’re calling me into work.” Iwaizumi looked away in shame.

“But Iwa-chan! We’ve had this trip planned for months!”

“I -”

Oikawa got in close to Iwaizumi’s face. His time at work had been getting worse and worse, and he knew that Oikawa was going to reach a breaking point. “Tell them no.”

He swallowed. He was nervous - what if he got fired?

But - he had an angry Oikawa, and that could end up far, far worse for him.

Delivered, 15:14: I can’t. Tooru and I are leaving for Sendai tonight. Sorry.

Received, 15:15: It’s important.

Delivered, 15:18: I cannot come in. This trip is important to my fiance.

Delivered, 15:18: Sorry.

Received, 15:19: Noted.

That was an awfully ominous response coming from someone at a career level above him, but Iwaizumi hoped it was worth it. Keeping Tooru happy is always worth it.

To: Iwaizumi Hajime

From: Management Team

Subject: Work Dedication Issues

Iwaizumi,

It has come to our attention that you expressed an issue dedicating yourself to your position on an occurrence on 14 December 2020. We are aware that you were recently promoted from intern to team leader, so if the new job requirements were not properly communicated, please let us know so we can direct you to the documentation of your job description. In short, as a team leader, you are required to be dedicated to your work and must be reliable to be called upon. If that is not possible, please let us know so we can begin training a replacement .

Best,

Management Team

Iwaizumi felt sick as he read over the email again. And again.

“Tooru?”

“Hm?” Oikawa hummed as he walked into the living room, where Iwaizumi was sitting on the couch, legs pulled to his chest.

Iwaizumi handed him his phone, open to the email. He watched as Oikawa’s eyes scanned the email, watched as his features set into a hard glare. Oikawa thrusted the phone back at him.

“Are you blaming this on me?” Oikawa demanded.

“I should have gone in that evening. They’re threatening my job.”

Oikawa’s eyes turned from cold to fiery. “And you’re threatening me. I didn’t do anything wrong by asking my fiance to pay attention to me for once and to follow through on plans we’d had for months. ”

“But, Tooru -”

“Hajime. I’ve put up with this for so long.” Oikawa’s face softens. “I know you’re dedicated to your job. But you’ve been forgetting about me. And that’s okay for a while. But not for eight months. I’m tired of it. Please, Hajime, don’t make me make you choose,” he begged, tears in his eyes.

Not for the first time, Iwaizumi saw the toll his neglect was taking on his partner. He felt like he took a sucker punch to the gut. “It hasn’t been ei -”

“It has. I’ve been waiting and waiting for it to get better. I thought it would get better in the summer, and then in the fall, and then at Christmas, but it didn’t.” He shook his head as if trying to clear the tears bubbling up. “I miss you, Iwa-chan. I can take a lot, but I can’t take this much. I need you back. So....” Deep breath. Iwaizumi tensed. He knew what was coming. “It’s either me or the job.”

“Tooru, I can’t just quit my job!” Iwaizumi protested.

Oikawa’s face crumpled. “Then I’ll send Kuroo to get some of my things in the morning.”

Iwaizumi stood and wrapped his arms around Oikawa, who weakly pushed against them. “No, no. I can’t - I can’t - lose you.”

Oikawa pushed away with force. “Oh, baby, you lost me months ago,” he said bitterly. Tears ran down his face as they stood in silence, three feet separating them, as his words sunk in.

Then, he turned and walked to the bedroom. He threw one change of clothes into his school bag along with his laptop and some chargers and toiletries.

Iwaizumi was still in the living room, frozen. “Tooru, don’t -”

Oikawa pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tasted salt. “I love you, Iwa-chan.” And then he left.

Iwaizumi cried.

“You didn’t come back,” Iwaizumi says. He picks at one of the threads on his t-shirt.

“I said I wouldn’t.” Pause. “It took you three weeks to message me.”

Guilt eats at his stomach. “I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.” Iwaizumi debates on how honest he wants to be. If he wants to open this whole box of worms, if he actually wants to try to make the relationship work or to repair a friendship with Oikawa, or if he wants to just give the bare minimum of information. “There was too much I needed to say, so I was waiting for you to come to me. Kuroo said you’d probably come around.”

“I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. Why?”

“Hajime… You hurt me. A lot. Eight months is a long time. Basically from the time you got that promotion until I left, I hardly saw you. And I just progressively got worse. You kept promising you’d get better, but then the next week I’d see you even less.” Deep breath. “I missed you so much. I missed the man who I proposed to, I missed the boy who I confessed to, I missed the boy who I spent all of our school years setting to, I missed my best friend, I missed my boyfriend, I missed my fiance, I missed my partner. I lost all of those, because you weren’t ever there when I needed you. Did you know that I actually got a job offer in Sendai? I debated taking it, but I wanted to wait and see if I could talk some sense into you. I never got scouted for the national team, so I applied for a few overseas teams. I made new friends. And a whole bunch of other things. All of this happened when we were still together, Hajime. I’m willing to bet you didn’t know any of it because of how preoccupied you were with your job. And it’s great that you had and still have such a good job, but…”

“I’m sorry, Tooru.” His fingers clutch at a chain tucked into his shirt that suddenly feels very heavy. Hoping it’s not the wrong choice but mostly moving on impulse anyways, he pulls out the chain, showing Oikawa what’s hanging on it.

He gasps. “You.... You still wear it?”

“Of course.” He bites the inside of his lip. “You never officially called off the wedding.” The engagement ring Oikawa had bought slides along the chain, glinting in the low cabin light. “Tooru… You deserve better than how I can treat you.”

“No.” Iwaizumi snaps his head up to meet Oikawa’s shining eyes. “You treat me like a goddamn king. You just didn’t prioritize us. And that was a problem.”

“I still can’t prioritize. I’ve been talking to work this whole flight,” Iwaizumi mumbles. As if on cue, his phone buzzes immediately, but he ignores it. “But…”

Oikawa sighs. “I don’t think I made a mistake by leaving.” Iwaizumi’s heart plummets. “But I made a mistake by not coming back.” Inhale. Exhale. “But I’m here now. So… Iwa-chan, will you take me back?”

Their eyes meet again. Iwaizumi searches the deep, brown eyes for any sign of a joke. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You’re with the sister company now, yeah?” Nod. “Maybe you can talk to your supervisor about getting some more set hours and less on-call hours? I… I don’t want to live without you any longer. I want to at least try to make it work, Iwa-chan.”

“My supervisor is the one who sent me on vacation,” Iwaizumi chuckles. “We can try. Slowly.” He takes Oikawa’s hands in his own carefully, loose enough that the other can take them out of his grip, and draws the hands to his mouth. He presses a gentle kiss to each hand.

“A true gentleman,” Oikawa laughs. Everything is so, so soft as he cradles Iwaizumi’s face with one of his hands and kisses him. For the first time in nearly three years, Iwaizumi’s heart feels like it might be okay.

Once he pulls away, Oikawa takes the left sleeve of Iwaizumi’s jacket and cuffs the sleeve the same way he has his own, exposing TOORU #1, INVINCIBLE. Then, he laces their fingers together.

“Now, I’m going to sleep,” he announces.

Since he has no objections and is getting tired again himself, Iwaizumi leans over and rests his head on Oikawa’s shoulder, the other resting his head on top of Iwaizumi’s. It feels right.

Hours later, when he reads the message he’d received, it is from his supervisor.

Received, 23:55: If this message sends and your phone is still on while you’re on vacation, I’m disconnecting your company phone

Received, 23:55: Take time for yourself

Received, 23:56: If you connected to plane wifi just to receive work messages, so help me Iwaizumi, I don’t know what to do with you

Oikawa and his supervisor get along very well when they meet a month later.

[saiyanhajime]

My First Artist Alley at a Comic Con… What I’ve Learnt

I’ve thought about selling my wears in artist alley for something like ten years now… And aside from feeling like my stuff isn’t good enough to compete until relatively recently, the main reason I hadn’t given it a whirl until now was the cost. I couldn’t understand how it would be financially viable, and if you’re here to find the quick answer to that same burning question, the answer is it’s not - at least for me. But if I’m being honest and perhaps a little harsh, I can’t really see how it could be what I would consider truly “worthwhile” for all but the most successful artists in the alley when you factor in all expenses.

But would I do it again? Hell yes. Did I have fun? Absolutely! Was there value in networking, making friends and social media gains? Yes, yes and yes!

I went to London Comic Con Spring run by Showmasters. I choose this con because of a few reasons, namely that it was the next local con with tables left when I started seriously obsessing over wanting to do this.

The stall was very reasonable at £80 (but I paid an extra £30 for an additional person to help out.)

This convention is a lot more Film and TV focused than was ideal for what I thought my audience would be - with their main highlight being their guest signings. I knew this going in and my assumptions were right, I think. That said, the “small press” section of the event was wildly varied, but it did feel like actual comic creators were doing the best of us all.

The Expenses

The costs add up, fast. A £ here and there and you’ve racked up £500 or so worth of expenses before you’ve even factored in potential travel, food and hotels… Let alone time. I know you’re probably thinking you wouldn’t spend that much, but believe me - if you record EVERY cost related to getting your stall together, you’ll be shocked how fast it accumulates. You’ll find yourself looking at all the £3-5 you spent on bits n bobs wondering how the final sum is so high.

I know what you’re thinking… You can do it cheaper. I just didn’t try hard enough to get these costs down. But believe me, I did.

I spent way more time than was worthwhile researching costs - these prices include VAT & they include shipping -  I wanted the most accurate picture of the hard cash I would actually have to spend up front… And the oddly expensive ones like the postcards cost so much because I effectively paid a premium to have multiple designs. My logic was to try lots of different things, learn as much as possible, but have few in quantity of each design. That way, the flops hurt less. You pay more per item for that privilege, but what’s the use in having 100 of something that won’t sell? I’d rather learn from x10 of something even if I’m making half the profit “per item”. 

That’s a mistake a think so many businesses make - don’t think of profit per item, think of it in profit on entire expenses. I made a huge loss, just like I expected. :) My 100 postcards for example costing £50 makes them 50p each, and selling at £1.50 means £1 profit per postcard. That’s £100 profit! Except I only sold 10 - that means a £35 loss for the time being. It’s not a profit until you recoup the whole cost. And I thought of the whole cost as that £550 sum from the get go. Only once I cover all accumulated costs am I making a profit.

But most of these costs are reusable… I could go to another con tomorrow and only pay an additional £150 or so for the table, travel, etc. and have enough stock and a decent display. And that’s my intention - don’t give up, do a few, then evaluate. THEN give up. :)

So realistically, you need to be willing to waste £800+ to find out if this game is for you. That’s a big chunk of money not to be sniffed at and you should be aware of that before you jump in.

The Products

What should I take? Who should I order it from?? How much stock do I need???

These are unanswerable questions because they are highly personal. I see soooo many “where should I get prints from??” with people expecting an easy answer. There isn’t one. But I can try and explain why there isn’t one. I think a lot of newbies assume creators don’t want to share their suppliers because they’re being protective or don’t want the competition - nonono, it’s that the answer is different for everyone. An established, popular and successful artist in the alley is likely ordering huge bulk orders from a supplier that has a minimum order of hundreds or thousands. What good is that information to us newbies? It’s useless.

Prints 

In the end, I took 7 print designs…. All fanart, with 4 of the designs being Dragon Ball, 2 of the designs Sonic the Hedgehog and one of GLaDOS from Portal 2. Two of the designs were on A3 and the rest on A4.

I ordered A4 and A3 prints from different suppliers, as they were cheaper this way, EVEN with the postage factored in - which is absolutely ridiculous I know, but you begin to see why “x company is best for prints!” is a useless piece of advice. But sit tight, cuz it gets way worse.

I ordered as few as possible, but a couple of websites had the same price for 5 as the other did for 10, etc. so I went with the one that offered more for the same, obviously. I had x6 (including the display print) of each A4 print and x10 of each A3 - not because I thought they would sell twice as much, just because that’s the least I could get for the cheapest price! And to make matters even more complex - I made those orders based on coupons I had found and you often can’t see the total inc postage until you’ve got everything in your basket and entered your address and email. I looked at maybe 20 suppliers. Imagine how long that took, just for prints. And if I did the same thing tomorrow, it wouldn’t be the same suppliers who were cheaper - coupons and offers change the game, quantity required changes the game. Getting 30 A4 prints might be cheaper on one site, but it might be better to get them from another if you’re after 40, and it definitely will be if you’re wanting them to be all the same - then you can probably get 100 for less than I paid. Nightmare. And you find yourself going “but I can get 100 of the same print for £17 - maybe it’s worth the investment…” Maybe? Who knows! Probably not though.

I don’t think I’d bother with ordering A3 again anytime soon - the main reason is that A3 cellophane bags and carrier bags big enough for such a large print are quite a considerable added expense… And a lot of potential buyers commented how they loved a print but just don’t have the wall space. I also couldn’t find a supplier that would offer to print less than 10 A3 prints in one design. One buyer commented that they would get one of my other prints if it was larger - but would they? I know from experience selling online that people often say “oh man I’d so get a ____ if you did one!” and you do and you even link it to them and then silence. Don’t take what potential customers say too seriously, unless you’ve got a decent number of them telling you the same thing. But for me, 3 people telling me that on top of my other reasons for disliking A3 is enough to go, ok… Forget A3.

Perhaps my best piece of advice is to sign up to every supplier's newsletter. I get emailed deals almost daily now and if you’ve got the time to play with, it’s worth getting your stuff ready for print and just sitting and waiting for that coupon to drop. 15-20% off can make a huge difference to your margins. I purposefully waited until January to place my orders, expecting a post Christmas assortment of deals, and I was right. Bare in mind that many suppliers can take a while to get stuff to you and it might not be right - so don’t cut it too late to order things. I ordered everything just under two months ahead of the con and had plenty of time to then play with and practise setting up how I was going to display things.

So, how did the prints do? I sold out of the Sonic and Shadow print - including the display, which I sold at a marked down rate. I sold 2 of each A3 print - Great Ape Vegeta vs Goku and GLaDOS… 1 of Majin Vegeta, 2 of Fleetway Super Sonic. None of Gogeta or Shenron.

So, Dragon Ball wasn’t so hot, Sonic absolutely was. Is that a long term trend, or just this con? Hell if I know.

I didn’t have a portfolio book with my prints in on the table - I thought that was a waste of space if I can fit them all up on my display - but with hindsight, you get two types of people... Those who aren’t interested in artist alley stalls and pass through at a distance and a print up high MIGHT catch their eye and bring them over. But the vast majority of people you’ll sell to have their eyes down at the tables as they pass. This was the most important thing I learnt - I’d read so much about how important it is to use “vertical” space and tried to get as much off the table as possible, but by day 2 I was spreading more out on the table until every inch of it was covered. I often had to tell people about my prints and they would look up having not noticed them! I had read that people recommend having a portfolio book for people to thumb through - but I hadn’t really understood the benefit of that. Having people touch and interact with stuff on the table is such a valuable interaction that sparks natural conversations. It’s really important to have physical stuff ON the table, perhaps more so than getting a fancy vertical setup. If you’re strapped for cash - ditch the idea of grid cubes or similar completely. Just lay stuff out.

Postcards

When my postcards arrived I immediately realised I’d made a stupid mistake. I was obsessed with getting the display vertical and having lots of different designs. Having so many different postcards to display was a nightmare that I think impacted the whole setup. The wall they created took light away from one side of the display, they were really quite oppressive! - and I knew this before I even went to the show, but I didn’t know how else to display them. I don’t think I would order postcards again, they barely sold… But the 90 I have leftover will be displayed in a photo album on the table next time for sure. Seems so obvious now! They were a HUGE waste of money - they’re expensive for what they are to get made and the retail price of them is abysmal. But, there were a couple of times when people who didn’t have the money for a big print maybe wouldn’t have bought anything, but I had something cheap and cheerful to offer, which was nice. The other cool thing about them is you can have your website on the back and it doesn’t seem out of place or weird.

The main problem with finding a postcard provider was I couldn’t find anywhere that would do small print runs to allow me to order several designs, so I ended up going with the one company I knew who’d do that - Moo. But man are they expensive - I could have got 500 postcards of one design for less than half what I paid for 100 of 25 diff designs - but again, having the variety mattered to me.

Postcards are a pain and not worth it, which explains why I so rarely see them for sale. Lesson learned!

If you have a decent inkjet printer, postcards are super easy to make and I used to do this before I lost patience with inkjet home printers and switched to laser. Just get thick photo paper, already the correct size!

Stickers

I had a mix of kiss-cut and die-cut stickers that by day two I was spreading out on the table and absolutely getting more sales as a direct result… They still didn’t do exceptionally well, but I don’t regret having them. They’re a solid low-retail-price staple of the artist alley table. Pieces of art with a purpose, especially in the age of reusable water bottles. A couple of fellow artists noted that my stickers were very cheap priced at £1.50 and I kind of agree. I think next time they will be £2 and this won’t negatively affect sales. There’s a common fallacy that making something cheaper will increase sales - the likelihood is that it won’t, and when you think how many more sales you have to make to gain the same profit, you realise this is the case. Just that small difference of 50p would mean you have to sell 25% less stickers to make the same amount of money. Isn’t that insane? When you think of it this way, pricing your items right really matters.

I also had sticker sheets - the Baa (from Dragon Ball) ones I only sold one of, to a child who I’m not sure even knew what they were from, but the Sonic sheet did pretty well! I didn’t see many other artists rocking Sonic stuff - or even much Sonic stuff on the wider show floor - which is surprising given the recent film release. I guess I just tapped into a niche, but it’s hard to tell.

Several suppliers of stickers offer multiple designs as standard, or a small surcharge for having multiple designs. Shop around. Stickers are overpriced from many suppliers. The popular choice of Stickermule often run deals where you can get 50 for £19, but even this deal price is quite expensive for x50 of the same sticker. They are by far the best quality stickers, to be fair to them… But you don’t need x50 of one sticker for the purpose of artist alley. I’ve jumped on Stickermule promos in the past where they charge £1 for 10 stickers. That’s a great opportunity to try out design you’re really not sure about. I can’t stress enough how important newsletter signup to suppliers is!

Honestly, Zap Creatives are the only company I’ve used that I would recommend without a second thought. Their customer service is exceptional, their postal packaging is not only environmentally friendly but also adequate (I had a lot of issues with other suppliers packaging and items arriving to me damaged! Another reason you need to order far in advance.) and their prices are transparent and extremely good value. They have free postage (globally, I believe!), which makes it so easy to see how much you’ll be spending at a glance. They have detailed “how to” pages for setting up your files. They’re a dream come true. Sign up to their newsletter, follow them on socials, give them your money - they deserve it. Not sponsored, just genuinely impressed.

Comic

Back at Uni a friend and I made a little comic, and I got some more copies made and took it along because, why not… It is COMIC con after all, and this convention actually calls the artist alley “small press”. It sold pretty well for an independent original to a wide variety of people, young and old. It made me really happy to see an original work sell! You’d be surprised how cheap getting a book printed can be - but be willing for the pages to be slightly misaligned and the paper quality eh. But if you just want a cheap comic printed or a zine, it is very doable in small runs even as low as 10. Remember that stuff doesn’t need to be perfect. Don’t stress over imperfections. I wouldn’t recommend the supplier I used because their delivery was an abysmal royal shit-show, but their customer service made up for it and then their re-delivery was only a slightly less abysmal royal shit-show on the second attempt. So, I won’t mention them.

On that note - if a supplier isn’t good enough, get in touch with their customer services and be nice but tell them it’s not good enough. Give them a chance to fix things.

Traditional Art Originals

I took a lot of traditional media original artworks with me, mostly because I had them already. I sold one low value original.

This was a little heartbreaking because the sale of just one high value original would have pushed the worthwhileness a long way - but it is a lot of money to expect people to spend and is a luck of the draw situation, for sure.

