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suguwu · 1 year ago

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lover be good to me: part three

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: so this was originally supposed to be three parts, but i hit the limit for a tumblr post, so it's now four. but we're so close to the end and i'm excited to share this part with you! the final part will be up next week.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be” and "nfwmb"

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 10k

You’ve been staying up too late.

Or maybe you’ve been getting up too early. You’re not sure you know anymore. The world spills foggy over your senses these days. The sun sets bloody over the horizon as you close your eyes, sinking your teeth into the tender flesh of a dusty pink peach, the juices running sweet down your chin. You open your eyes and there’s a mug shattered on the floor, coffee pooling around your feet, the scent of it heavy enough to taste. You close them again, and you wake up curled around a ghost.

Hours roll into each other, jagged fragments rounded smooth, seaglass blips of time. They slip through your fingers like grains of sand.

You miss the finer details of things. The wake is ephemeral, a cobweb snapping in the breeze long gone before you even know it. Only the ghost of incense on your skin tells you it occurred. Abe and Yoshikawa spend the night; they’re warm around you in the guest room’s bed, their arms thrown over your waist to keep you from shaking apart in the tender wound of darkness.

You curl up in the cradle of them. You can smell Yoshikawa’s mango shampoo as you press close to her, her long hair catching against you. She hums quietly and shifts to accommodate you. Abe scooches closer against your back, her forehead pressing between your shoulder blades.

You fall asleep like that, twined together like a litter of kittens, shifting into each other’s warmth.

You blink awake in your dimly lit kitchen. It’s late; the sickle curve of the moon is low in the sky. Your phone is heavy in your hand.

Kita picks up within a single ring. He says your name quietly, like it’s a secret for just you and him. It startles you out of your daze. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize you actually called him.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to call so late.”

“S’alright,” he says. His voice is rough with sleep; there’s a soft rumble to it, like far-off thunder. “You can always call.”

“Did I wake you?”

“S’alright,” he says again. “Do you want to talk?”

You bite at a hangnail. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk?”

“Please,” you say, your voice fraying at the edges.

He does. You lean against the refrigerator as he talks, your head tilted back against the cool metal of it. Kita tells you about the seedlings, how he could use a machine to sow them but that this year he’s chosen to do one or two of the paddies by hand. You imagine him crouching in the fields, his big hands tender against the delicate shoots, sinking them into the thin layer of murky water.

His voice is soft, steady, and warm. You sink into it, floating in it as you watch the moon set, a fishhook of light descending towards the embrace of the horizon. He spins out story after story. You think it’s the most you’ve ever heard him talk and something in you twinges.

“Will you come to the funeral?” you ask, the question spilling from you before you can stop it.

Kita goes quiet. You listen to him breathe. It’s steady like the tide, in and out, ebbing and flowing in a way that soothes something in you, a balm against an unknown scrape.

“No.”

You flinch.

“If I come,” he continues, his voice gentle but firm, “it won’t be about your husband anymore. It’ll be about us.”

Kita’s particular brand of logic has always had a cold edge to it. You know he doesn’t mean it unkindly, but it stings to hear the truth spoken so steadily, with such assurance.

You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead, bringing your knees up to your chest. You sob once, an earthen sound, deep and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Silence falls. You tilt your head back further and stare at the ceiling, half-blocked by the fan of leaves from the plants perched precariously on top of the fridge. You can almost see him in the lines the paintbrush left behind, his lips thinned and his amber eyes somber.

“I know,” you whisper.

Kita breathes out a sigh. It’s a wisp of a thing. You think it must be bitter on his tongue, laced as deeply with regret as it is.

“Do you want to keep talkin’?”

You glance at the stove’s clock and wince. “You should go back to bed,” you tell him. “It’s late.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” he says, not unkindly.

You watch the clock blink over to the next number. It seems to take an eternity, a lifetime tied up in neon red.