However, the larger ones definitely attracted attention to my stall and created conversation - so I’d say if you have larger originals or small low value quick drawings, they’re worth bringing, but I wouldn’t make any for the intent of selling in the future.

I don’t think a single person thumbed through my plate rack of originals. It was a poor display idea. Don’t recommend it at all. But I can’t think of a better idea other than individual easel displays which take up valuable table space better used for spreading out other items flat.

How could I have done better?

I think having more variety of franchises in my prints was the only HUGE mistake that I kinda knew before I arrived might be an issue. The reason I didn’t was I was worried about space and this could have been avoided had I just listened to the advice I read and had a portfolio out - I even have an A4 portfolio book! Stupid. I’m stupid.

Would I have done enough better to make a profit? No way haha.

How did other people seem to be doing?

It didn’t seem like anyone was doing particularly well… But without knowing peoples numbers, it’s hard to say. And I doubt many people keep the obsessive books I do.

I am pretty sure a lot of convention artists don’t realise the amount they are spending vs the amount they aren’t making… But I could be wrong. There’s a lot of talk of “making table” which I did make back, but I came nowhere close to making back all associated costs. I think for it to be legitimately financially “worthwhile”, you’d have to take about £2k over a weekend - to account for the time and all expenses and paying yourself a decent wage. And if your prints are £10 each, that’s more than 10 prints sold an hour. No one was anywhere near this busy. No way.

A few artists told me this isn’t the most amazing show in the first place and they’ve done worse than they did at this same show last year, even if it seemed physically busier at times this year. A lot of this game is luck of the draw - who’s turning up, how much do they have to spend, what's the weather doing, etc. etc…

Do I need a card reader?

My sales were about 50/50 cash and card… But I ran out of exact change at one point, so being able to take card payments saved the sale. I have a Sum Up reader as it was the cheapest to buy up front and I had no issues with it the whole weekend. At £20 it was a bargain. I think I would rather have that than the cube display grid, for example.

Do you have any cost shaving tips?

Oh hell yeah!

First up - like I said before - sign up to every single potential supplier newsletter. Some of them send out coupons almost weekly.

I bought very little in the way of display equipment and salvaged the rest...

I borrowed some plate stands from my nan, I took empty cardboard displays from ASDA and Sainsbury's (I’d try Walmart or Target in the USA). These were great because they fold down flat for transporting, are light and FREE! Keep your eyes peeled when you’re out shopping for ones which might be the right size for your products. Often times you can transfer the one or two items left in them to another box in the store, or they’re simply empty. I found ASDA best for having completely unbranded boxes. I also made some stands for my small originals from thick card rather than by expensive display racks that are heavy to transport and cost a bomb.

Pick local shows if you can and research thoroughly your transport options and the cost. Parking, trains, hotel costs and eating out can be extortionate additions to your overall expense that are easily forgotten.

Make sure you can carry your setup and don’t need to spend additional money on an Uber or something to help you move shit around!

Use what you have. Don’t buy storage boxes and suitcases and trolleys if you don’t have to. Sure, they might make your life slightly easier, but maybe wait and see how your first few cons go.

Any other tips or things you wish you’d known?

One thing that was kinda stressing me out was leaving stock overnight, but I realised there’s a whole show floor of high value figurines down there...

Leaving the stall unattended isn’t a big deal, either. Obviously take your money with you, but your neighbors can let potential customers know you’ve popped to the loo and I saw several “Back Soon!” signs throughout the day. I took a friend mostly as company, but I would confidently do a con alone having seen how much of a non-issue this is. Having a friend is great for chatting and having a chance to have a look around the show and chat to other artists, though!

I’m not sure carrier bags are necessary. They’re a pretty substantial extra expense you can skip.

Check all your stock as soon as it arrives in the mail. I had an order of cello bags for A4 prints where about 50% of the pack were unusable as the bottom seal with just... open.

Oh! And the “Sundays are always quieter” rhetoric? My Sunday was twice as good as Saturday, despite being quieter on the show floor.

Overall...

I really enjoyed myself. I loved everything. Chatting to customers, chatting to artists, seeing what people were selling, people watching, eating junk, setting up, tearing down and having a friend to chat with and chill the whole time. I gained a pretty significant Twitter follower boost over the weekend and gave away approximately 150-200 business cards as well as meeting some awesome new friends.

I’m not sure if I will be back for the same show next year - we’ll see. I’d like to try a bunch of different shows with different audiences. Many overlap in terms of being around the same time of year. And all the while I’m carrying limited stock to see what works and what doesn’t, I’m reluctant to book two close together.

I’m lucky enough to live in London - so I have access to several big conventions throughout the year on my doorstep.

I have a table at Hyper Japan in July. A very different con to this one with a table almost half as big. So I suspect most of what I’ve learnt won’t even apply! But that’s kind of exciting. My logical brain tells me not to make more stuff, but I think I’ve got the con bug now and just wanna make more profits!

I hope this has been slightly useful to anyone toying with the idea of doing a convention. I recommend checking out @howtobeaconartist​ here on Tumblr as well as Ben Krefta’s incredibly detailed experiences of being a UK convention artist.

Another thing I found helpful was to watch youtube video walk-arounds from previous years at the same show - see what people are selling, their set-ups, get a feel for space, see if you see the same people returning year after year. Here’s a video from the show I’ve just done! Artist alley starts at around 7:50.

[things2mustdo]

I doubt anyone needs to be reminded that the media is rotten to the core; even the most reluctant and closed-minded people are accepting this as a given now. But despite the media being widely condemned nowadays (my special thanks to Germans for bringing the word “Lügenpresse” back), few people know or understand what’s really going on in the journalistic kitchens, where the foul slop of lies that people are fed every day is cooked up. However, there is always a way in—through purposeful infiltration or, in my case, by accident.

I have an old friend—let’s call him Sven—whom I always knew as a kind-hearted and sincere man. However, these traits are also coupled with always assuming the best of people and being rather naive. Due to this, he keeps ending up in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations. One of them turned out to be a short stint as a journalist for a popular online newspaper. He barely maintained contact during his employment and eventually went completely off the grid. In about a month, he resurfaced a changed man, and not for the better. As he explained, he quit the job and then shut himself in for a while, armed with nothing but alcohol, to cope with the depression working as a journalist gave him.

Now, this probably sounds very soft to many of you, including myself. Men don’t sink into depressions or try to drink themselves out of problems. While I granted my friend the clemency of explaining his failures to him, I also recognized the usefulness of his experience and started questioning him about what he saw and heard at the job. I will relay his findings below; however, I will not disclose his true name or the name of his employer—given the “free” country we live in, this can land him in very hot water.

Whoever pays you, owns you

Sven joined the ranks of journalists to tell people the truth. To his credit, he believed he would be doing exactly that. His first assignment sounded so simple, after all—talk to a person, record the conversation, write an article, publish it. The reality turned out to be diametrically different—after our fresh-baked journalist returned from his first interview, he was immediately ordered to transcribe the recording and email it to the content manager. Half an hour later Sven received a heavily edited version of the transcript, with the parts he considered most crucial replaced with meaningless buzzwords or removed completely. When he went to the manager to voice his indignation, the manager simply replied: “This man did not pay us for an article that would disparage him. Get back to your desk.”

This was far from the only case of Sven witnessing how much pull money has in journalism. His numerous colleagues almost never produced independent content—they were too busy publishing one paid article after another. When Sven asked whether these articles should be marked as sponsored, the only reply he got was a bitter laugh. Very often the content manager would come over to his desk and say something along the lines of “Do you know the guy you are writing about is a close friend of our boss? Do not screw this article up.” Sven was also surprised to see that many interviewees (usually politicians) would not even bother to talk to him, instead referring him to their secretaries or assistants. One of them even went as far as to hand him a pre-written speech, tell him to work with it and walk away.

However, our Sven also happens to possess a burning sense of justice, which has several times led him to ignore the “recommendations” his content manager gave him, deviate from the official story and allow small snippets of truth to make their way into public view. For each of such occurrences he was called to the manager’s room, given a strict admonishment and had his paycheck for the month reduced. Any “unsanctioned” things that he wrote were quickly edited away afterwards—even if the article had already been read by thousands of people. And his was supposed to be a “neutral and objective” media outlet!

Standards? Never heard of ’em.

It was a big shock for Sven when he finally realized that his employers were beings without conscience who whored themselves out to the highest bidder. It was an even bigger shock when he discovered how nonchalantly his colleagues treated their responsibilities. Investigative journalists relied on information they got from Google searches and Twitter posts, editors and sub-editors used rumors and hearsay to write scathing op-eds, website managers just posted any content that caught their fancy as long as they could come up with a flashy enough headline for it to attract people. Fact-checking was almost unheard of, unless someone specifically paid for it.

When it came to choosing topics and writing articles, the guideline for the entire establishment was simple: do not make the people angry. Not the regular people, mind you—those were not even considered human beings, just a faceless mass that one threw articles at and got pageviews and money in return. No, the label “people” was reserved for people who mattered. This included representatives of the powers that be, well-known public figures, moneybags with fingers in the political pie and, of course, personal buddies of the outlet’s owner.

These were to be protected, coddled and praised at all costs, while everyone else was fair game. Needless to say, politics held as much sway in the outlet as money did—whenever something noteworthy happened, “protectors of truth and objectivity” immediately went to work spinning the events in a way desirable for those holding their leashes. Hit pieces against political opponents and undesirables were churned out, smokescreens were cast, facts were omitted, denied and misinterpreted. Sven confessed to me later that the day his outlet covered the parliamentary elections was the first day in his life when he spent the entire evening drinking. Journalistic ethics, a term that the media loves throwing left and right, turned out to be nothing but hot air.

In the media omelet, you are an egg

The title says it all. For top dogs in the media business, a rank-and-file worker is not just a pawn—he is a condom. Contrary to what many people think, a typical journalist’s existence is quite pathetic: underpaid, undervalued, thankless and constantly bossed around. Staff turnover in the “kitchen” is very high, and not because people are getting promoted. In this field, the term “veteran employee” frequently means a poor sod who has no alternatives and cannot quit.

According to Sven, plenty of his colleagues worked only for the sake of getting their paycheck, which explains their negligence. Grey faces, pinched mouths, shifty eyes and sour attitudes—whatever it takes to get through the day. In addition, the higher-ups avoided any responsibility for the published content: whenever an angry reader called the office and complained about an article, the guy who wrote it was immediately thrown under the bus, even if his work was reviewed and approved by the management before publication. After all, what does it take to find another office drone with half-decent writing skills?

However, Sven also describes those of his coworkers who enjoyed their job. They arrived at the office with a spring in their step, a smile snaking across their faces and a mischievous glint in their eyes. These were the “talented” favorites of the outlet’s boss—unfeeling, cold assholes who would sell their own mothers for a juicy piece of gossip that they would later smear all over the website. Whenever they got a chance to write a hit piece, spread a nasty rumor or ruin someone’s life, one could almost see them light up from within. Remember all these smug, holier-than-thou, oh-so-intellectual articles churned out by rags like Salon, Dagens Nyheter and Huffington Post? You can bet your pinky finger they were (and are) written by these people. Which brings us to the next topic.

No wrongthink allowed

As you have probably noticed long ago, the media field is a huge and accommodating Petri dish for all varieties of Kulturbolschewismus. In Sven’s case, it wasn’t just a fear-based company policy of snitching and self-censorship, but an actual agenda at work. He told me there was a flowchart hanging in the newsroom explaining what to do when reporting crimes and incidents. It went something like this: “Was the perpetrator native (white)? Y = report in detail, amplify, N = gloss the details over, downplay.”

Sven wrote an article about a national holiday once, but his content manager refused to approve it for publishing due to it being “too patriotic,” advising him instead to “write more inclusively about minorities’ participation in the festival.” Anything praising the country and its indigenous inhabitants was undesirable and omitted whenever possible, while any piece that brimmed with self-hate, praised inhabitants of other (read: African and Muslim) countries or attacked the natives and their way of life was a big hit and flew through approval like a bird.

Needless to say, the outlet’s newsroom was crammed full of women, their pet cucks and, of course, Jews. The former enjoyed absolute power regardless of their position—a simple complaint to HR was enough to fire anyone, no proof required. The cucks, represented by twig-armed, piercing-laden, wispy-bearded creatures in Che Guevara shirts, were very pleased with the way things were going, sipping lattes and snitching to HR on those who expressed ideas incompatible with the narrative. Jews were in their native element in the newsroom, doing their usual “arrogant intellectual” schtick and getting promotions out of nowhere. The majority of articles bashing natives, their culture and values came from them, as later study of the newspaper’s website showed me.

Liars for hire

So, to sum it all up: the media is not composed of good but misguided people, as many still think. On the contrary, it is a very purposeful and self-aware entity that positions itself somewhere between an unscrupulous opportunist and a loyal lapdog of the state. At best, it is faux-patriotic (“such a wonderful country we have, let’s invite more immigrants!”), while at worst, it is openly hostile towards the indigenous population of the country it exists in.

Moreover, it allows for consolidation and self-affirmation of globalist forces—the traitorous governments, the world Jewry, the multinationals, the entertainment industry and the like—against the increasingly disenfranchised and declining native population. And last but not least, the media is complicit in crimes committed in the West by non-White immigrants due to purposeful obfuscation of them and, if that fails, rabble-rousing to pressure the courts into letting the criminals off scot-free. To me, the latter reason alone is enough to send all the journalists and their owners to the gibbet.

The bottom line is to always remember that the media is not your friend in any way, shape or form, even if its lowest tier operatives fit the description of hapless victims rather than nation-wrecking enemies. The media must be opposed, exposed and boycotted at every turn until it starts bleeding money and choking on its own venom.

Read More: Is Washington Post Writer Adam Taylor A Shill Or Part Of Something Larger?

While reading  Roosh’s article about Adam Taylor and the Washington Post, I noticed quite a few things I would like to share with people here. The direct link between Adam Taylor and the Radio Free excerpt is an anomaly. Such blatant copying is a very rare thing to occur because it gives away a possible collusion between entities.

Looking for these open relationships is long and hard. The better way to analyze  the relations and motivations of certain publishers, policy makers and other manipulators  is to study the various themes they put out and where these themes repeat. While Roosh  might assume that Adam Taylor is the paid shill by himself, I’ve noticed that his writing changes to whoever publishes it. Therefore the Washington Post Worldviews section may be the one that is parroting US State Department themes not just Adam Taylor.

As is shown in Roosh’s article, the similarities between Adam Taylor’s piece and Radio Free Europe are quite telling. It is a possibility that it is a coincidence but a small one. People that try to influence public opinion go to great lengths to ensure things like this do not happen which is why I’m assuming that Adam Taylor is  part of larger machine and not a shill by himself.

Looking back at Adam Taylor’s writing for the Huffington Post, he wrote fluff pieces about gay dogs and other mass consumption items for that audience. His writing about geopolitical intrigue only takes the current form when he begins writing for the Washington Post. All his articles are the Who’s Who of what the US State Department doesn’t like. The roster includes Russia, China, Venezuela, Syria, and Zimbabwe. He writes nothing critical of any American allies.

Could this mean that his change in format indicate that someone turned him? I doubt it. Compare his work at the Washington Post to the rest of the “world views” section there, his writing is merely a contribution to a giant echo chamber and not unique to him.

As I said earlier, it’s very rare for open evidence of collusion such as the similar quotations to present themselves. A better technique to discern propaganda and collusion is to analyze trends and themes.You should look for such things as what the work attempts to convey, does it try to get you to think or act in a certain way, and does it try to get you to disregard other things.

In the Adam Taylor case, the pattern changes significantly from the Huffington Post to the Washington Post. You can also apply this trend analysis to pretty much any author. You can even apply to the contributors here at  Return of Kings and see what you get. Do the trends indicate that the publisher may dictate what the writers write about? Do the trends indicate whether or not the writers have freedom to write about whatever they want? To help you readers out on this exercise I’ll inform you there were two articles I did at the direction of the publisher. They were my article for fat shaming week and my article for #backtothekitchen.  Feel free to comment on any other trends you might notice and if they do not line up with the “about” page.

[starcityhq]

WHAT: The Avenging League finalizes a plan to move against NOVA. This time, the X-Men join them.

WHO: Batman, Captain America, Cyclops, Wonder Woman, Superman, Iron Man, Loki, Bucky Barnes, Emma Frost, Blue Beetle, Iceman, Zatara, Batwoman, Gambit, Moxie, Signal, Black Widow, Supergirl, Flash (Barry Allen), Flash (Wally West), Spiderman, Nightcrawler, Huntress, Hawkeye, Bruce Banner, Rogue, Human Torch, Zatanna, Beast Boy, Green Arrow, Speed, Cable, Nightstar, Polaris, Marvel Girl, Wolverine, Honey Badger, Raptor, Oracle, Batgirl, Stinger, Wiccan, Scarlet Witch, and Red Robin.

WHEN: August 30th, 2020.

BATMAN: The meeting was called in light of new information received from Tony Stark, a man Bruce could take or leave, given the choice, but it provided them with enough to make a move. In the recent weeks he knew some of the burden had fallen on Steve's shoulders. There were other things going on within his own family that needed to be addressed and taken care of, but he didn't even know where to start. Damian and Dick's absence from the large table was strange, discomforting, and his expression was more grim than usual.

Also notable was the addition of the X-Men. He'd never worked with them before in this capacity, but he knew what they were capable of. Over the years, he'd built up a mutual respect with Scott Summers and, perhaps to a lesser extent, Emma Frost, but the others he was much less familiar with. Scott was already in the know.

"The X-Men have joined us because we have a plan. One that will involve every person in this room." No greeting and no small talk. He wanted to get straight to the point.

CYCLOPS: Scott didn't conduct things in quite the same removed fashion that Bruce usually addressed people, but they weren't there for greetings and small talk. If there had ever been a time for that, it was long since passed. "All of us in this room have a part to play in eradicating a threat that is becoming so ingrained and systemic in our world, that if we fail to address it now we may not get another chance. The X-Men," he glanced briefly toward the faces who had accompanied him there from District X, "will do it standing beside the League. Whatever ills mutants have faced alone in the past, we don't need to face NOVA alone. We can't."

"Several weeks ago, a NOVA detention facility was destroyed outside the city." His gaze flickered briefly to Lorna, masked entirely by his visor, "There are others like it. Mutants, metahumans, and other enemies of NOVA are being held there illegally. I won't go into detail about the things being done to them in captivity. Whatever your imagination tells you, it's likely worse. We need them removed, the facilities shut down and reduced to be non-operational. My X-Men and I will assist the League in making sure this is done. Many of you have asked me when we would make our move, what I was waiting for. Here it is."

He had the information that Tony would be presenting and he already knew what part he meant his people to play. X-Force had been reconvened for a reason. They could handle the unknown and the half-known. "Iron Man has uncovered something disturbing that we can't ignore. Our X-Force team will be going alongside members of the League to investigate. We expect resistance. Beyond that..." he spread his hands, "be ready."

CAPTAIN AMERICA: Steve looked first at Bruce and then at Scott, wondering what it was like to lead large groups with little to no inclination to speak to the members like people and to just regurgitate information. He just... had never functioned that way. Maybe it was because he wasn't some kind of super genius, or maybe it was because he had gotten his start in the army rather than alone or at fifteen on a team of child soldiers assembled with little to no prior training before they were flung out into the world. He was used to talking to people as just another person. As someone who had to connect and convey urgency. "I think a little bit of context is necessary here," he said simply. While they could all just cut to the chase, he was sure it would eliminate questions to fill people in on what the hell they were talking about.

"As you all know, several months ago we had our first meeting of the Avenging League, wherein teams were assigned and objectives were given. X-Men, to fill you in, we have been working on NOVA on five fronts. Bruce and Scott are referring to the findings from some of those teams. The patrol team, meanwhile, has been discrediting NOVA and diffusing violent patrols on the streets whenever possible. I'll leave Bruce to explain the findings, but suffice it to say that our more technical side of things, particularly Oracle and Red Robin, have been working on hacking in to NOVA's systems for all those months as well. However, as Bruce said, it was Tony who discovered something urgent enough to call us all to order."