“I don’t know,” you say and the tears are welling up, burning hot behind your eyes. “Shinsuke, I don’t know.”

“S’okay.”

The tears spill over, running down your cheeks in thick rivulets. They catch on your lips, fill your mouth, until all you know is sorrow salty on your tongue. “Shinsuke,” you say, desperate.

“I’m here.”

You curl forward, burying your face in your knees. You fist your free hand in your nightshirt, twining the soft cotton around your fingers until it hurts. You sob once and then catch the next one behind your teeth to swallow back down.

“You can cry, y’know,” he says. “You don’t hafta stop on my account.”

It sets you off. You sob like a child with your forehead resting against your knees, the tears dripping down to dampen your pj pants.

Kita murmurs something, too soft for you to hear over your own sobs. But his voice is sweetened with kindness. It settles into your bones, the warmth of it spreading under your skin, a soothing balm against the sharp, gruesome wound deep inside you. The first tentative stitch of many.

Your sobs peter out into quiet, shaky breaths.

“Good,” Kita says. “Keep breathin’, just like that. Slow and steady.”

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

“Don’t be. Yer hurting. Be more surprised if you didn’t cry.”

You give a watery laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry anyway, though, especially for keeping you up. I know you get up early.”

“S’alright,” he says. “Like I said, you can call any time.”

“Thank you, Kita.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Of course,” he says.

“Go back to bed,” you tell him. “I’m okay.”

He hums. It’s a rich, sleepy sound, dripping down the line like thick honey. You press your phone against your ear a little harder and let the sound of him curl around you.

“I don’t mind staying up.”

“I’m okay,” you say again. “Just tired.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight, Kita.”

“G’night.”

You hang up. A car goes by; its headlights pour in through the window, illuminating your kitchen. The light catches on the little vase of your favorite flowers tucked away on the counter top. They’re wilting, the edges of the petals shrinking back, like shy children covering their faces.

You can’t bring yourself to throw them out.

You tilt your head back against the fridge and close your eyes.

“Wanna come back to bed?” Abe asks.

You crack an eye open.

She’s haunting the threshold of the kitchen, softened by the dim. Her mouth is a tender gash. She waits.

“Not yet,” you say.

She pads into the kitchen. When you don’t protest, she slides down next to you, pressing warm against your side. It feels like childhood again, when you would crowd in close together to read the same manga under the covers with a flashlight.

“Okay,” she says softly. She leans her head against your shoulder as you close your eyes again. “Not yet.”

Another car goes by; the kitchen fills with light. It glitters against Abe’s dark hair for a breath and then it’s gone. In the aftermath, the kitchen seems darker still, Abe just a faint outline next to you, and perhaps that’s why you say, “I called Kita.”

She stays quiet, only shifting against you. Her silk pajamas are soft as they slide across your skin.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I just…wanted to hear him.”

“At 2am?”

You bite your lower lip. “I think,” you whisper. “I think that maybe I just wanted to make sure he’s still here.”

“He is,” she says softly. “He’s still here.”

You hum, the sound like river rocks rolling over each other, wearing away at each other. “Yeah,” you say. You scrub away the remnants of your tears with the back of your hand. “He is.”

Abe catches your hand as you lower it. She winds her fingers—bird-boned, all delicate architecture that makes you think of the arcing ceiling of a cathedral nave—through yours. She squeezes.

“Come back to bed,” she says, her words punctuated with a little tug. “You need sleep.”

You let her pull you to your feet. The two of you make your way down the hallway quietly; when you open the door to the guest bedroom Yoshikawa is already awake, her dark eyes gleaming through the dim. You sink into bed beside her. She curls up around you as Abe climbs in from the other side.

“You okay?” Yoshikawa asks.

You go still, a briar patch of cruel words growing sharp as they twine up your throat. “No,” you bite out. Abe goes stiff at your back. “Why would I be?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Yoshikawa’s voice is cool but it does nothing to hide the softness there, nor does it hide the hurt that lurks beneath.