He glanced at several members seated around the massive table before continuing, "Last meeting, we were interrupted by Robin coming in with what we now know to be a prototype of one of NOVA's inhibitors, the effects of which were what caused the city-wide loss of powers during the Joker's crime spree. Tony, Bruce Banner, and formerly Princess Shuri had done work on figuring out what we were dealing with and Tony came to me last week with a... disturbing hypothesis on how they managed to pull all of it off. That's a big part of why we're here. It's time to start acting, as Scott has said."

He knew that the X-Men hadn't necessarily carried the same ideas as the League or the Avengers in the past, but he wanted to make it perfectly clear that they were allies this time around. "The X-Men and their X-Force will be invaluable help in dealing with this. For all intents and purposes, we're all on the same team. Scott, Bruce, and I are going to make sure the efforts are evenly divided to get the job done, but we need to deal with this threat quickly and efficiently. This is what we've been waiting for. I'm gonna pass the floor to Tony to explain further what we're dealing with. Tone?" He looked to his friend, knowing he could definitely articulate things more clearly.(edited)

IRON MAN: Cyclops wasn't as dry as Batman, but it was a close call. Tony didn't exactly mind, because he wasn't in the mood to listen to a bunch of small talk when he was eager and ready to share what he knew with the rest of the league. He'd never been the best at teamwork or collaboration, but he'd come a long way from where he started. By now, he was smart enough to realize that there were plenty of capable people working around him, even if they weren't on the same team, and he was especially impressed by those working the digital side of things. They were also the only team he had regular communication with.

He was out of his seat before Steve finished talking. Pressing a button illuminated a blue, 3-D model of the city above the center of the table. "Caught some footage from my suit during a flyover." It didn't occur to him to explain that this happened only because Hulk had split the concrete. He breezed by that point, instead changing the view so the ground lit up in yellow criss-crossing lines. "There's a whole grid system underneath the city. The inhibitors are all underground." He pointed at each intersecting line. "We're talking far. The grid goes as far down as a mile areas with a higher elevation. It was lucky for us that the portion I caught was high enough to be unearthed at all. There are thousands of them, all connected, which means they likely have the same power source."

Changing the view, he rotated the city so they were looking at it from above. The yellow color was brighter along the water. "I also picked up an area, near the harbor, that is giving off much stronger radiation. Energy. Much too strong to be just an inhibitor. My hypothesis is that they have an underwater facility. Connecting underground tunnels that gave them the ability to set up this entire grid without any of us being the wiser. They did it all right under our nose."

ORACLE: Babs sure did have a time not cutting over people, eyes mostly just focused on Tony once she heard that he had things to share. It wasn't that she was uncaring about the X-Men, quite the opposite. She was happy they were here, but she wanted to know the news more than anything else. She almost smirked as Tony rose from his chair, sensing the same impatience in him. Keen eyes inspect the model before them, even rising from her chair and leaning forward silently to get a full look. At the news of the same power source though, she smirked. That's something they can deal with, even if it was underwater.

"Well, that big of an energy reading means that they're leaving a nice bread crumb trail for me," she'd already had her laptop out at this point, and she goes from looking at the model to typing quickly, though doesn't break her thought process, "Give me time and I can get a rough estimate of where the power source specifically should be. A layout will take more time, their systems are tricky but not impossible. Any entrance would help in that department." Unlike most everyone else, she could start her work right away.

BLUE BEETLE: Teddy had been working on the same team as Tony so far, so the news he was sharing wasn’t a surprise. He’d never been the most confident when it came to situations like this, usually his input was ignored or not even asked for. But he had been given a job as part of the Tech group and had some less than thrilling news to share. “We’ll likely need one. In fact any way we could try and get a head of this would be smart.” Ted said, his voice quieter than his usual boisterous nature as he rose to his feet. “See, Tony charged me with working a kind of Faraday Cage, something we could use to block any kind of electromagnetic fields. It would stop the pulses their technology sends out and render it useless in the affect it has on anyone with enhanced abilities.” He explained. “Ideally this could’ve been equipped on someone like Stinger,” he nodded at Cassie, “But it’s just not feasible.”

“Despite having a great deal of experience in this area,” his damn backpack could fly off and produce one, “Every prototype I’ve been able to create just isn’t strong enough to effect the web they’ve already weaved.” He adjusted his goggles, a little nervously and continued, “I could eventually make something strong enough to neutralise it but I’d need time, weeks, maybe even months to make a finished, reliable piece of tech that I’d be confident in risking someone going in with.” Ted wasn’t about to put someone’s life at risked with a rushed piece of equipment. “And… given who we’re dealing with, I don’t think we have that much time to waste.” ICEMAN: As Teddy returned to his seat Bobby spoke up from the other side of the room “We don’t.” His voice certain. Bobby’s bottom jaw jutted forwards a little bit, as though thinking hard on what he was going to say (a rare thing for him) “I dunno all the work you’ve been doing. But I’ve been doing recon on behalf of the X-Men. I’ve gotten a look deep inside NOVA’s workings and the shit they’re doing to people… to children-“ he cut off and swallowed, going quiet while the temperature around him dropped by several degrees, his emotions getting the better of him like they almost always did. He cleared his throat, “We don’t have months. We don’t have weeks. We don’t even have days.” He looked around at the other faces in the room. “They need to be stopped and they need to be stopped now. Whatever it takes. Go in guns blazing get the damn media involved if helps.” He shook his head slightly, running a hand through his hair, obviously agitated.

ZATARA: “That won’t help.” Zach hadn’t gone into this affair planning to say a thing, he was new to the group, one of the younger members and probably disliked by several of the others in the room. But he could offer one insight the rest of them probably lacked. “That one article the paper got out the first time hurt them some and the fallout of that was NOVA coming down hard on the political powers in the city. I’m pretty close to the Mayor and his wife so believe me when I say they’ve got their claws embedded deep into the politics and the papers. Even if we went public with this information, gave it over to reputable journalists anyway? They’d have a hell of a time getting it out in any official way and even if they did NOVA has the influence to spin it any way they like. Doesn’t help that that Nabel woman’s got enough PR skills to make my agents jealous.” He added wryly. “We’re on our own here.”

FLASH: "We need an opening." Barry spoke up from another part of the room. He had been biting his tongue - trying to contain his natural urge to meet-and-greet with all of the new faces that were there since their last official meeting. "We have been making steady process, but without an opening to exploit we aren't going to be getting anywhere. Inhibitor networks miles underground or inside mountains... that isn't an issue. Normally, speedsters like myself or Wally could just phase ourselves through the ground to get to them. It's tricky phasing downwards instead of forwards, but it could be done. Underwater, however? We can run on top of the water - but not through it." He shook his head. "Zach and---I don't know your name, sorry; I'm not the one with the files on everyone--" Barry grins playfully and shoots a look a Bruce before clearing his throat and continuing. "They're right though. We don't have the time to plan things out any long than this meeting. We need to come up with a course of action and we need to do so in a speedy manner."

SUPERMAN: The sheer number of people in that room would have been enough to give anyone hope, surely. Had there ever been a larger, better equipped, more motivated group ready to take action? He couldn't recall one. He knew little of the X-Men, though he'd been into District X a handful of times, but they seemed as eager and prepared to make their move as the League. Moreso, maybe. Their struggles had gone on long before NOVA was in the picture.

He opened his mouth to say something to that effect, but Zach's mention of the papers turned his attention elsewhere. "NOVA doesn't have their hands in everything. The Gazette has been standing against them for months. We do have a voice, and we're using it when we can. Taking direct action against NOVA is only one step. We need the people on our side, and we've been working since the day the League reformed to make sure that's happening. The Gazette is doing it with us. But even without that..." he made a broad gesture with one hand around the room that had seemed so large but with all the teams present was nearing capacity, "are we really that few?"

"For those of us heading underwater who can't manage it naturally, I have plenty of confidence that our tech team can compensate. Anyone here taken scuba lessons?" The grin he wore wasn't at all because he wasn't taking it seriously. He was. He knew everything they stood to lose, everything that inaction had cost them and so many other people, but when he looked around that room he knew that it would finally be dealt with. It was worth smiling about.

NIGHTCRAWLER: Kurt had stationed himself in a proper vantage point in the room - nestled quite comfortably up in one corner near the ceiling; hands and feet clinging him to the walls with ease. There were so many people, it was astounding when you got them all together in one room. It really opened his eyes to just how many people were working to help keep the people of this City safe and to help rid them of the NOVA situation that plagued them all. The mutant recognized only a handful of non-mutants; most by reputation and name alone and others by former relations - such as the faces of several Avengers team members. The man couldn't help but frown as Bobby spoke from another part of the room. He wanted to comfort him - seeing his expression change as his emotions took hold of him - but there was a time and place for that and this wasn't one of them. Once 'Superman' had finished speaking about his confidence in the teams they had assembled, Kurt took the opportunity to speak - keeping his pace slow so his accent wouldn't make it too hard to understand him.

"I personally haf followed efery story ze Gazette has put out regarding mutant relations or ze situation ve haf vis NOVA. Zey are expertly written and judging from ze online forums of various chat groups sroughout ze city, zere is a large amount of support backing ze ideologies zey are composed of." He explained. "I cannot speak so much on tactical advice as I can on my own matters - I am a teleporter; ze X-Men's 'Nightcrawler' and vherefer ve need to get into; I am my Bamfs are at your disposal." He gave a nod of respect to their 'leaders'.

RED ROBIN: Tim listened, knowing better than to get involved until he had more information. "Babs and I have nailed down the coordinates of the detention facilities outside the city like the one Magneto attacked. We have all those official locations." It had taken months to crack their system, but once they had, it had come easily.

He moved his spot to settle next to Babs, pulling out his own machine to begin working with her. "We'll help however we can, including zeroing in on a signal for this new underwater facility." He didn't have too much more to add. He had been so busy with nailing down things about Dick's assault that he hadn't focused on the League as much as he should, but now that he was close to cracking that, too, he could put much more effort in.

BRUCE BANNER: Bruce was momentarily grateful for Tony's focus on certain details while completely ignoring others. It wasn't as if everyone in that room wouldn't have known what happened, what Hulk had done, and Bruce did struggle to compartmentalize it enough to accept something good coming of it. It had though, at least in this case. Minimal injuries, maximum and unexpected information. Not that he was going to take any kind of credit for smashing holes in the ground.

"What you're looking for is similar to gamma radiation, but it's not..." he spread his hands, and looked between Barbara and Tim, "it's not like anything I've seen before. If you find the focal point, wherever that's strongest, that's where we'll need to be."

SUPERGIRL: Kara squirmed in her seat at the mention of the media. Both Lois and Clark worked for the Gazette and had been producing articles shining the light on NOVA's terrible actions. Even though she knew what they knew, it didn't prepare her to hear the details from both Scott and Bobby. Wincing, she looked down at her hands. "How long?" She directed the question at Bruce, Steve, and Scott. "Before we make a move, I mean." They said there was a plan. It didn't seem likely, given the circumstances, that they would sit around longer than they had to.

NIGHTSTAR: M'gann paid close attention. This was her first official hero meeting and she intended to remember every detail of it. Down to the cookies Supergirl had brought. There were far more heroes than she'd expected, many of them familiar faces. She took great comfort in that.

"I might be of some use in finding these underground facilities. My telepathy extends out like a globe. It would be easier if I had a specific person to track." An exact telepathic signature. "But people being kept underground is unusual. I should be able to sense them without too much trouble." The rest of what she could do, the team leaders already knew.

HONEY BADGER: This is the first time Gabby has ever seen so many different people in the same room that were like her! It was kind of amazing if she was being honest with herself but this is a serious meeting. This wasn’t the first time Gabby had been in one but it was the first time when it was for something good. She took a handful of cookies — four of them laid out on a napkin in front of her as her feet kicked back and forth while listening to everyone else speak first.

“We have to help everyone in those facilities, I agree with Bobby. We should be doing everything that it takes. I know what it’s like to be poked and prodded at in places exactly like where NOVA is operating. I’m willing to take the risk so we don’t leave those people in there because they might not have much time.” She crushes a piece of the cookie she broke off in her hand so crumbs fall into her lap. Gabby tries to collect herself, looking over at her family for a moment then back to everyone else in the room.  “I don’t care what someone has done, treating anyone like an experiment isn’t okay.”

She takes a quick bite of whatever is left of the sweet in her hand, trying to calm herself down. “I’m sorry. I’m just really passionate about this sort of thing. I just want the world to better for everyone — Mutants, Meta-Humans, and animals too. Whatever plan we come up with, I want to be part of it.” Her mind trying to ignore flashbacks to her upbringing.

POLARIS: Lorna couldn't help the guarded look she wore, arms crossed firmly across her chest as she peers around. Sure, one could argue that she had reason to trust those around them now, but she only trusted those she knew. Her eyes dart between the people talking tech, and if Bobby hadn't burst out she would have. Still, she takes a breath. It's quite difficult in the moment, not to snap, not to break in, but hearing the sentiment of brute force makes her shake her head as people speak. She choses her words carefully, more than aware that it's possible others here may know she was with Magneto, more than the couple that did. Still, she wasn't about to shy away from saying her thoughts, and if it came up, then it came up.

"If Magneto showed us one thing, it's that brute strength will backfire on us. The short term saving mutants will be a success, yes, but at this point the long-term repercussions could be catastrophic. Think a mob of civilians descending on District X-- people we don't want to fight." her eyes go to Gabby and Bobby, but land on the man who spoke just before him, "My powers work with the Earth's magnetic fields, and metal. Is there something that I could help with? I know how to create electromagnetic pulses. I... can feel what they have. The web, and I could feel an underground facility if I had time," her eyes turn to Tony Stark, trying to explain, "If you can help me narrow down any materials they're using in construction I may be able to get a better sense, too.... but it may involve concentrating in a very obvious area... like in the air above it. Not sure if that's helpful. " she shrugs with a sigh, turning to her teammates particularly. Normally ready to go in guns blazing with NOVA, she's trying to take a moment.

"If we repeat what happened, we'll have more fallout to deal with. The brief amount of time that it takes to get a layout and a plan together is worth it. Unless we want to be grouped with Magneto some more." 

ROGUE: Anna stiffened, her gloved hands folded on the table, but she didn't say anything at first. She hadn't been involved in what happened at the first facility, or fully supportive of the move in the first place, but that was exactly why she'd stayed out of it. Her gaze went to Wanda, as if to see if she were at all affected by the topic of her father being raised at the table.

Normally she was all for going in hard and strong. All the tech talk wasn't her style and she didn't really know what any of them were talking about, so it wasn't something she could offer help on. "Dunno if that's such a good idea, sugah," she said to Lorna under her breath, but she was looking at Scott. Erik had worked with the X-Men plenty of times in the past, but she couldn't imagine him willing to take orders from a group that included so many non-mutants.

MOXIE: She was told to keep her words concise and professional. This was not a time to mince friendly words with others, though she could barely contain her excitement to be a part of something greater than anything she had ever seen in her life.

“Well, first of all,” she started, standing from her seat when it was her turn to speak, blueprints in hand. “Thank youse for bringing me on board. I ain’t much of a hero myself but if I’ve been invited here, that must mean I’m bringing something to the table, right?“

Without another moment’s pause she presented one of the blueprints, unfurling it on the table. She would gesture a hand towards the different aspects of her design as she spoke.

“Sorry it’s on this silly little blue paper. I like to keep things old fashioned, ya know? Feel free to pass it around to the higher ups over there. I understand youse need extra support under the water. I myself did some digging on the currents here. They’re not any more pleasant to the kinda waters I’ve experienced back home. Taking that into consideration with my daddy’s notes on the conditions of the water he had left before he passed, I’ve been working on some deflector technology that could be attached to anyone’s suits, which could provide extra support while you’re lookin’ for these facilities. I used my Heart of Gold as a reference, but because some of it is influenced by magic and I’m not magic at all, I substituted that with a modified magnetic wave field that serves a similar purpose to “Nyx’s Blessing,” which will deflect any projectiles coming towards you on land or underwater, in this case. It’s activated by your heartbeat and breathing patterns so if you sense something is wrong, it’ll give you a small barrier to protect you.”

An anxious grin followed, swallowing the forming lump in her throat.

“But y’know, if that’s not suitable, I’ve got other plans I’m willing to share with the technology team to provide my experience on the kinda conditions and obstacles we’ll have to look out for if we’re going underwater. I have access to all my daddy’s old notes. Seeing as he was an Atlantean, I’m sure the materials would still be useful and their technology is more advanced, from what he told me.” 

BLACK WIDOW: Natasha sat by Logan rather than James this go around. It wasn’t all that often that the X-Men and the Avengers were in the same room together and it wasn’t for some fight. So she was pleased that she could actually settle beside her friend. Since the incident with the inhibitors and leaving Clint, they had been meeting up semi-regularly just to drink and talk. Not much beyond that. Now here they were about to take down NOVA. She bit her lip as she listened, taking in the influx of information. “Wanda and Billy could help those of us who need help with the breathing underwater issue, right?” She had, in fact, taken scuba lessons, but it didn’t seem pertinent to bring it up.

She was also aware of the heightened emotions in the room and she ignored them for the most part. This was a mission briefing. “I’m sure that Cap, Batman, and Cyclops have a plan, and I’m sure it won’t include mass destruction of the facilities and every living thing inside that doesn’t ping for mutant, meta, or enhanced.” If it did, she’d still do what she was told, but it would still shock her. Cap didn’t work like that and neither did Batman. She didn’t speak for Cyclops. The X-Men had done their share of death. Not that she blamed them. Sometimes it was the best way to go about things. “Let’s give them a minute to tell us what we need to be focusing on. A lot of us have been running recon, so we’re aware of what’s going on on the inside. I’m sure that’s why we’re here.”

She listened to the new girl speak, blinking at how she sounded like she was from an mafia movie about Capone. She’d been around in the 20s, but she didn’t remember it. Surprising. “It seems like a good idea,” she said. “So we aren’t completely relying on powers in case the inhibitors pop.

ZATANNA: "I've enchanted charms to grant glamours and certain physical protections before. I wouldn't even need to be near them or concentrating on the spell. Water breathing wouldn't be much of a problem. But," As much as she hated to admit any shortcomings, Zatanna obviously had the foresight to plan in situations like this. Recalling her very similar conversation with Barry, the corners of her mouth turned down a smidge. "They haven't been tested near inhibitors. And relying on them underwater isn't exactly the safest test run."

Zee shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing at Bruce, at Clark, at Diana, at the rest of the most familiar faces. It felt less like failure directing her statements to people who already knew. "I can provide heavy combat power until the second they decide to turn on the inhibitors. If we beat them to it, though, I can portal a good number of the people trapped there out."

GREEN ARROW: Oliver Queen had finally managed to return to Star City after well over a year's absence, and what he was met with was...worse than it had been. NOVA and The Justice--The Avenging League (he still needed to get used to that) were locked in an all out war, and it held Star City, HIS city, in a stranglehold. He wouldn't have it. Not at all. So, he jumped right back in, with briefings from both Clark and Bruce, and was finally back in the meeting. There were...a lot of personalities in the room. Some he knew well. Many he'd never even seen before. It was refreshing, in an odd way. Gave him hope that they may just pull this shit all off.

As he listened to the people talking, he couldn't help but feel like people were just...rattling stuff off. It felt structureless, like a city hall town meeting instead of a game plan. But, he was sure that Bruce had a plan. Bruce had a detailed plan for how he ate breakfast in the morning. "Alright, everyone," Oliver spoke up, putting his feet off the table he currently had them resting on. "I'm sure they know exactly what all of us are supposed to be doing. Just give the big guys a chance to speak. You all know what I can do, just point me and my bow in the direction of the bastards who are ruining my home."

BATWOMAN: This was a ridiculous amount of people. Kate was used to flying solo and only occasionally pairing up with maybe a handful of other heroes and heroines at most. Even as a part of the old Justice League, she had never really had to worry about dealing with the entirety of their membership. Here in Star City, however, under this - Avenging League - and now with the addition of the X-Men from District X, it was honestly a little overwhelming. Yet, she outwardly showed little expression - her jaw locked into a sharp frown and her body poised with a rigidness that mimicked Bruce's own. She listened to each person in turn as they spoke up, taking in the words they sad - no matter how heartfelt or generic the information they held seemed to be. Everyone has a part to play, no matter how small, and the only way they were going to deal with this NOVA group was by putting everything together into one solid plan.

To that end, the woman leaned forward - the brilliant red of her cowl's attached wig draping over her shoulders as she waited for Oliver to finish what he had to say. "Look," She began - her tone low and just slightly off-pitch thanks to the slight modulation tech incorporated into her cowl. "I'm rather new to everything going on here in Star City, so I've had to play catch up in an extremely short amount of time." She prefaced. "We need to look at this from a more tactical perspective. Yes, we each have bits and pieces of information to share, but we should be focusing our efforts on the biggest problem at hand - how do you assail an underwater fortification with possible inhibitor technology in place? We still don't know if they actually have inhibitors in place around the power core or not, right? All our planning and preparations aren't going to do a damn bit of good if only a tiny fraction of us can even make a stand." Kate finished her statement with a sigh. "We need plans - and we need contingencies for that plan; and more for those."

HUMAN TORCH: “Whatever the plan is, I’d like to officially unassign myself from computer duty and underwater mystery investigations.” Johnny wasn’t the “come up with a plan” guy. He was the “ball of fire and great hair” guy, and lately he’d only been the latter. Peter wasn’t going to go off the rails, and if he was tucked behind a screen with Oracle and Red Robin then it wasn’t like he was going to cause another scene. Johnny didn’t need to be there, and he definitely had no place in the ocean. That left the other thing. He was pretty sure in all the many many words that had been spoken, somebody had said a team would be going after the other NOVA detention centers. He wanted a spot. With a small shrug, he leaned back in his chair. “That’s all I got.”(edited)

SPEED: His first impression had been that everyone talks so much. it was almost enough for Tommy to try hiding under the table to sleep until it would be over. Although the only aspect that keeps him actually paying attention is the fact they’re talking about a topic familiar to him. His fingers grip onto the armrest of his chair as they vibrate just enough to disintegrate them into ash while everyone talks. You just might miss it if you weren’t paying attention but at least Tommy didn’t blow anything up.

He spent his entire childhood in and out of detention centers. It wasn’t until his powers came in that they slapped an inhibitor collar around his neck and threw him in a high security prison. He knows what if’s like to be treated like an animal and experimented on everyday.

“You should always plan on scum like that having inhibitor technology built into everything. They’re prepared even if it doesn’t appear like they are. It could be in every wall they build.” His voice finally fills the room as he leans forward, memories of his own torture playing on repeat in his mind. It doesn’t stop him from getting a word in though. He doesn’t have much else to add because Tommy knows they wouldn’t like hearing what he would like to do. If it were up to him every facility would be vaporized with the scientists with it.

BATGIRL: Stephanie had five cookies left, but none of them were chocolate chip, and suddenly that was the one she actually wanted. Her gaze darted over to the plate once or twice as she pondered whether or not it was worth calling attention to herself just for another cookie. Ultimately, the answer was yes.

But she was quick. It was just a coincidence that she got back to her seat just as it suddenly seemed to be her turn. Was she supposed to say something? Her gaze darted to Bruce, Tim, and Cass - in that order - but then she shrugged. "...Sounds good to me. Anything that's not circling the same city block twelve times in one night." Patrol was getting a little repetitive, even though she enjoyed making the embarrassing NOVA tweets and TikToks. The one trending right now was one showing an agent reaching for his weapon only to discover that it'd been replaced with a very large churro.

HUNTRESS: Helena knew this was serious talk, and she was taking it seriously, but she had never been one for good posture, or for being a leader, for that matter. She was more than comfortable listening to the plans form around her, her foot slung up on the edge of her seat, chin propped against her knee, messing with the hoop in her conch piercing. She was paying close attention, even if it didn't appear that way. It was a strategy she used often: if no one took her seriously or thought she wasn't paying attention, they'd let slip information they'd otherwise hide.

So she was prepared when the discussion rolled around and it seemed to be her turn to talk, and sat up straighter, dropping her hand from her ear. "I'm with Green Arrow. Give me a direction to point some arrows, and I'm good. If you need to keep someone in my ear for on-the-fly instructions, my only request is that it's Oracle, Blue Beetle, or Red Robin," she dropped a wink in their direction. She knew enough to know that they'd most likely describe her as the 'problem child' of the Birds and want to keep track of her so she didn't take things into her own hands if things started to go south."Beyond that, I just wanna take these fuckers down." She shrugged. "However you want to use me to do it, I'm willing to do. But uh... I do agree with Bat-chick over there," she nodded towards the redhead, "We need some contingency plans. Something tells me NOVA isn't gonna have just one line of defense."  With that, she sat back again, hand moving almost subconsciously back to the earring, twisting it back and forth.

HAWKEYE: Kate had technically led people before. She didn’t love it. It hadn’t even actually been on purpose. Regardless, it had happened (somehow) and given her a newfound appreciation for what it was like to be at the head of the metaphorical (or in this case very big and literal) table. She could just sit there and take direction, but...

“I don’t mean to pop the power bubble or anything, but I’m pretty sure that we shouldn’t be relying on anybody’s extra abilities to get or find or detect anything. It’s you guys,” she made a vague gesture at a random assortment of her fellow League-ers who were more than just baseline human, “that they’re trying to get rid of. This is just a shot in the dark,” except it wasn’t really, “but I’m guessing that means it’s probably also you guys that they’re prepared for. If they’ve got a super secret lair under the ocean, we should probably count on getting in the old fashioned way. Isn’t that like, somebody’s job? Your job, probably?” The final remark was directed toward Tony Stark at the front, though it probably didn’t rest squarely on his shoulders.

SCARLET WITCH: Wanda sat listening for the most part. She wasn't passive, per se, but she certainly wasn't going to interrupt. However, she didn't particularly appreciate the insinuation that she and the others in this room--mutant, meta, or enhanced--were not capable of infiltrating without their abilities. "If I'm not mistaken, mutants are not useless even with the inhibitors. All of the Avengers have been trained to fight by Captain America. As I understand it, so have the X-Men by Cyclops. While it is wise not to rely solely on our powers, we don't know what NOVA will do. Regardless, I'm sure it will be taken into account that powers may be lost." It made her uncomfortable to be seated in the same room as the X-Men discussing the loss of powers, but it was what it was. She was who she was. "As it is, however, we shouldn't do nothing with them on the chance NOVA will see fit to remove them again. We should use what we have while we have it."

She didn't even entertain the notion of grouping with Magneto and frankly couldn't help the look she shot Lorna in spite of herself. Fortunately, Anna spoke before that and she kept her tongue. Whether their reasons were the same was hardly the point. What did matter was that they surely didn't think her father was the right fulcrum for these plans. Rather than commenting, however, she instead turned her attention to the newcomer. She was old world, much like Steve and Bucky, but what she said did make sense. "A failsafe, as it were," she agreed, nodding to Gladys. "It makes sense. If it can be pulled off quickly enough." She glanced to Tony on reflex. He was, after all, the tech genius she was most familiar with. As Tommy spoke, Wanda could sense his discomfort with the scientists. She felt her jaw tense. Of course her child was uneasy. Without a thought, one long-fingered hand reached out to catch her son's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She wanted to provide a quiet strength for him, and a grounding one. After all, he was always poised to bounce off the walls. And when he was uncomfortable, she knew it would be worse. He'd want to run off the extra energy.

MARVEL GIRL: Prior to the initial start of the meeting, Jean had caught sight of some faces, familiar and unfamiliar. There was hardly any time for any mingling, as it was serious business. But still, she made the effort to ensure her son was sitting right next to her. She had reached over and patted the top of his hand, leaning down to kiss his cheek before taking her seat.

There had been quite the amount of opinions, both formidable and perhaps, a bit disconcerting. She exhaled quietly right after Wanda had finished speaking and she stood from her chair to address the crowd.

“I for one, agree with Wanda,” she said, gesturing her sentiments towards the woman, “Though I myself have been out of commission for quite some time, I wouldn’t dismiss the idea that us mutants can’t continue to fight back even with the Inhibitors in play.”

She turned her gaze briefly towards Scott. She had worked with him for many years as well as most of the X-Men in the room. Though he was not perfect, he was someone she admired and to know that he was putting in his efforts on behalf of the X-Men was worth praising. “Scott is a formidable leader. He is very capable of consolidating our strategies as well as an excellent negotiator. If need be, I would like to echo his sentiments on dispersing us to work in tandem with the rest of the League.

The young lady with the underwater devices does have a point about observing the currents of the water, provided it is confirmed they do have an underwater facility. It would be far too dangerous to go in there unless we know what exactly is in there. If it’s deep enough, they could be using the darkness of the water as a disguise to hide various traps and mines. Not to mention water currents can be as aggressive underneath than just on the surface. If that’s the case, perhaps if there is someone willing to scan the area by sonars, we needn’t worry about losing any additional numbers in our rankings. As for the various ground teams, I would take advantage of those who are able to easily detect things by smell, such as my colleague, Logan and his daughters, who have an enhanced sense of smell. Surely, even if certain chemicals didn’t have a particular smell on the surface, I’m sure it could still be detected. If not, if there are any samples of such Inhibitors obtained, I’d recommend anyone with a strong knowledge of chemistry observe the ingredients to see if they react to certain elements such as fire or magic.”

Her gaze flickered in Logan’s direction, pursing her lips. “But of course, that is all pre-planning as I wouldn’t want anyone to be put at risk in those stages alone. I think it’s important to find out exactly what we’re dealing with other than the threat of a potential underwater facility. NOVA surely has information on some of us and may be more than prepared and if we don’t have the contingency plan, things will surely turn sour.”

WOLVERINE: This wasn't the first time Logan had worked with the Avengers and he'd been much less reticent than the others to attend the meeting, despite not always being the most reliable team player. The so-called Justice League he didn't know much of anything about. He wasn't exactly eager to end up on a team with a bunch of strangers, but it wasn't his call to make. There were a lot of things he could say about Scott, was perfectly willing to say about Scott, even, but he was here because he believed in his leadership. That was the whole point.

Everyone was just talking so damn much.

Seated between Natasha and Gabby made it a little harder to show that annoyance. He'd met Gabby recently, it took adjusting to, but he was already letting himself get involved in her training. He didn't doubt she was fully capable of holding a position on the team, but he hadn't seen her in action, not like he'd seen Laura or Daken, and she was different. Even Laura he didn't completely want on the X-Force.

He watched Jean as she spoke, giving a slight nod, and realized suddenly it was time for him to say something. Instead he made a nondescript hand motion. "I like the cookies. Next."

BUCKY BARNES: “The odds of figuring out exactly what’s in there ahead of time are probably zilch,” Bucky pointed out. He wouldn’t be heading to that facility, regardless, as the recon team had been working for months to be ready to take down the remaining detention centers. They were as ready as they were going to be for that, though. It wasn’t the thing that needed discussing. “Nothing is ever that easy. But given what we know about NOVA, whatever they’ve got isn’t something any of us want them to keep having.” He shifted in his seat and lifted his left hand as he looked to the three up front. ”However you get in, just make sure you’re ready not to leave anything behind. That’s what you need to do the old fashioned way.” Besides, an underwater explosion, by nature, was more easily contained.

LOKI: Loki nodded at Bucky’s assessment. He didn’t particularly understand the issue with mutants versus non, and he wasn’t at all uncomfortable to be sitting in a room with both. He considered for a moment. He had been trying to find out more about the inhibitors, but it was a slow process. June headed that up and he could get too deep in her science because of how territorial she was. Still... if they had some time, perhaps Loki could get Jihl to talk to him about it. He had had dinner in her office a few times and he could tell she was warming to him even more. He could get information about the facility maybe, if not the actual inhibitors.

“I should hope that the Media isn’t corrupt any longer,” he remarked. Though he would have been able to tell if Lois was a liar. “As for what goes on with NOVA, many of us are aware. Is that not why we’re here?”

He looked over to Batman and Captain America. “Your inside man,” he pointed out, knowing it was prudent to keep his name out of people’s heads specifically but aware that they had discussed the concept itself in the past. “Could he or she not try to tease out some information on this facility?”

SIGNAL: This was the first chance he'd had to really see everyone together. The past couple weeks had just been weird. Duke didn't really know how to process everything yet. He gave a short clap at the end of Gladys' presentation, grinning at her, and leaned over to whisper, "good job." Even though he hadn't seen the finished product until now, he still knew how long and hard she'd worked on it. She was clearly proving to be a good asset to the team. He was glad Bruce had trusted him enough to give her that chance, even though that undoubtedly meant he had a file on her now. That had been the only reason he'd hesitated in getting her involved.

"I don't think anyone in here would be useless without their powers," he offered mildly. With Bruce's rigorous training, he knew he would be able to keep up with the others. His abilities were completely separate from that. Judging from how competent Steve and Scott had proved to be as leaders, he had no reason to think they wouldn't have trained their teams similarly, or at least prepared them for that possibility in light of recent events. "I think the point she was trying to make was that plans shouldn't have us rely on enhancements if there is a chance of them being taken away."

CABLE: War never changes.

Nathan learned that lesson a long time ago. He rose up against Lord Apocalypse once, a vicious dictator from two thousand years into the future. He doesn’t know how to feel about the likelihood of him trying to rise up into power again but that isn’t what this meeting is about. The point of these thoughts is that Nathan has led armies before —and worked alongside others to strategize the best plan of action to take.

He might not be a leader anymore but maybe some mannerisms never really leave you. His messiah complex still deeply embedded into his actions. However, Nathan just wants to try helping out not just his fellow Mutants but anyone they needs his help. He has always fought for everyone and it was important to come together now.

He felt honored to be part of the meeting but maybe being part of the X-Men and X-Force meant playing his part by offering his expertise. It makes Nathan happy to have guaranteed a chair next to his mother — sitting up straight while everyone is talking their piece. He was even taking notes and scribbling in his own ideas between the lines. His attention focused on every gesture and expression while everyone spoke. It finally comes down to his turn so Nathan does what he happens to do best — public speaking.

His chair is pushed back silently, only a slight squeak before Cable is on his feet. Everyone else might have spoken while sitting down but that’s never how he addressed his associates in an environment like this. One hand made of flesh and bone pressed against the table while the cybernetic one is on his hip.

“If any of our efforts are going to work we have to unite as one. Some of us have never worked with each other but we’re here to change that. We don’t have much time but what we can’t afford to do is rush in without a plan.“ His left eye glowing yellow while speaking as wisps of energy flow out of it. “While I’m always in favor of using our abilities to our advantage, I agree with the others that we have to put into consideration that NOVA will develop creative ways to prevent us from using them. We can’t rely on just that if we’re going to succeed but you’re all brilliant so I trust that you know this already.” He’s not always this serious but Nathan takes meetings like this seriously and always will. “If there’s a chance that we can make this world a better one for all of us then who would turn it down? We’re taking these facilities down either with our enhancements or without them.” Nathan could do both — he’s an expert marksman after all and also pretty good with a sword too.

Deep breath. “Nobody is useless without their powers but maybe that’s not what they’d expect out of us. I look forward to investigating as part of X-Force. We should keep in mind that communication and cooperation will be a must going forward. This is about freeing those people and reuniting children with their parents. I take it very personally when families are ripped apart, maybe more than most but this isn’t about my personal feelings right now when there’s so much at risk. We know what NOVA is capable of but we can’t eliminate the potential for the unexpected. It won’t be easy but taking down any threat is always going to have it’s challenges. If we work together I know that we can come out on top in the end. This won’t be without bumps and bruises along the way but I have faith in us.” He takes a moment to look around the room.

“That’s all I got unless anyone wants to hear my potential tactics after we’re done here.” Nathan slowly sits down in his chair and his eye stops glowing finally. His gaze looks at who was next with a nod of his head as if to signal that it was their turn.

STINGER: Though Cassie took in every word that people said, she was otherwise slightly occupied. She was suddenly keenly aware of Tommy's presence, wanted to go something when he spoke, but the helmet and Stinger costume meant he didn't know who she was. Well, what she was about to say was going to be a dead giveaway in combination with the (very clear, very purposeful) Wasp designs in her costume. Still, she'd keep her cool in this moment, and find him the moment they finished. "Those of us with tech or no powers may be able to get inside, but it's still risky. As long as I have the suit, the pym particles will keep working for me, and I should be able to get small enough to avoid security sensors." no doubt, since the bank, Cassie hadn't gone anywhere without her suit stored somewhere on her person, terrified of being caught powerless again. Still, the suggestion was gentle as she even began to find flaws in it after a moment. Her helmet turns to the head of the table instead, trying not to stare at Tommy.

BEAST BOY: Gar sat quietly, looking from person to person as they spoke. He wasn't even sure he should be here, really. He hadn't taken on any real hero role (animal rescues didn't count) since he left the Titans, so to be at the table with everyone here was... wild. Still, he can't dent the way his heart tugs towards the people lamenting what NOVA could really do. He knew he'd be among the first to be picked out himself, but too much violence in response wasn't the answer. They needed a plan, and he's go with it, but for now he sat quietly, awaiting to see what those he was used to following would say.

FLASH: Contrary to his normal demeanour, Wally had elected to keep his mouth shut unless absolutely necessary. Seeing all the unfamiliar faces sat around the table had made him painfully aware of how long he'd been out of the game, and how much their world had changed since he'd taken his sabbatical from hero work. The experience was giving him flashbacks to when he was first introduced to the Teen Titans: young and naive, suddenly seeing a whole new world that he was suddenly a part of. AS the presentation started he reached down and gave M'ann's hand a squeeze, glad that she'd saved him a seat. The comfort didn't manage to stop the nervous machine-gun tempo of his heart as the reality of the situation seeped in. He was here, in costume, with Barry, and Megs, and Bats. Swap out M'gann for Dick and it was almost like the old days. Including a really ostentatious, expensive and largely impractical secret facility for the bad guys.

He leaned forward on the table, resting his chin on steepled fingers in thought. "Barry's right, our powers really don't gel with water all that well. We're still pretty fast, but the heat build up we generate evaporates all the water around us. So not exactly subtle. Get us close enough however..." He shrugged, knowing full well how difficult that would be. But who knows, maybe there was someone here whose powers could get them to a wall of a facility that was god knows how deep beneath the ocean. "There's not a lot of things that we can't phase through, and we probably have enough brain cells between us to unlock the doors." He became aware that he was breaking his no-talking rule by a significant amount. "You know, if possible. Not saying we have to, just thinking out loud."

BATMAN: Everyone deserved a chance to speak. For that reason Bruce was silent, his gaze shifting to each person as they said their piece, and he didn't once move to interject. The suggestions for contingencies were acknowledged with a slight nod. He never did anything without thorough planning. That included back-up plans and back-up plans for those back-up plans. Even if he hadn't been a vigilante for as long as others at this table, he knew nothing ever went according to plan.

Once it came back around to him, he was quick to make one thing clear, even though he'd stated it in no uncertain terms at the very start of the meeting: "A plan is already in place." This was a league and he knew that meant collaboration, but responsibility fell on the leaders' shoulders when it was all said and done. "What Iceman has said is correct. We do not have weeks. There is no time to test and redesign shields that could effectively protect against the inhibitors. We do not even know if it can be done. As Bruce Banner said, this radiation is nothing like what we've seen before." Although others had suggested using their powers to find the inhibitors, it was Lorna he addressed. He knew she'd attacked the NOVA facility from a distance with Erik, but that was before the inhibitors had been upgraded. At that point they had only affected mutants. "You will not be able to use your powers. Even when the inhibitors are shut off, they give off enough radioactive energy to effectively cloak themselves to metahuman, mutant, or alien abilities. We will not be able to rely on enhancements, which is why I would encourage everyone to brush up on their training. That is why," he directed his next statement to Gladys, "your deflector technology will be helpful. Red Robin, Oracle, and Spider-Man will be on the comms. They make up the first team. There will be three more. We've split them based on your individual abilities and where you're best suited to help. The first team is charged with detecting and infiltrating the underwater facility. Superman, Iron Man, Dr. Banner, Blue Beetle, Moxie, Cyborg, Tempest, Flash." He looked at Wally to indicate which Flash. "Wiccan, Scarlet Witch, Nightstar, Wolverine, Gambit, Polaris, Cable, and Raptor. Red Robin will be on your team's comms and help direct you, along with Moxie's technology. The second team will be large. There are multiple facilities involved. From my understanding, Cyclops will further split you up. This group will include Supergirl, Speed, Human Torch, Iceman, Nightcrawler, Zatara, Flash." Barry this time. "Black Widow, Rogue, Stinger, Black Bat, Captain America, Sergeant Barnes, Cyclops, Ms. Frost, Huntress, Marvel Girl, and Honey Badger. Oracle will be with you on the comms." He sighed. "As you know, we are unable to leave the city vulnerable. The final team will remain here - prepared, willing, and able to respond to any location at any given time. I will be on that team, along with Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Batwoman, Loki, Batgirl, Signal, Black Canary, Hawkeye, and Beast Boy. Spider-Man will be assisting us on the comms. The city will need us to be visible in the case that something goes wrong."

CYCLOPS: “It’s not lost on us how much is at stake here,” Scott began, looking toward Bobby, Nathan, and the others who had accompanied him there. It was the kind of fight that they’d been intimate with for most of their lives, a ceaseless monster of a thing that grew a new head every time one was removed, but it was a fight they could never give up on. By extension, it was one he never stopped planning for. A major reason he’d allied them with the League was the expectation that they could not lean too heavily on the abilities that came naturally for them, and that no amount of training could entirely prepare for that. They needed other resources, technology, and just sheer numbers - all things that the League and its members could provide. “We have to go into this with the intention and plan to use everything available to us. When it comes to NOVA, consider any powers you have to be a liability, not an advantage, and in any situation where we might rely on them we’ll have a second option.” And given the way both Scott and Bruce thought, probably a third and fourth one, too.” “X-Force will be going with the first team to the underwater facility. All of you are in this room with the exception of Kid Omega, and the assignment will be relayed to him as necessary.” There were enough dissenting voices and disruptions without including Quentin when it wasn’t required. “For the facilities outside the city, we have every reason to believe they’re structured similarly to the one taken down a few months ago. That mission didn’t end as we expected,” thanks to Erik and Lorna, which he didn’t point out, “but it let us know what to expect inside. Three six person teams will infiltrate these bases, liberate the people that NOVA is holding captive within them, and render the buildings unusable. We are not there to take the lives of the agents. This is a non-lethal mission, and anyone unwilling to abide by that rule...” he lifted a hand toward the door, “remove yourself. We can’t allow anyone to jeopardize this operation, the lives of your teammates, or the freedom of NOVA’s prisoners because you’d rather exact justice a different way. Is this clear?” He continued on, willing to address opposing opinions once they’d covered the basics of what he meant to occur. “You’ll be given your team assignments once this meeting has adjourned, and in the short window of time between this and when we take action, we’ll spend most of it training. Many of you in this room don’t know one another and trust doesn’t always come easily, but we’re all going to have to find it. We have a way into these facilities that we expect to work, a way to skirt around the inhibitors and get one person inside each of them to shut the system down and give the other team members a window. This has to happen simultaneously, or close to it, at all three locations. We don’t want NOVA to have time to compensate or react, if we can help it, and to do that we have to give them as little warning as possible. Execution in the beginning has to be as flawless as we can make it.” And for the X-Men in the room, they’d know Scott’s standards for that were particularly high. “That means working together and doing your part, but believing in the rest of us to do ours, too. I know this may seem like a situation where there’s too many cooks in the kitchen, but if we move in tandem and follow the plans that are being laid out, we can win here. We all know what’s at stake if we don’t.”

“That said...with most of the X-Men out of District X, the people on the other side of the wall are counting heavily on the League members remaining in the city to keep NOVA in check. We have our own defenses in place, but it’s a responsibility I normally take on myself. I’m taking...an enormous leap of faith.”

He nodded toward Steve, then. “Captain America, Emma, and I will be heading out to these detention centers with you and training with you to do it. We plan to be there every step of the way. X-Force, you’ve been told who you’ll have on your side, and you’ll hear more from Iron Man how you’ll be getting into the facility. Your mission is less predictable. I have faith in you all to complete it.“

CAPTAIN AMERICA: A while back, I said that some of you could train with Wanda and Dick on how to figure things out without the use of your powers. My team has been specifically trained in hand to hand as well as with their powers and it's been invaluable in times like these." They didn't have time anymore to recommend training. He could only hope people had taken Dick and Wanda up on the offer that had been made at the first meeting. He wasn't sure how Scott trained his people, but he didn't ask right now. They had already placed emphasis on being sure to be ready to use them as a last resort.

He waited to see if anyone left on the non-lethal stipulation, hoping they didn't lose anyone. He was glad when his team and the X-Men proved them all right by not leaving before he continued on. "Avengers, we've done things like this before. You know how goes. Tony's got briefings on the detention facilities, like Scott said. With any luck and a lot of strategy, we'll be able to get in, do what we need to do, and get out without much fuss and this'll be a huge hit against NOVA. We can manage this kind of thing without bloodshed. I know we're capable of that."

He glanced to some of the people around the table before adding, "If you see anything while you're on this mission that could be useful in the future, I absolutely suggest you take note of it. Maps, plans, et cetera. That's not the main focus of the mission, but you'd be amazed what kinds of things you can run across." That had been how he had managed so many years ago to help take down HYDRA. Just one glance at a map when he was on a rescue mission for Bucky. It had been invaluable.

IRON MAN: It had taken an enormous amount of effort to sit there and wait until everyone finished talking. Tony had to force himself not to interrupt at least half a dozen times, particularly to explain the pointlessness of using abilities to locate devices that canceled out abilities, but even he recognized that not everyone in the room was up to date on the technology. It had undergone a massive enhancement once it was upgraded to include mutants. He managed to relax when that was explained, at least as much as he could relax with frayed patience. "The silver lining is that there's a lot of gray area between alive and dead, for those of you not morally reticent."

Nodding, he stole a quick glance around the table at those named to be in their group. A click of a button displayed a 3-D map of a NOVA facility that had been provided to him prior to the meeting. "All of their above ground facilities are laid out the exact same way. Guess NOVA doesn't budget for style. As Cyclops pointed out, my team, the one that's going underwater: we're at a disadvantage. I have a plan, but it'll be touch and go. We don't know that the layout will match this. We have to rely on constant and consistent communication with each other and, more importantly, Robin. Right? ...No. You're one of them though, I know that - wait, don't tell me." He snapped his fingers. "Red Robin. We'll go over the details later." Unlike the other team, they weren't fortunate enough to have actual 3D blueprints. Most of their information would be reliant on Gladys and Tim and what they would pull from their respective technologies. For Steve's sake, he was attempting to trust that everyone knew what they were doing - but seeing firsthand how the bat cult offered some comfort.

CYCLOPS: “You have your assignments,” Scott interjected after Tony. “Those of you heading to the detention centers, convene with me and I’ll split our teams. Use what little time we have wisely, find a way to trust the people you’re going in with. Whatever differences we’ve had, leave them at the door for now. We’ve got too many people counting on us.” 

He glanced toward Steve and Bruce to see if they had any parting words, and for his part ended on a simple, “Good luck to all of us.”

CAPTAIN AMERICA: Steve nodded as Scott spoke, pleased by how well this had gone. "Remember that it takes teamwork for an undertaking like this one, but it's what we've been working towards for months now. This is the first step in finally getting these guys outta here. Familiarize yourselves with one another as much as you can. Trust that we'll have each other's backs." He shook his head. "The last thing we want is for a man to get left behind if we can help it, and we want to get the people suffering out of harm's way. But this is what we do best."

With a little playful grin, he added, "I'd say 'Avengers assemble', but we're so much bigger than that this time around. Just like this is so much bigger than any one team." He looked around at every face around the table before speaking up. "Heroes," he said in that authoritative tone, because that's what they were. First and foremost, beyond teams, beyond friendships, and their grievances of the past between one another. They were sworn to protect, to save those who could not save themselves. And perhaps there wasn't need for pomp and circumstance for them. So he spoke to them like a man speaking to his equals, fist curling in front of him to assert the point. "Let's get it done."

[choupichoups]

CHAPTER FOUR :: Previous chapters

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

::

His phone lays face down on the nightstand, chiming with accusing vibrations from god knows where. He hasn’t exactly kept up with the outpouring of messages since Friday night. 

Eliott doesn’t know what day it is. 

With a burst of energy that sends both dread and respite coursing through his chest, Eliott pushes himself towards the bathroom, standing under the warm pressure of the shower until it turns cold, freezing pelts numbing where his back is hunched over the tiled walls. 

He doesn’t feel any better. There’s a steely blankness in his mind, a faint ringing echoing its walls that has Eliott wondering how he’s able to move around. 

When he gets out, shivering from the cool air breezing in from his open windows, the mere sight of the light emanating from his nightstand grips him with inexplicable anxiety. The familiar drop in his stomach is so unbearable he can’t even bring himself to approach his fucking phone. His eyes search out a pack of smokes out of reflex but a spiteful voice inside his head berates him. Make it worse, why don’t you, it says, go ahead and prove them right, then. 

He goes into the kitchen and gulps down two glasses of water instead. He supposes his piece of shit brain has an effective way of keeping him in check sometimes. 

His laptop is asleep on the kitchen table when he turns around and Eliott taps on it, stares blankly at the timestamp on top of the screen— it’s Sunday afternoon. So he hasn’t been out of the grid for that long then. Not long enough to miss classes, at least. That’s good. It’s good. 

That eliminates the chances of school related emails being included in his growing pile of notifications.

He slides gingerly onto the chair, switching to his Netflix tab to resume whatever movie he’d been watching before he left for that party on Friday. Eliott watches the screen move, colours and sounds around him, none of it sticks but he appreciates the background noise. Appreciates the change in scenery. He’s gotten a little sick and tired of watching the ceiling in between bouts of fitful slumber. 

Eyes still dull from exhaustion, he follows the fast paced sequence playing in front of him until the muffled music clears up, until the teeny voices from his speakers start making sense again, until his brain latches onto the idea of the film, until he recognizes the title, remembers the bits he’d seen from Friday. 

He’s frowning down at a particular twist in the plot when his lock turns, dragging slow and soft, as if it would help mask the disruptive shriek of metal against metal. He doesn’t react much to it— only stares at the door with vague wonder, but ultimately can’t bring himself to care even when the door creaks fully open. He’s genuinely surprised to see Adrien’s head pop out from behind it, searching eyes wandering about until it lands on Eliott and a brilliant smile immediately lifts the entirety of his best friend’s face. 

So Lucas hasn’t told him anything. 

Eliott’s heart clenches. It has nothing to do with relief. 

“Hey!” Adrien sounds so excited that Eliott wants to smile, but his lips don’t get the memo. “I brought lunch. Or dinner, I guess? Whatever.”

He makes himself at home, banging around in Eliott’s kitchen as the movie plays on, now abandoned. Eliott relocates to the couch, letting Adrien’s off tune singing and his computer’s noisy faux explosions fill his head. It’s comfortable enough that Eliott’s eyes fall shut, head tilted back against the back of the couch. 

It’s dark outside the next time he wakes. His laptop’s now connected to his tv screen, playing a different movie. Adrien’s lounging beside him, spoon stuck in his mouth, eyes trained on his phone. 

“You gonna share that or what?” Eliott manages to croak out, reaching for the bowl of take out in Adrien’s lap.

Adrien practically jumps at the sound of Eliott’s voice and that finally, finally fills him with enough humour to conjure up a smile. It feels fucking good. He hopes it lasts. 

“Fuck off, yours is in the fridge,” Adrien says once he recovers, sliding his bowl far away from Eliott’s reach. 

Eliott groans, “That’s too far.”

“Your place isn’t that big, calm down.” But Adrien gets up anyway, dragging his feet as he heads for the kitchen to heat up the leftovers. Eliott isn’t hungry, truth be told, he does want to continue this streak of normalcy, though. He wants to keep smiling and feeling and eating. Maybe it would push him on a fast track to being himself again come the next day. Whatever being himself means.

Hot food is plopped down on his legs with no warning and his resulting yelp has Adrien in stitches. Eliott’s sorely tempted to dump the entire thing over Adrien’s head, see who’s laughing then, but he did bring Eliott some free food so he gets one single pass for being an asshole. Eliott flips him off, lips still curled in a smirk as he nibbles on his first bite. 

They watch the movie mostly in silence, only with the occasional commentary from Adrien, who’s prone to being very vocal about how angry the characters make him. There’s something off with his behaviour though, almost like he’s forcing the cheer into his voice. Eliott looks over just in time to catch him tapping away on his phone for the umpteenth time. 

So Eliott pauses the movie, confirming his suspicions when it takes Adrien a full minute to realize that there’s now silence where the movie villain’s cheesy droning spiel had just been. He reaches out, one hand curled into a fist, and Adrien stares at it blankly before slapping his palm against it, closing his hand over the fist, holding tight like a child afraid of the dark. He looks like a child too, Eliott’s eyes adjusting to the lack of light to find Adrien’s wide, watery gaze on him.

“I fucked up, Eli.” 

Well that’s new. It’s usually Eliott who fucks up between the two of them. “How much?”

“Big time.”

Eliott sits up from where he’s half melted into the couch cushions, kicking at Adrien’s leg until he does the same. “What happened?” 

Adrien eyes him, says, “Nothing, don’t worry about it. I’m just being stupid.” But he sounds pitiful enough that Eliott can’t not worry about it. 

“Look, Adri, we can’t both feel like shit,” Eliott says, earning a snort from the other end of the couch. “Only one at a time and I called dibs already so just tell me what’s wrong so you can feel less shitty about it.” 

Adrien wipes his eyes. Sniffs a little. “Lucas is missing.”

That’s the last thing Eliott wants to hear. “What?” he chokes out, forcing a neutral tone. His heartbeat picks up in protest. “Since when?”

“Friday, god, I should’ve gone to that stupid party—”

This is all your fault. “What do you mean he’s missing?” Neutrality out the window, apparently. Good thing Adrien doesn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to yank the hair out of his head as he is. 

“I don’t know, he’s been kinda weird recently to be honest, and now he’s not coming home or answering his goddamn phone.” Adrien nibbles on his fingernails, a nervous tick the both of them share. “I’m freaking out, like— what do I tell our parents? They can’t even leave my brother alone with me for two weeks without him going missing, fuck. I’m so useless. What if we get a baby brother? Or a baby sister? How much would I fuck up then? Jesus, I would probably drop an actual infant and—” 

Eliott shakes his head, takes Adrien’s phone away to do something. “Calm down,” he hisses, not sure if he’s addressing Adrien or himself. “Have you checked with all his friends?” 

“The ones I know of, yeah.” Adrien grabs a cushion and buries his face under it. 

A thought occurs to Eliott then, unwanted but he’d rather that than any other worse scenarios. Maybe it’s not his fault. How bold of him to assume Lucas would care that much about Eliott, just another boy chasing him around. Maybe the answer is much simpler. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with him at all. “Maybe he met someone,” he suggests, and he has no right to feel jealousy catching fire like a candle wick, rapid to burn. “Went home with them?” 

“No,” Adrien denies, muffled. “Lucas doesn’t do that.”

Flashes from Friday night’s party make him swallow, throat clicking at the image of Lucas and that guy headed fast towards the bedrooms. “You sure?”

“Uh huh. Hundred percent.” 

Adrien’s phone interrupts them with a startling ring. Instinctively, Eliott slides a finger to accept the unknown call, putting it on speaker so Adrien could hear as well. “Hello?” Eliott answers, hesitant, when Adrien looks like he doesn’t plan on emerging from his cushion any time soon. 

Confused silence, and then a timid, “Adri?”

Lucas’ voice. Eliott drops the phone on the table like it’s suddenly grown spikes. 

It’s a good thing Adrien comes alive at that moment, his cushion flying off the living room and into the kitchen. “Where the fuck have you been?!” he practically screeches in the general direction of the phone. 

There’s some static, the sound of sheets ruffling. “I don’t— I don’t kno— no, shit, hold on.”

Adrien’s face is flushed with anger. “The fuck you mean you don’t—” He rubs a hand over his face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Eliott sincerely doesn’t know whether to be thankful of, or lament the fact that Adrien keeps the phone call on speaker. 

“Of course? Of course? So why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls, Lulu?”

“I’m sorry, my phone died,” Lucas groans from the other end, sounding miserable. Like he’s—

“Are you hungover?” Adrien voices out the question in Eliott’s head. 

“Yes.” The one word packs such heavy attitude it almost makes Eliott laugh— until he remembers it’s Sunday evening so Lucas being hungover means he’s been drinking again on Saturday and well into the morning after. “Would you tone down a little?”

“No, I won’t tone the fuck down. Do you know what time it is? And you sound like that? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” 

“I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Lucas,” Adrien pronounces the name slowly, how he always does when upset. “Where are you?”

Unperturbed, Lucas repeats, “I said I’ll be home tomorrow, father.” And then he hangs up.

Adrien looks two seconds away from flinging his phone out the window. It’s times like this when Eliott truly appreciates being an only child. 

“Whose phone number was that?” Adrien asks, visibly holding back from redialing the unknown number.

Eliott shrugs and heads into the bedroom for his phone; there’s no harm in checking his contact list. He figures it’s time to stop avoiding the inevitable anyway. At least Adrien being present would alleviate some of the stress from checking on his unread messages. 

Turns out he doesn’t have the phone number Lucas used registered on his phone either but what he does find out is that Lucas has blocked him on Instagram. And it shouldn’t hurt. It really, really shouldn’t. It’s a fucking phone app, the act is borderline juvenile. The laugh he lets out is rusty, unfamiliar to his own ears, bitter in its quietness. He should have seen it coming, it’s what he deserves after all. But knowing so doesn’t make it feel any less horrible.

“You okay?” Right. Adrien’s there beside him, clueless as to what Eliott’s done to his precious little brother. Eliott knows he’s played a dangerous game and now Lucas holds all the cards.

“Yup, just peachy.” Eliott shoves his phone behind the couch. Out of sight out of mind. “You want a drink?” 

Adrien sweeps a hand over his eyes. “I need ten.”

“I only have cranberry juice.”

“Ugh, fuck.”

“We can use the fancy glasses and pretend it’s wine.”

“Yeah, okay, close enough. Juice me up.”

::

::

Come Tuesday afternoon, Eliott feels less like living as a hermit deep into the woods and more like throwing people deep into the woods. 

Irritation simmers at the surface of his skin like gasoline, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation. So he does his best to stay away from the crowds, and forces himself to interact only when he’s cornered, because apparently some people can’t read the atmosphere despite his closed off demeanor. 

Mysterious, some would call him and it’s so fucking stupid. Aloof. Intimidating. Cool. 

He’d laugh if he weren’t so keyed up, throat scratchy with the urge to snap, shoulders hunched to keep in a festering fury he has neither time nor will to put out. 

It doesn’t help that his hands have developed a mind of their own, obsessively checking for a message that will never show up. He’s irritated that there’s only one voice he wants to hear. He’s irritated that people still try their luck in approaching him, he’s irritated that they laugh and speak and move around him like he isn’t some ticking time bomb. He’s irritated that despite all the noise and the clamour, everything is still so goddamn boring, nothing to pull him out of his head, nothing to crack open his barrier, nothing nothing nothing. 

His most wakening moments happen during the events leading up to, and the ones following after, himself getting punched in the face. 

It’s exactly how it sounds like, but in Eliott’s defence, it's completely and utterly not his fault. Just a giant misunderstanding and too much testosterone involved in the mix. 

It happens when Eliott’s just about to leave campus, skipping out on the final half of his last class so he could catch the early bus and continue being miserable at home. Hands busy untangling his headphones, he doesn’t realize he’s got company in the hallway until he hears a very unimpressed, very familiar voice coming from the other end. Eliott throws himself into the next hallway, heart beating erratically while he stands with his back plastered against the wall. 

“Listen, Nathan,” Lucas is saying, thankfully unaware of the film worthy stunt Eliott had just pulled. He slumps down on the ground and accepts the fact that he’s officially the king of being at the wrong place at the wrong time nowadays. 

Or maybe the king of eavesdropping is more accurate?

His phone vibrates against the floor where it’s shoved inside his pocket and Eliott scrambles to kneel up, cursing under his breath as he fumbles to muffle the sound of the missed call. 

Cautiously, he peeks out, but both boys are still occupied with their conversation. Eliott ducks back into his hiding place, rationalizing if the loss of dignity he’d experience should someone catch him crab walking towards the staircase would be worth dodging Lucas’ ire.  

Maybe he simply puts the king in panicking, at this point.

“Nigel,” Nathan— or Nigel, really, corrects him. Eliott winces in sympathy. So that’s how Lucas plays it, huh. 

“Nigel. I’m sorry about the party,” Lucas continues, and Eliott knows exactly what he’s going to say next. “I was a little drunk.” Fucking hell. 

Nigel lets out a breathy laugh. “Come on, Lucas, you can’t say you felt nothing.” 

Alright, Eliott’s sympathy is quickly fizzing out. 

“Feel what?” 

“There’s something between us, Lu.” 

“We met four days ago,” Lucas deadpans, ruthless in a way that has Eliott a little taken aback. There’s no hint of the playful tone Lucas had always used around him.

“You kissed me at the party.”

“I said I was drunk.” 

“You weren’t, why don’t you just give us a chance? I could be—”

“No,” Lucas interrupts, “it’s nothing to do with you, you’re a great guy so don’t bother wasting your time on me.”

“You’re not ever a waste of time.” 

That gets a laugh out of Lucas. “That’s uh, sweet, but I’m serious. Please.” 

Eliott squeezes his eyes shut. You’d know if I was rejecting you. He thunks his head on the wall behind him, staring up at the pale ceiling as he wills for time to turn back. 

But of course it doesn’t. All that happens is that Eliott misses the rest of the conversation he’s listening in on and only realizes it’s over when shuffling footsteps make their rapid way straight towards where Eliott is squished into a corner. 

And oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—

Except Lucas rushes right past him, anticlimactically. 

Eliott knows he’s got about two seconds to decide whether he’s going to let him go or if he’s going to gather the balls to at least apologize. 

In an act of bravery that probably surprises the deities themselves, Eliott calls out for Lucas, wincing in preparation for a storm as he traces the way Lucas’ entire body tenses up. A voice in his head tells him to leave it, that they’re headed straight for corrosion and nothing he says would change anything. Eliott almost succumbs to it.

But Lucas keeps walking, not once looking back, and Eliott feels a deep-seated panic settle over him, the magnitude of it louder than the jeering from his own mind. He trips all over his own two feet and hurries to match Lucas’ pace. “Lucas, please, I just want to say—”

“Sorry?” Lucas bites out, only stopping when Eliott physically stands in front of him to block his way. “Is that what you wanna say? Or are you above apologizing to your failed conquests?” Eliott recoils, mouth opening a little but Lucas doesn’t let him speak. “Nevermind, I don’t actually care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Adri.” 

Lucas keeps his head lowered, and Eliott’s chest constricts, hands slightly shaking where they’re hidden inside his pockets. God, he’s always been terrible at confrontations; he’s either too angry or too much of a coward to say the right thing. It has never occurred to him to apologize in exchange for Lucas’ silence, though, and he doesn’t want Lucas to think that’s all Eliott cares about. He only wants to— he wants to—

What? What exactly does he want?

Lucas steps to the side, intending to walk off again, and Eliott can’t have that. He doesn’t have the words lined up quite readily in his mind yet but he knows, for sure, that if Lucas just stays for a couple more minutes, the words will come to Eliott. He can feel it, it just—

His hand belatedly grabs for Lucas as his mind chases after the words, almost missing Lucas’ arm entirely. But just as quickly as he’s held, Lucas shakes Eliott off, stepping backwards violently enough to have him careening into the wall. It goes against Eliott’s every instinct to not reach out steadying hands as he watches Lucas stagger. It’s only the intensity of Lucas’ glower that stops him, like he’d have no problem smiting Eliott into smithereens if he dares to lay another finger on him.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” Lucas throws his backpack on the ground between them and Eliott watches it skid to the tip of his boots, a dawning dread churning at the pit of his stomach. “You made it very clear where you stand, Eliott. Now why don’t you be a man of your fucking word for once and just fuck off!” 

A part of him flares at the harsh words, naturally, but Eliott understands he’s reaping his own harvest. Although Eliott is many, many terrible things, not once has he ever refused to take responsibility for the hurt he’s caused, no matter what state of mind he’d been under at the time. So Eliott shoves down the anger that heats his blood, ignores the temper pounding at his head, and swallows twice before speaking. This will not be a repeat of Friday night. 

He picks up the discarded backpack and carefully approaches, making sure to leave enough space between the two of them so as to not smother Lucas. “Please,” he says, voice quieting as he stretches an arm out to hand the bag back to its owner. “Just look at me, please?” 

Lucas’ shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the very picture of righteous fury, but when he does look up, Eliott’s met with none of the animosity he expects. Instead, Lucas’ eyes are wide and scared, tears threatening to spill from those lovely blues. Eliott is shot by the sight of it, unprepared to see Lucas — headstrong, spitfire Lucas — looking so devastated. 

He can’t comprehend how someone so beautiful could allow someone as unworthy as Eliott close enough to hurt.

“Don’t do that,” Lucas says just as softly, and Eliott flinches as a finger ghosts along below his eye. He brings his own hand up, chasing after the whisper of Lucas’ touch, and Eliott realizes he’s also crying like some pathetic echo to Lucas’ feelings. “Stop it, I’m supposed to be cussing you out right now,” Lucas scolds, snatching the bag from Eliott’s hand. “I can’t do that if—”

Eliott would have loved to hear the rest of that sentence, even if it’s just more insults hurled towards him. He’s sunk low enough to admit that anything is better than a cold shoulder from Lucas. 

As it is, he never gets to hear the full of it, because someone is pulling him back by the arm in one second, and then he’s down on the floor in the next. Eliott registers the familiar pain at the bridge of his nose once his head stops ringing.

Fuck, at least that punch literally knocks the sadness part of his rapidly cycling moods— Eliott doesn’t feel much like crying now. No, irritation comes flooding back with a vengeance and if it weren’t for the sight of Lucas’ figure standing in front of him, Eliott would’ve gotten up and returned that blow twice as hard. 

“What the fuck?” Lucas yells at the perpetrator, blocking Eliott from view when the guy tries to go in for more. Eliott sits up, one hand feeling around his nose, content to let Lucas handle whatever the hell’s going on for now. “What’s your problem?” 

“He’s bothering you!” Ah. Good old Nigel. Where did he even come from? 

“We were talking,” Lucas hisses, shoving Nigel back when he hovers too close. “Would you fucking chill? What are you even doing here—” 

“Talking?” Nigel sneers, eyes cutting towards Eliott, who waves back with a slightly bloody hand and inwardly snickers when it seems to piss the guy off even more. “I was fucking worried about you, that’s why I came back and this is what I get? Is this why you rejected me? Hung up on Demaury, are you?”

“I’d watch the next words coming out of that mouth, Nick.”

“It’s Nigel! Fuck, whatever, you want to be another notch on his bedpost? Go ahead, but don’t come crawling to me when he—”

Eliott pulls Lucas back and launches himself forward, letting the satisfying crunch of Nigel’s nose under his knuckles power him through the inevitable sting that comes after. Behind him, Lucas mutters a high pitched, Jesus Christ.  

“Stop, just stop. Sit down, Eliott.” Lucas rushes to push himself in between the two of them and it would be so, so easy to move him. Just put Lucas to the side and continue letting off some steam, but Lucas doesn’t sound like he’s playing around and Eliott would like to live until he graduates, at least. 

To Nigel’s credit, he does look like he’s regretting everything he’s said right about now. Maybe part of it’s the bleeding nose but Eliott would bet it’s mostly due to the pissed off expression Lucas is currently wearing. 

“Sit,” Lucas repeats. Eliott sits with only minor grumbling. “You.” He directs his scathing voice towards Nigel who’s halfway to quaking by now. Eliott scoffs, the guy wouldn’t survive a day as Lucas’ boyfriend. “Go to the nurse.”

“You’re making me go alone?” Nigel squeaks out.

“Want him to hold your fucking hand or something?” Eliott can’t help but pitch in, biting back the rest of his words when Lucas levels him with a look. 

“Shut up.” Lucas rubs a hand all over his hair, making a bigger mess out of them. “You know what?” he says, chuckling a little maniacally, “I don’t even want to deal with either of you.”

And then he just takes off to the end of the hall. Eliott, for the second time within the hour, falls all over himself to follow. He still hasn’t apologized and he has to do it now. 

“Lucas, I am so fucking sorry,” he blurts out once they’re alone at the stairwell. Eliott’s still standing by the door, hesitant to keep going as Lucas eyes him from the bottom of the stairs. “I was a dick on Friday and even before that I— I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

“Okay.” Eliott’s head snaps up, and Lucas laughs, backing up until he hits the wall, the distance between them ever increasing. “Okay, I just. I just don’t get it. Why did you go after me if you were just going to ignore me in campus? And why did you go for someone else while I… while my dumb ass finally thought… I mean, I know you aren’t exactly a date to marry type of guy but come on, me and her? At the same time? Why?”

Eliott shakes his head against the questions, words stuck at the tip of his tongue, refusing to come out. He has so many and too little to say all at once. He wants to say that Lucas scares him so he’d taken the coward’s way out. He wants to say that he only did it to prove something to himself— wants to say that he failed to prove that exact something to himself.

“I freaked out, okay? I just, I didn’t— I don’t know how to handle you,” he forces out, voice small, vaguely aware that none of that likely made a smidgen of sense. Even so, he makes his way down the stairs with no protests coming from Lucas. 

“And?” Lucas prompts, sounding slightly less murderous this time.

“And what?” Eliott steps down the last stair, finally on level ground with him. 

“That— that’s it?” 

“I don’t know…” 

A long silence follows, like Lucas is waiting for him to continue. But it quickly becomes apparent that no follow up is coming through. “Nice. Okay. Good talk,” Lucas snorts, “see you around.” 

“Wait, wait.” Eliott truly hates himself for losing words when he needs them most. “Lucas, please, I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him up every time he wants to lay it all out in the open— a well groomed defence mechanism, maybe. And the easy solution is to shift the blame away from himself, remind Lucas that Eliott’s free to do whatever he wants as long as he’s not committed to one particular person, but he knows that’s not the point here. What Lucas wants to hear is something that Eliott is yet to admit even in the safety of his own head.

The fire exit door opens to mild chattering from a group of girls heading up the stairs and Eliott doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t care about how this might look like to them. Lucas, on the other hand, takes it as an opportunity to shove past Eliott. 

“Better fix that then,” Lucas whispers, drawing close yet maintaining it so that not a single part of them is touching. “Cause you can think all you want, Eliott, but you’ll never have me.” 

Looking into his eyes, Eliott understands the phenomena of even the warmest blue oceans being unable to hide the cold black down under if you only push deep enough. They brush shoulders as Lucas slips inside the door, leaving Eliott to stand alone on the landing, struck speechless.

::

::

Eliott’s figured it out, you know. The big elusive formula to avoiding heartbreak.

He’s sitting on Sofiane’s couch, a bag of ice pressed to his smarting nose. He doesn’t think it’s broken but then again, it’s gone too numb for him to really tell. 

Going numb. That’s it, that’s the formula. 

It’s worked out so, so well for him. People can say shit all they want but Eliott still thinks he’s lived some of his best years ever since he just stopped caring. Except somewhere along the way, he’d made a mistake, had possibly gotten too complacent, too confident with the life he’s gotten used to and now—

He’s tripped up. Because he sure as hell is the furthest thing from numb right now. 

And it honestly hurts like a fucking trainwreck.

You’ll never have me.

He squeezes his eyes shut, welcoming the sting that comes with the movement. “Sof,” he calls out, a little nasal from how careful he is to not agitate his injury. 

“Yeah?” The cushions dip under Sofiane’s weight and Eliott feels a glass of water and some painkillers being shoved into his hand. 

“Why did you wait so long for Imane?” 

His question goes unanswered long enough for Eliott to remove the ice bag off his face.

“What?” Sofiane asks, rightly confused.

Eliott sighs, “You’ve had a crush on her since before high school. It’s not like you’re ugly—”

A snort, “Well thanks.”

“—and there were lots of easier options,” Eliott continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Plus we’re friends with Idriss! Isn’t that, I don’t know, intimidating?” 

“I’m not looking for an easy relationship, Eli, I want a real one.” Sofiane shrugs. “Why would I be intimidated? Idriss is nice and I haven’t done anything wrong so it’s not like—” 

Eliott looks up when Sofiane cuts himself off, watching the morbid realization settle over his features. “What?” He might as well play dumb for as long as he can. 

“Who did you get in a fight with?” 

“I told you, some punk with a hero complex.” 

“Over what?” 

He puts his nearly melted bag down and reaches for the glass of water, taking his time in swallowing down the painkillers. “Nothing.”

“Eliott, I can’t help you if you won’t tell the truth.”

“Who says I need help with anything?”

“Uh, the fact that you came here with a bleeding nose for starters?” Sofiane shakes his head, watching Eliott practically drown himself with his glass of water. “Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“Please tell me you listened to what I told you at that party.”

Oh god, he really should’ve gone to Idriss. There’d be less sympathy and more laughing but at least Idriss doesn’t know that Eliott’s maybe slightly a little more than attracted to Lucas. 

“What party?”

“Stop acting dumb!”

“I’m not!” 

A pillow is thrown at the crown of his head but it thankfully misses his face, and Sofiane sounds like he’s laughing more than anything, so Eliott figures it’s safe to drop the act. “Okay, fine, no, I didn’t listen.”

“Ugh, Eliott.”

“I know. And I fucked up.”

“Already? It’s been less than a month.” 

“I know, fuck.” 

“So what happened?”

Eliott shrugs, getting up to toss his ice bag in the sink. “Nothing. He told me to leave him alone.” 

Sofiane’s got a strange constipated look on his face. Good to know some of his friends have that much faith in him. “Wait, Lucas said to leave him alone?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

He returns to the living room and drops back down on the couch. “Unless ‘why can’t you just leave me alone’ has another secret meaning I’m not aware of then yes, I’m very sure.” 

Sofiane whistles lowly. 

“It was my fault though,” Eliott admits, poking at the threads peeking from the cushion covers. “He saw me and Eleanor.” 

“Oh.” Sofiane actually looks a little apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It’s fine, nobody forced me to approach her. And I said some shitty stuff too so it’s not like it was all because of that.” 

“Adrien doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Mhm.” Eliott pulls at the ends of his hair, only feeling slightly better now that someone else is privy to his little secret. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I mean, nothing happened right? So is it so bad to just move on from this?” 

“Yeah. Problem is that I don’t want to move on.” 

Hearing that, Sofiane straightens his posture, turning fully on the couch so that his whole body is faced towards Eliott. He sees enough of Sofiane’s giddy smile from his peripheral to feel like he’s just activated the guy’s slumber party mode. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Sofiane goads, grin widening when Eliott responds with a groan. 

“Shut up.”

“No, really, is the Eliott Demaury actually crushing on someone right now?”

Gross understatement. “I will eat all the food in your fridge if you don’t stop.” 

Sofiane laughs him off, arms swaying about as he wiggles in his spot and damn, are the guys really going to be so happy to see Eliott catching feelings? Well, probably not Adrien considering the context but still. 

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” Sofiane stops his bird mating dance and schools his expression into somewhat of a serious one. 

“Which part of he told me to leave him alone did you miss?” 

“Fuck, that’s right eh?” Lip caught between his teeth, Sofiane peers up at Eliott like he’s got something to say but is holding back for whatever reason. Eliott narrows his eyes at him until he continues with a hesitant, “How about give it some time? And then shoot him a text message? No harm in asking for one more chance, it’s a yes or no question.”

“He has me blocked on Instagram though, and he never gave me his phone number.”

“Oh my god.” 

“Yeah.” Eliott thunks his head back down on the couch, fingers busy tracing invisible patterns on the covers. “How did Idriss react when he found out about your crush on Imane?” 

Sofiane shrugs, slumping down on the space beside Eliott. “He got all winky and said he’d put in a good word.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” A pause, and then socked feet poke against his, annoying enough to have Eliott looking away from the very interesting ceiling Sofiane’s apartment has. “But I also don’t have a, uh, colourful relationship history like you so… no offence.” 

Eliott blindly throws a cushion in Sofiane’s direction and relishes in the squawk that follows. 

“But hey?” Sofiane continues when Eliott doesn’t say anything in response, “let it rest for a while, Eli. If you still feel the same after that, then at least you’ll know it’s really serious this time.” 

He already knows. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“Eliott.”

“Hm?”

“You weren’t always like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Eliott isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say in return, but it seems like Sofiane isn’t looking for a response anyway. “Adrien’s known you forever and yeah, the past couple of years might be at the forefront of our minds right now but we know you’re a good guy. Adri knows that the most.” 

Eliott quirks an eyebrow and Sofiane raises his hands, palms up as he shrugs. 

“All I’m saying is that things might not be as bad as you think they are, okay?” 

“Okay.” Eliott still thinks it’s pretty bad, but he’s not going to argue against a source for hope. 

::

::

Eliott wishes he could say he gets productive for the next two weeks that follows but really, all he’s done is drink coffee, pretend to start on his assignments, and miss Lucas’ snarky messages. Not necessarily in that order. 

Sofiane’s taken pity on him five days in and sometimes lets Eliott borrow his phone to pine over Lucas’ Instagram posts. Granted, Lucas doesn’t post much but the one photo he put up of himself looking bored at the skate park is enough to last Eliott for a few more days. 

He’s very much aware that he’s being wildly pathetic, rejecting parties left and right (he already knows they’d be boring anyway), rejecting dates left and right— also potentially boring, but he’s mostly afraid of further proving to himself that Lucas has already ruined him for everyone else and they haven’t even kissed yet— or hugged, for that matter. Pathetic indeed.  

On Friday, though, he gives into Idriss’ well-meaning and most likely accidentally set up date with one of his classmates. If only to ward off any suspicions from how weird he’s acting. Adrien’s been side eyeing him a little too much for comfort these days. 

So he’s on this date and the guy’s very cute but he’s also talking about American football like it’s a gift from the gods themselves. Eliott knows nothing about American football. This would usually be the time when Eliott would excuse himself to the bathroom and speed google some facts on the subject so as to impress his date. But right now, he doesn’t care about being unimpressive at all. 

The guy, Aron, is an exchange student from California— all tanned skin and pretty smiles and endearing accent. He’s probably what the kids these days would call a snack.

It’s too bad Eliott can’t help but think that Lucas’ smaller silhouette would look beautiful against the red backdrop of the massive booths they’re sitting in. How he keeps wishing to brush his hand against soft brown hair every time he glances up, hands lying limp on his lap when he’s met with the blond of Aron’s neatly styled coif instead. The blue of Aron’s eyes isn’t quite deep enough and Eliott can pinpoint exactly which shade it is on his dried up palette at home. He still can’t figure out the right mix for Lucas’. 

Anyway, the point is that he’s losing his mind. 

When they reach a short lull in conversation, Eliott rushes to say, “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” And proceeds to lock himself in a stall, sit on the toilet lid, and stare at the lights blankly. 

The bathroom door slams open not long after and Eliott stands up on instinct, ready to remove himself from the vicinity should there be some kind of beef brewing, but only one set of footsteps pace to where the sinks are.

“Hey, you still there?” The person says, presumably into his phone.

Eliott reaches to unlock the stall, he’s had enough eavesdropped conversations to last him a lifetime thank you very much—

“Lulu? Can you hear me clearly?” 

You have got to be kidding me. Fate must think this is funny. He must be some kind of joke to the deities or something. 

“I’m at work, Lucas,” the guy says regretfully enough and Eliott does pull the stall door open then, keeping his head down as he tugs on the knobs of the sink, washing his hands for lack of any other excuses to stay. “Where’s Yann? Didn’t you guys go together?” The tap shuts off, Eliott reaches for the paper towels. “Oh— oh, damn, good for him but— no, you should stay there and I’ll call your brother okay— what do you mean no? Lucas, shut up you sound shitfaced.” 

If Eliott’s learned anything from his accidental sleuthing adventures, it’s that Lucas is a terribly reckless drunk. Finally raising his head, Eliott meets eyes with Lucas’ blond friend through the mirror. It’s admittedly a little funny how he gapes wordlessly at the sight of Eliott. 

Not one to miss an opportunity, Eliott takes advantage of the obvious distraction and snatches the phone from the guy’s hand — Arthur, his name tag says — he’ll apologize profusely later but Eliott really doesn’t want a repeat of Lucas going missing for an entire weekend.

“Where are you?” he says into the phone, noting that there’s no blaring music coming from the other line. If Lucas is where Eliott thinks he is right now then at least he’s outside the house already. 

“Whoa.” Lucas’ voice is slightly distorted coming from the other line but Eliott still sighs at the first sound of it after the too-long silence. “You’re not Arthur.” 

“No, so where are you?” 

“Nooo, where are you?” Lucas giggles into the phone and Eliott has to suppress a smile. Fuck, this is serious but Lucas is being an idiot. “You sound like someone I know.” If he’s being this friendly with Eliott then it only means that he’s past the point of tipsy and well into happy drunk territory. 

“Wanna take a guess?” Eliott easily dodges when Arthur tries to grab his phone, the latter flinching back in surprise when Eliott has the gall to put a finger to his lips and shush him. 

“Mmmm,” Lucas stalls, but Eliott knows he’s got the right answer. He tries not to dwell on the fact that drunk Lucas remembering his voice sends another one of cupid’s arrows straight into his heart. “Weed guy.” 

And Eliott laughs, inexplicably happy about that. “Where are you, Lucas?” 

“I don’t know…” His syllables drag as he speaks and Eliott hears some shuffling and then a worrying crash, before Lucas’ laughter can be heard from a distance. “There are two blue houses!” 

Yeah, Eliott knows exactly where he is. “Stay there, okay?”

“Why?” 

“I’m—” But he’s not sure if Lucas would only run off if given that information. “We’ll get you home.” He doesn’t wait for another response, returning the phone back to a stunned Arthur. “Remind him to stay where he is every few minutes, god knows how many times he’ll forget.” 

Eliott dashes out the restaurant like a man on a mission, bullshitting about some urgent emergency as he passes by a confused Aron. He feels bad, really, but if he doesn’t trust sober Lucas to follow any given instructions, then he trusts drunk Lucas even less. 

When Eliott gets off the bus and jogs the rest of the way to the house, it’s a relief to find Lucas’ hooded figure sitting on the pavement across from where the party is still obviously going strong.

“Lucas.” No answer, Lucas doesn’t even stir. “Lucas, come on, let’s get you home.” He reaches out gingerly, testing the waters by poking at Lucas’ arm. 

“Go ‘way,” Lucas says, sounding a lot less friendly than he’d been on the phone.

Eliott looks around and spots two empty beer bottles beside Lucas. He blinks down at them, having a hard time understanding if Lucas is actually even more drunk than he’d been earlier. 

“You can’t stay out here.” Eliott sighs, crouching down in front of him. 

“Well why not?” Lucas lifts his head off his curled arms, unfocused eyes glaring at a spot just above Eliott’s right ear. 

Without much else to do, Eliott sighs again. “Let’s go.” He tries to tug at Lucas’ sleeves to get him to stand, but only succeeds in making Lucas stumble backwards from how fast he tries to get away.

“Don’t touch me, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Oh god, he’s dealing with a child. “I’ll tell Adrien.” 

“You won’t tell Adri shit!” Lucas stands up, finally, but only to walk up to Eliott and point unsteady fingers to his face. “You’re not even supposed to know where I am! He doesn’t even know I like— he doesn’t know you played me! You. Won’t. Tell. Him. Shit.” He pronounces each word with a hard jab to Eliott’s chest. 

And okay, fuck, he’s got a point. “Fine, suit yourself.” Eliott steps back, hesitating, but maybe it’ll be smarter to have someone else take Lucas home instead. He turns around, looking through his contacts to see if Sofiane or Idriss would be available. 

“Fine!” Lucas screams from behind him and Eliott looks over his shoulder in time to catch Lucas sitting back down on the ground, hands pressed to his eyes. 

No. Eliott can’t walk away from him like this again. 

Eliott marches back to where he came from and promptly throws Lucas over his shoulder, barely staggering even when Lucas starts kicking and punching as much as his drunken limbs would allow. 

“Let me down!”

“Not until you behave yourself.”

“Now!”

“You won’t get anywhere like this and you know it.”

“I fucking—” Lucas slumps down, body steadily getting heavier as he stops struggling in Eliott’s hold. “I hate you,” he mutters softly and that, moronically enough, is what makes Eliott stumble. He tightens his arms around Lucas, pausing to realign his balance. “I hate you,” Lucas continues, sniffing in between words. “Why are you even here? I told you to stop already.” 

Eliott slows his walk, Lucas’ hitching breaths sending freezing pelts straight to his chest. They stop moving once they reach a corner, Eliott lowering Lucas down so he can stand on his own two feet, but Lucas immediately curls up, crouching on the ground like standing is too much of a chore at the moment. 

“Hey, I’m sorry okay?” he whispers back, bending at the knees so that they’re level with each other. “I promise I just want to get you home safe, that’s it.” He digs around his pockets for his phone, placing the device inside Lucas’ hands once he finds it. “Here, Adrien is speed dial 3, call him any time you feel you need to. I don’t care if he yells at me, I won’t walk away from you again.” 

Lucas fiddles with Eliott’s phone, running his thumb along the screen once before clutching it to his chest. “I can’t go home.” He blinks, a tear escaping from his eye. 

Eliott brushes it away before he can stop himself. “Why not?” 

“My parents think I’m sleeping over at Yann’s and mom will be so disappointed if I come home like this,” he says miserably, more tears running down his cheeks. 

Ah. Shit. “Come on, get on my back.” 

Once Lucas is settled on his back, now much calmer than earlier, Eliott continues walking, but turns to a different direction this time. 

“Where are we going?” Lucas asks drowsily, lips pressed into Eliott’s shoulder. 

Where indeed. 

::

::

Lucas is a near dead weight behind him when Eliott finally gets his door open. It’s a struggle when Lucas refuses to cooperate and lets his legs slide down every time Eliott lets go of them to search for his keys. But eventually they do make it inside. 

Eliott drops Lucas as gently as he can on the bed, huffing once he’s successfully done so without cracking any heads in the process. 

He roots around his closet for some clothes Lucas can use for the night when the sound of jackets and pants zipping startles him from the task. He turns around, eyes wild, when Lucas starts throwing his clothes — everything— off himself. 

Eliott almost wipes out when he slips on a sock in his rush to get to Lucas before the dumbass has the chance to remove his underwear off with his jeans.

“Stop, stop, hey.” Eliott catches Lucas’ hands, laughing when Lucas opens his eyes just to glare at him.

“It’s so hot.”

“It’s really not.” Eliott huffs another laugh, waiting until Lucas’ hands go slack in his before letting go, but he does help remove Lucas’ jeans when it’s clear that the latter is going to stay irritated until they’re off. 

It’s a workout to get him to wear a shirt, what with Lucas being hellbent on removing as many clothes as possible. Eliott knows it’s bound to get cold in the middle of the night, though, and he will not be responsible for Lucas catching a cold in his bed. 

“You’re so nice,” Lucas mumbles once he’s settled, looking warm and cozy in Eliott’s loose shirt. He’s so fucking cute, and it doesn’t help when Eliott feels those arms sliding around his neck, tugging him forward. Lucas doesn’t use much force to have Eliott following along helplessly, but it’s not like it would ever take all that much to have Eliott willingly inching into his space. 

Dredging up whatever’s left of his common sense, Eliott anchors his hands on either side of Lucas to keep somewhat of a distance between them. 

He shakes his head, arms trembling not only from the strain of keeping his weight off of Lucas. “No, you’re just drunk.” 

Lucas smiles, eyes half mast, still pretty under the hint of moonlight. His fingers brush maddening strokes over Eliott’s hair. “Eliott?” 

“Hm?”

“Why have you never kissed me?” 

Eliott’s heart thuds a frantic rhythm in his chest. “You never let me, baby.” 

The fingers in his hair stop moving, and Lucas’ eyes flutter close, Eliott watching the shadows of his lashes flirt along smooth cheeks. “I’ll let you now.” 

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down inch by minuscule inch. Lucas’ breath is warm and smells of alcohol, but Eliott knows he only has to duck down and bury his face in the space between his neck and shoulder to get his fill of the scent he’s truly been missing.

He doesn’t. Maybe in the future he’d have the privilege to do so. Hopefully.

Eliott lets their noses touch, light and fleeting, before he leans up and drops a gentle kiss over Lucas’ forehead. 

“Goodnight, Lucas.” 

[no-error]

Fantasy Klance Ficrec

Finally new list for fic recs. Hope ya all enjoy these awesome fics. :)

Remember check out tags!

Of Wolves and Wisps

Lance knows not to seek with his mind in the woods. The fae have a habit of twisting the desires sought by those who chase after the wisps. But when given no other choice, Lance makes the decision to alter his path. To change his fate.

He should have known, really, how things would turn out.

Never call out to wolves. One may just answer.

Words: 145,585 AO3

The Criminal Witch and His Knight of a Husband

Series

Under the rule of an unjust king, witches not employed by the crown had become illegal in the kingdom of Altea. Not wanting to work for a filthy murderer of a man, Lance spitefully refused to get his certification at the normal age of sixteen. But that was over half a decade ago. Altea is now ruled by the beautiful and reasonable Queen Allura, and Lance finds himself happily married to her head knight, despite his fugitive status.

Lance struggles with helping hot headed, prone to danger Keith stay alive, while simultaneously keeping his ability to cast spells a secret. He can't have him figuring anything out. After all, the last thing he wants is for his own husband to arrest him.

Words: 80,309 AO3

Star Cursed

A Dragon familiar is the last thing Lance expects to summon when he graduates lowest in the class at the Magerium. All he wants to do is summon a toad or a cat and get to work, but summoning a High Magic creature like a Dragon is something no one has done in hundreds of years. The Dragon, named Keith (why, WHY is he named Keith), is trained to be a familiar for the most powerful of mages.

Unluckily for him, Lance is assigned the task of lesser potions master. Lance has to navigate a precarious balance of grumpy-Dragon-with-nothing-to-do on top of his workload of boring tasks. That’s when he isn’t enduring the ridicule of the other students, who believe him to be “Star Cursed.” To make matters worse, discontent in the Magerium is brewing and it might mean danger for all High Magic creatures, which currently includes one Dragon named Keith

Words: 152,239 AO3

fit the crown to my head

“What’s the fun in a masquerade if you don’t flirt outrageously with the prettiest person in the room?” the young man says flippantly, and then winks at Keith. Keith huffs a laugh, amused.

“You keep saying things like that, but you haven’t seen my face,” he says, gesturing to his mask. “I could have warts under here. I could have spots, or scars.”

“You’d be lovely even with all of those,” the young man says, and he suddenly sounds serious. It takes Keith by surprise, makes his heart twist along with his stomach. “Your eyes,” he continues, tilting his head. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before.”

Words: 75,705 AO3

Magic Bound & Unbound

Set in a world where familiars and witches are paired to perform magic together, Lance is an aspiring witch who is desperate to find his bondmate. He's dreamed of the day when he would be able to perform bonded magic, but hides a dark secret that could ruin everything. Keith is a familiar who's seen a little too much of the world. He's been paired with witches multiple times and each one has forced and broken a bond on him, so now he swears off ever letting himself be paired again.

When they meet, though, Lance triggers something in Keith and it scares the hell out of him. A part of him desperately wants to be paired, but he's not sure he can take rejection one more time.

Words: 56,345 AO3

Regarding Park Benches and Demon Bites

Lance forces his eyes open, all the way this time. It takes them a second to adjust, and when they do, his stomach plummets to the center of the earth. The man is in a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms to reveal the runes inked across his pale skin. There’s a sword strapped across his back, a big one.

“You’re a Shadowhunter,” Lance blurts. Lance’s mother had warned him about getting mixed up with these bloodthirsty maniacs, and here he is, half conscious next to the very people he’d worked so hard to avoid the last two years. He’s fucked. Royally screwed. He isn’t sure what kind of punishment is handed out to warlocks for public intoxication but his mind races through options like indefinite imprisonment, dismemberment, death?

Words: 8,999 AO3

you build your tower (but call me home)

In the land of Arus, the youngest Nalquodian prince—Prince Leandro—is hidden away in a little castle that overlooks the kingdom; a countermeasure to protect him from the Galran assassins that have sworn to take his life.

And in the tallest tower of the castle, behind a grimy rose window and under a dusty sheet, is an enchanting gargoyle that the prince finds himself compelled to visit every day.

Almost as if by a spell...

Words: 63,041 AO3

Wild Magic

The Vastaya are an ancient and proud race, born of magic and man, and they are dying. The spread of humans makes the magic of their homelands run thin. What is left is preyed upon and corrupted by the rising galra influence.

After losing their home, what remains of the Marmora tribe scatters, fighting the spread of corruption where they can. For the last few centuries, this is the only life Keith has known. And with Shiro’s disappearance, he’s more alone than ever. But he keeps going, even if it means losing himself. For the fight. For his people. For their future. For his homelands. For magic.

The last thing he expected to find is another feathered vastaya, one with wings that shine like the sky and move like waves when he dances. He never asked for company, never wanted it. But as Keith finds himself growing fond of Lance’s flippant attitude and determined blue eyes, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to fight alone anymore.

Words: 151,776 AO3

A Touch of Magic

"Keith—" He feels his heart lurch as Keith squats down next to him. One hand on his wolf's head, scratching behind his ear. His eyes, however, remain fixed on Lance, and he had really hoped that the whole dry-mouth-lump-in-the-throat-heart-skipping-a-beat thing would've stopped happening when he turned, but here he is. Vampiric and still the flustered mess he was when he was human. "Buddy, I can't breathe—"

"You don't have to breathe," He says, that ghost of a smile still fixed and the whisper of amusement in his voice.

It sends chills down his spine.

Lance huffs as much as he can when there's a large wolf crushing his chest. "That doesn't mean it's not uncomfortable."

"You'll survive." He pats his wolf one last time before pushing to his feet. "Better luck next time, Lance."

"I'll get you one day, Keithy boy." He calls out as Keith walks away, disappearing from his vision and continuing down the path. "Just you wait."

Words: 19,953 AO3

For Fox Sake

Foxtail series

Photography has always been an passion of Keith's. Being able to capture that perfect moment - grant it immortality and unleash it to the world so that the people may decide what stories they tell - is what he lives for.

So when given the opportunity to expand his horizons, Keith finds himself on a month long excursion in the middle of nowhere, with only his camera and his own thoughts to keep him company.

And this forest - this mountainous landscape seemingly untouched by human hands - holds more than just a vast array of scenic landscapes and wondrous wildlife worthy of being captured in film.

It holds a secret. One Keith hadn't anticipated discovering, much less believing. And though they say "take only pictures, leave only footprints", Keith worries that when he finally has to return to his mundane world, he'll be leaving more than just tracks on the ground.

But his heart has always belonged to the woods, and he knows the fox will guard it well.

Words: 80,888 AO3

Ghost on the Shore

After moving into an desolated house in a swamp, Keith finds that the area's not as abandoned as he anticipated. He soon meets Lance, a mysterious boy that apparently lives out in the marsh, and who seems to possess magical powers to a certain degree.

Words: 37,055 AO3

It Never Rains on Saturday

Rain or Shine Series

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

Words: 22,726 AO3

Nameless

Lance McClain was not pale. He enjoyed the sun as much as any other, and though he was often run down or fatigued, this was due to his steadily amounting college work, not his need to sleep upside down. He was everything a vampire wasn't. Oh, except for his constant cravings for blood, and the name in cursive permanently scrawled over his wrist.

Since the name had appeared on Lance's thirteenth birthday, he'd been desperately waiting for the day he'd finally meet his soulmate. And it finally comes, the first day of his second year of college, delivering a boy that causes everything Lance had fantasized to come crashing down around him. Not only is his mate a human, but he's the kind of human that despises vampires. A hunter named Keith.

But matters of the heart aren't the only thing standing in Lance's way, for a much greater enemy is on the horizon, posing a threat not only to Lance and his family, but to Keith, too. The nameless are coming for them, and soon.

Words: 102,409 AO3

Were-woof

Living off the grid is one thing. Keith had been doing it his whole life. However, now that the mountain he has lived on his whole live is slowly being developed thanks to a ski resort it's getting harder and harder for Keith to keep to himself. Especially when he happens to catch the eye of a rather cute looking townie.

Words: 133,954 AO3

An Eternal Flame

“Do you have a deathwish?” The phoenix answers him with a question this time, apparently intent on dodging the question about its name. Maybe it’s for the best, Lance’s mama always warned him that he tended to get attached to things once he’d named them. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

He isn’t going to get attached this time.

Making sure that he’s still holding the phoenix’s attention, he reaches down and pushes his cloak aside, then lifts his shirt. There, bright red and ugly against his hip, are three long slashes. They aren’t scars, they aren’t healed in the slightest, they’re still red and open wounds. They don’t hurt, not in the physical sense, but Lance can’t help the repulsion he feels whenever he looks at them.

“Not a deathwish, a death sentence.”

Words: 63,692 AO3

[onegirllis]

Since Life is Strange 2 is finally fully released, I let myself to write a probably not-so-short review of the complete season. The momentum for such a summary is already gone I presume but it took me a moment to finally digest and find the proper words to describe what I think and feel about this production. Following the game from the start, I patiently waited to look at the story as a whole, hoping to find an explanation for tons of burning questions and satisfying outcomes to my choices and decisions. Unfortunately, most of those didn’t happen, therefore I present you with a piece that is not very favorable towards the newest Dontnod production, harsh in places but honest. Please, do not read if you really enjoyed the story of the two brothers and find it meaningful and important, not burdened with any fallacy. Life is way too short to read reviews that just leave you frustrated.

Remember the scene in Life is Strange season one (I still hate the fact that I have to separate different instances of the franchise calling them seasons), when Max summoned by an enormous plasma TV in Victoria’s room fantasizes about watching “Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within” on it? “I like this movie, I don’t care what everybody says,” getting protective about her preferences, the little freckle leaves the room soon after, never gifting us with any explanation as to why she indeed values this animation so much or why it was an important statement. It was never brought back again, it will never matter, becoming simply a meme material or a trigger for snarky comments from Twitch streamers and YouTubers. I watched the said movie a long time ago, recalling only two things about it: the breathtaking animation of hair at the beginning and the fact that the main male character looked like Ben Affleck. The rest of the story fell into obscurity before the end credits hit the screen. I reached for this title only because I was interested in anything video games related, and the name of the popular franchise was more than enough.

The same thing goes for Life is Strange 2.

Just like the mentioned FF: The Spirits Within, the second instance of the beloved series is more of an animation than an interactive experience. Recently, plenty of video games, overwhelmed by finally reachable technology of smooth mocaps, facial expressions, hyper-realistic locations, and scanned people as characters, turned into an alley dedicated to B-class movies. From adventures by David Cage to Death Stranding, video games started to flip their working template, replacing the actual action with long animations, not the other way around. With scattered gameplay, sometimes forced as if the developers reminded themselves at the last minute that this product is supposed to be interactive, they raise an eyebrow at best, and boil your blood with the lack of creativity at its worst. Life Is Strange 2 follows this trend with astonishing enthusiasm and to the core. Even regarding this particular genre that’s supposed to focus on narrative, it barely stands as a walking simulator becoming a hardly watchable TV series — a road trip story where walking is limited.

Well, shit.

The gameplay in Life is Strange 2 is nonexistent. To be frank, riveting action-packed sequences were never a trademark of the series, but a blatant lack of any didn’t make this experience any better. With the first one, the rewind power allowed the player to actually be part of the narrative. The second, where Sean just serves as a witness to his brother’s actions, plays more like a full motion picture. An enormous amount of un-skippable cut-scenes change LIS2 into a tedious, dragging journey straight from the worst selection of buy 1 get 3 free Z-class movies. The music and the mastery in creating an atmosphere that rose Dontnod to international fame due to widespread acclaim can’t save those sequences either. It almost feels like their own creation so enchanted the development team that they ignored all the red flags and clumsy solutions to immerse in the world themselves, treating the actual player as a lesser evil, throwing them a bone just to claim it is a video game format. To no surprise, most of the items the player interacts with don’t matter at all and don’t serve any purpose either to foreshadow an upcoming outcome, present exposition to the world, or be in any way helpful.

The lack of superpower is not an issue here though. Before the Storm met the expectations with way more grace, proving that a story doesn’t need a lot of strange in life to grip and hold its audience for hours. Watching a superhero growing up is an interesting premise, but a hell of a challenge to execute and execute well. Some stories like “Little Man Tate” translate to a brilliant film, but don’t necessarily work as games, after the planning stage or first Game Design Document. The references regarding the first game also remain scattered and uneven, tossed on the pile with a heap of faith that devoted fans would notice, but without a purpose in mind.

Even if I sound harsh, I do believe that Dontnod wanted to deliver the best story possible, but Life is Strange 2 feels even too big to absorb or fill with details. Captain Spirit, not necessarily my cup of tea either, was in my opinion way more coherent, as the creative team felt more comfortable with such a small scope of a product. Everything falls into place after careful exploration, makes more sense with every minute. The mystery about the mother, an alumnus of Blackwell Academy, and an admirer of Jefferson’s work is a solid premise that didn’t raise expectations up the roof nor overpromise. The mystery of yet another mother, this time Life is Strange 2, played for over 3 and a half episodes, falls flat in comparison and ends in the disappointing question “that’s it?”

No, that’s not it. There’s more to it.

Life is Strange 1 was mocked as Tumblr: The Game, while the second instance could easily pass as Twitter: The Animated Series. The writers didn’t challenge themselves or the audience to answer the question of why certain people voted for Donald Trump, or why they would do it yet again. The only reason presented in the story is quite simplistic and obvious – because they are evil, deplorable people, not worth listening to. They are the worst. We are better. Issues of being harangued by foreigners about domestic policies and troubles of your own country are a brewing can of worms I wouldn’t like to touch at the moment. Still, this particular stance, which serves as painful generalization that every single republican voter in the US is foul, can be forged only by someone who either lives in a bubble or doesn’t live here at all. Simply because we all have parents, grandparents, relatives, friends, or co-workers who decided to elect the actual prescient to power. Some of them are racists, disgusting, and horrible personas, and some just belong to the scared of change, confused and manipulated crowd that don’t accept the fast-paced transformation nor the need for a revolution. We coexist together, arguing and fighting, especially during holiday breaks, but even if it costs me a headache, I wouldn’t call them evil. Millions of people voted for Trump, but only a few wouldn’t spit on a swastika if confronted with the Nazi banner.

It’s even more painful when you understand what kind of message was sewed into the stitches of a shattered story. There was no ill will, or at least I don’t think so, but an honest, genuine need to express the concern about modern America. Unfortunately, when executed, this concern changed into another yell or discourse by the family table during an argument with your racist uncle. An open discussion in a game community that unifies both left and right supporters equally by their love for this form of entertainment would be appreciated by many, just like after playing LIS1, a handful of people changed their views on LGBT issues.

Instead of a lesson that had to be experienced, we got a lecture about morality and tolerance, contradicting itself constantly and nonchalantly following the well-known tropes NOT in a sarcastic and admirable way known from Saturday Night Live, but in a lazy and sometimes even clumsy substitute of a dramatic format. The political landscape painted in LIS2 is caricatural, unforgiving, harsh like a deserted wasteland with a few peaceful oases to stop at, but shies over its own existence, not willing to thoroughly discuss the dreadful weather. Guess what? The sand won’t change into greener pastures only because you close your eyes, putting your imagination to work. Donald Trump might not be re-elected for a second term, but his supporters will stay in place, even more conflicted by the other side. It’s a brave decision to deliver such a punitive story but such a cowardice to break its pillars, hoping that the general public wouldn’t notice or get distracted when things get too heated up.

The lack of subtlety forced scene by scene is even more polarizing. There is no peaceful dialogue with the other side as if it couldn’t exist in this world. There is no change of heart or a path to do so. Sometimes it feels like the only message that LIS2 writers wanted to provide was to find your own, peaceful and liberal hermitage, either among hipsters in the Redwood forest, driving a car that your ‘family with money but no soul’ had bought you or move to a trailer park filled with artistic souls in Nowhere, Arizona. Any contact with the outside world can hurt you and your feelings. Drop off the grid or die. The end.

No discussion.

The efforts of trying to understand the motivation behind even the most dreadful character of the first game, got lost in preparation for the second. LIS2 builds a higher wall between two political sides, than any other game released after Trump became the president of the United States and desperately wants to keep it erected, ignoring the crumbling foundations of such. A proverbial river you shall not cross nor build bridges over since the only outcome would end up in death, destruction, or you and your young brother getting hurt.

I’m familiar with the discussion about LIS2, especially with a shouting match that if you do not like this instance, you are therefore a racist pig, a disgusting person without a soul, conscience, or working brain that doesn’t understand the situation and never will. On the contrary. In my humble opinion, we deserve a better discussion, better stories, better representation, not sticking to whatever is presented because it’s brave enough or was never approached before. I disagree with the stance that a Latino, bisexual main character is enough to close your eyes, omitting all problems that this title tries to shun, riding its high horse. No. Those topics are way too crucial to just walk past, setting for less with your head down, thanking for the game industry to take notice. You the player deserve better, even if you don’t struggle with specific issues on a daily basis. And after playing LIS2, you may feel so good about yourself, stating that an effort was made but it it wasn’t made enough.

I expected more. I wanted Dontnod to do more, and frankly, I feel silly putting so much faith in them and supporting their efforts. Armed with resources provided by Square Enix, I’m sure they are aware of the fact that most of their audience is quite young and wouldn’t mind a lesson or message about what to do amidst troubled times. Well, Dontnod doesn’t have any but warns you that voicing your opinion or being different may end up in disaster. Outraged, they just yell at the news, angry about what our reality has changed into, but nothing comes out of it. It’s all right, though. Our parents do the same thing. We started to do the same thing, but instead of complaining to family members, we have Twitter.

While Life is Strange 2 tries really hard to come across as a realistic and raw portrait of the US at the end of the decade, they didn’t have enough courage to show realistic obstacles two runaways would be faced with. The brothers do meet a handful of bigots and racists, but the rest of the fellow travelers help them beyond understanding or hidden agenda. Sean and Daniel never really struggle to find a place to stay or a warm meal, usually complaining on or off the screen just before the game mercifully provides them with a solution. There’s no trap they can fall into, no ambiguous characters that promise one thing and then demand something in return. It’s very honorable for Brody to pay for a place to stay, but if an adult man gave young kids a key to a motel room, I would consider a way more sinister outcome. It’s not even about Brody himself, since good people exist, just like the racist ones, but the boys not even once are put in a realistic, scary situation created by a supposed ally. If somebody is helpful, this person is always decent, offering them a job, a ride, some food or money. The bad people wear red hats and yell racist slurs. America by Dontnod is simple to navigate but raw and painful when not necessary and fairy-tale-like when it could teach an actual lesson. Running away from home is not so hazardous because of Trump supporters but because you can end up dead in a ravine, being robbed and raped. It’s not the first and surely not the last time when the developers feared to touch any topic of sexual abuse with a ten-foot pole, but then the journey plays more like a vacation than a desperate escape. Sean gets beaten-up a few times, loses his eye due to a brawl, but it doesn’t affect him at all in the long run. When Daniel finally gets kidnapped, it’s not an Epstein-like circle, dealing with human trafficking, but a religious cult that worships him. The first option, even if it feels like a stretch, is unfortunately way more realistic than the latter.

Preaching to the choir is not the biggest sin this game commits though. That brings me to the most discussed theme of the production, which is education.

With all due respect to the developers, writers, and designers, Life is Strange 2 in this aspect falls flat as a discovery of a Sunday father, who is responsible for taking his kid to the zoo and struggles to find any common ground with his offspring, either trying to crack jokes about famous pop-culture phenomena or talk about food discussing their next favorite meal. The said father is trying his best though, perfectly aware that it’s his only chance to teach his son a thing or two, but doesn’t know exactly where to start, torn apart between buying more ice cream and throwing a fit about a stain on the carpet. The father doesn’t even like kids that much and can’t translate his lessons into an engaging play that would be memorized forever, rolling his eyes and counting the days to his kid’s graduation so they could share a beer or two and talk about adult things. Now, any effort to explain how the world works seems to be in vain, therefore a waste of his precious time. Leaving the emotional approach aside, the father doesn’t have to cuddle with his kid when he’s scared, bullied, traumatized or asks millions of questions about the future or present, because the full-time mother is waiting at home willing to replace him in this duty. The mother, knowing that her ex-partner sucks big time at talking about feelings, will be the one who will hold the kid, patiently explaining that the boogieman does not exist, playing pirates, or stay late at night to distract his sorrows. The kid will never discuss his fears with his dad though, trying so hard to impress his male parent. He will never know, and it’s fine. The mother is going to do the job while he can deliver a once a week entertainment along with the lines of ultimate wisdom that most likely will be forgotten anyway.

This is not raising a kid, it’s nursing them like a fragile plant in a flowerpot, focusing on water, sun, and fertilizer, but discarding the emotional background, hoping that somebody else would take care of such issues if things go south.

Sean can’t raise his brother well, simply because he is immature and will stay immature for the rest of the game. There is no moment when he truly goes through a transformation changing from a boy to a man, a fully grown-up adult who takes responsibility for his actions and makes sacrifices for the sake of the greater good. No, surrendering in a fight in the church doesn’t serve as one, neither does the first sexual experience. He doesn’t wonder even once if the hastily constructed plan is benefiting Daniel, forcing it to the last minutes of the game, taking the separation as the worst thing that could happen. There’s no spark of a tragedy like in “The Road” when a father gives up his son to strangers for the sake of saving him. Sean doesn’t care, presenting no character development across the board, merely pushing forward. If there are doubts, they disappear in the blink of an eye when the next cut-scene takes place.

I understand that such a young lad as Sean wouldn’t know how to raise a kid, especially if having no model to rely on. However, a part of growing pains is developing the awareness that we know way less than we assumed. That said, Sean Diaz is always assuming he is right, not asking for advice regarding Daniel even once. Apparently, it’s not something that he’s interested in or ever will be. If Life is Strange 2 wants to pass as a coming of age story, it falls on its face before it even starts.

Moreover, locked in the auto-driven plot, Sean cannot grow up and gain a new perspective; otherwise, the story wouldn’t reach its big, explosion-packed finale of crossing the border. His desperate efforts of influencing his brother usually converge to order him around, feed him with half-truths or simply leave him in the dark when convenient. I didn’t see any difference or change in Sean’s approach from episode one when he scolded his brother, annoyed for his party plans being interrupted, and in episode three, when he reacts similarly, for the sake of spending time alone with the chosen love interest. There’s no deep thought, no wonder about his own wrongdoings expressed to his brother, no faults admitted, no fallacies explained, with one life-threating situation after another. From an illegal weed growing farm, to destroying police stations, Sean just follows the road, paved by the writers, oblivious to the harm done to his younger sibling, as if Daniel simply forgets the morally gray choices, growing his moral spine entirely on performing chores. Washing the dishes and peeling potatoes does not make us better people but understanding a perspective so different than our own does. Thanks to Sean, Daniel expands his world, but it’s a very one-sided perspective, focusing on always praised, hippie-style liberties, and disregarding every option that requires any code of conduct, as represented by the grandparents. While the older brother forces the younger one to keep up with the designed tasks, he never discusses the issues that really matter. In episode 3, the youngster gets involved in a heist, a robbery, but after it fails, costing Sean his eye and the possible death of some of their companions, this is never mentioned. Mexico, a plan that is hardly a plan at all, is supposed to be an answer to all the questions and doubts. El Dorado of knowledge.

This is not how you raise a dog, not to mention a child.

There is no emotional bond, no special ties between the brothers, except a few problematic moments that play mostly on simple connection forged by blood, not by circumstances. Sean worries about Daniel because he’s his brother, but the player starts to wonder quite quickly why and what for. Reminiscing about old times gets nailed down to a few lines about the comforts and amenities of a life long gone. The tough topics, such as grieving after personally witnessing their father’s death, are mentioned scarcely and without much emphasis, as if serving only as a reminder to the player, but not a poignant struggle. Same goes with the dog, their friends mutilated at the end of the weed farm chapter, Chris (aka captain spirit) who is mentioned just before the end credits of the second episode, and tons of others. On top of it, the scattered and not so often dialogue lines about putting people in danger refer only to the good folk, siding with the brothers, not to humankind in general. Killing a police officer or knocking down a gas station owner are just natural ways of how things work in America, honorable deeds since it’s apparently perfectly fine for a kid to attempt a homicide if people are mean.

What a brave story.

Chloe Price had been suffering for five years after William, her beloved father, died in a car crash. For Sean and Daniel, there is no grief to experience, but a memory to share with a plan to erect a monument in the future. Esteban Diaz is a plot device, a symbol of inequality, but not a family member. Even a dream sequence with his guest appearance lacks the impact of the subconscious conversations we’ve seen in Before the Storm. It just simply doesn’t matter.

I can’t believe I have to say this but the relatable part about LIS1 wasn’t the tornado, just like in LIS2 crossing the border is its weakest point, but it’s those small moments, gestures, quick smiles in passing, the atmosphere and a breath of fresh air when a line, sometimes silly, got dropped. In the most recent story, there is not a single line worth quoting, memorizing, or discussing. And please, don’t bring up “awesome possum” again. It’s literally taken from The Lego Movie song.

The brothers, just like Thelma and Louise, decide to leave everything behind, throwing away the life as they knew it and forging their own future despite all odds. Although, when the two desperate women drive off the cliff committing suicide, chased by the armed forces, there is nothing to explain as the audience fully understands their reasoning. Their will of life was strong, but the path they followed was too steep to return. Without any help or support, confronted with brutal honesty and the world’s cruelty around them, it is the best possible solution. The story of the two brothers, even if it tries to echo the iconic movie, couldn’t be more different. Despite resources at their disposal, family members that do care about their wellbeing, the whole community rising in protest in their hometown, they risk everything for the sake of getting back to the land they don’t even know. Their Mexican heritage is also mentioned just as an exposition, and, as we learn in the very last episode, just before the ending that Daniel doesn’t speak Spanish. So why do the stubborn Diaz brothers despite all odds travel to Mexico? Because.

Canada was too close, I guess.

Last but not least, let’s talk about sex, because why the hell not. A lot of fans or admirers of the previous instances howled across all social media about how much they miss Max and Chloe. I don’t really think it’s the case, but those two girls symbolize something that LIS2 has a tremendous problem with. There’s no emotional connection between the characters the brothers meet along the way, especially the ones that really should matter. Even the love interests feel more like nagging choices than anything else, an experiment during a camping trip, not something that would last or could be fantasized about. Instead of nerve-wracking decisions such as if you’re supposed to kiss Rachel, hold her hand, or the ecstatic discovery (for PriceFielders, but it was ecstatic, right?) that Chloe changed her phone’s background, we are instead presented with a lineup of sexual experiences, that maybe trail-blaze the road when it comes to topics tackled by a video game, but fall into obscurity as an emotional construction. There is no build-up between Sean and Finn as everything develops to a kiss in one conversation, and Cassidy has fewer lines than Victoria Chase before she invites Sean to her tent. We watch it as we watched it before, trying to get attached, feel something, but the only thing we remember was how much it touched us years ago when we played a different game but with a similar title. The sex scene, relatable or not, is stripped from the emotional intimacy and is as sensitively challenging as a dog being killed.

Character development doesn’t move an inch even if Sean, a surrogate father to his brother, lost his virginity to an older girl. There’s no single thought in his head that he might conceive his own offspring during this short but probably memorable experience. There’s not a single line except for the satisfaction of some female parts finally discovered. Oh, dashing explorer, will you ever learn?

It’s sad. I did want to like this game and gave it plenty of chances like no other titles ever. I’ve made excuses for the poor execution, technical problems, with the whiny voice acting that was driving me up the wall, plot twists written (I think) on a lunch break, and so on, but I couldn’t stand it. It’s a hard pass when it comes to a video game in general, not to mention the story, script, and everything else. Life is Strange season one; a low-budget production, was the first step to create a masterpiece that LIS2 might’ve been able to become. The second season didn’t learn much from LIS1’s mistakes, additionally exchanging the well-known beauty for a garbage fire, ignoring all the warning signs along the way. Delivering a story that tackles such important topics, it slides between the checkmarks on the board of issues, mentioning conversion therapy, religion, gayness, illegal immigration, and a spiral of crimes but never elaborating on any of them. There is no meat and potatoes presented on the plate of events, but just a sticky, sweet gravy with nothing underneath that leaves you not only hungry but frustrated, willing to call the chef and yell at the waiter. The trick is that unless you were living under a rock, there are tons of other productions in different media that give those themes justice, carefully unfolding all the aspects, giving voice to both sides. The fact that it’s the first video game having an affair with serious issues doesn’t matter. I don’t believe that anybody who consumes any kind of other media like decent books, movies, or TV shows can remain blind to the problems of Life is Strange 2, claiming it to be a good story. It’s not.

So here we are, girls, boys, and beyond. Life is Strange 2 with its broken mechanics, story, characters, and spirit slowly but surely will be forgotten. It’s Dontnod’s Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within that you might love to watch or play on your brand-new TV, despite what everybody else would say, omitting any valid or invalid criticism, but unfortunately, it won’t change the general optics about this particular piece of media. A lost chance or recklessness created a convoluted mess and with a heart beating in the wrong place. You might praise Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, get excited about it since it’s a free world, free country (and even if it’s not, no one will take this ersatz of such liberty) and don’t let anybody tell you what to love. The problem is, that most likely the only thing that people will remember about this production is that the main male character looked like Ben Affleck and the hair animation was dope. Everything else won’t matter.

The same thing goes, unfortunately, for Life is Strange 2, subtitle: The Spirits Without.