You take a deep breath. “I’m tired,” you say, even though you know you should apologize. “Can we sleep?”

She cups your cheek and gives you a sad little smile. “Of course.”

Abe drapes an arm over your middle and gives you a little squeeze.

“Go to sleep,” she murmurs. “We’ll be here in the morning.”

You fall asleep knowing it’s a promise they’ll keep.

***

The funeral passes quickly.

It’s all flickers of things: a laugh quickly hushed behind hands, a tight-lipped smile on painted lips, the salt of tears lingering on the air like ocean spray, the sickly floral scent of the hanawas thick on your tongue, a wrinkled hand cold against your wrist.

You can barely look at Takao’s parents. He’ll live on in their faces, you think, in the curve of his mother’s lips and the shape of his father’s cheekbones, but you can hardly tell now. Their features are gnarled with sorrow, knotted like the old crabapple tree that you and Takao used to climb in their yard. Each hiccuping sob from his mother echoes in your ears.

You touch one of the flowers of a thick, bountiful hanawa just before it’s collected. The petal is silken between your fingers. It bruises quickly beneath your touch, the thin delicacy of it tearing. You let go.

It’s obvious amid the pristine lilies. You grab another creamy white petal and then another. By the fifth petal, there’s a path of mangled petals behind you, stepping stones of destruction.

“Hey,” Abe says, laying her hand over the top of yours as you reach out for another petal, “let them take it, okay?”

You blink. “Oh,” you say, seeing the funeral director lingering nearby, ready to take the hanawa to go with Takao’s body. “Of course.”

Before you step away, you tug off a single perfect petal, white as snow and faintly dusted with golden pollen. You roll it between your fingers. The satin of it crushes beneath your fingertips.

Abe squeezes your hand. Her touch is a song you’ll always know but it feels distant now, like music muffled behind an apartment’s walls. She lets go when you step away from the wreath.

You follow her to the entrance of the funeral hall. The koden ledger is there, surrounded by white envelopes stacked high. You nudge at one until the flap opens to show crisp yen notes. You stare at the notes until they blur at the edges.

Before Abe can say anything, you reach out and close the envelope up. The stiff mizuhiki knots are rough against your fingers. You trace along them for a moment.

“I didn’t think I’d see these any time soon.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Someone will collect the ledger?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thanks.”

She leads you back to your parents and squeezes your hand again before she disappears. You’re not sure where she goes, but you wish you could go with her. Instead, you accept condolences for what feels like hours, each word grating on you, eroding you like a pebble caught in an ocean wave.

When it’s all over your parents bundle you into the car. The city blurs by like a watercolor, gray with splashes of neon streaking through it. People stream along the sidewalk too. You watch and you watch, a statue of old, bearing witness but unmoving yourself.

“Inside,” your mother says, startling you free of your reverie. You hadn’t noticed you’d stopped. She swings the car door open wider. “C’mon,” she says, gentler this time. “Let’s go inside.”

You follow her without a word.

“Tadpole,” your father says as you cross the genkan. “Your shoes.”

You look down to where you were about to step into the house proper; you’re still wearing your heels. “Oh,” you say quietly. “Thanks.”

Before you can reach down, your mother kneels before you. You try to protest, grasping at her elbows to raise her to her feet, but she swats you away and hunkers down to unbuckle them. Her fingers are careful and quick. She traces one of them over the strap of your shoe before she pushes to her feet again.

She cradles your face in her hands, her fingers warm against your cheeks. She rubs her thumb over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away the tear stains. “Oh, tadpole,” she says softly. “My little girl.”

You bring your hands up and cup hers to you. You breathe her in, the honeyed earth of saffron mixed with the clear, soft scent of the summer irises as they rise proud amid the gardens.

“He’s gone,” you tell her.

She nods. “He is.”

“I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Just without him.”

“It feels like being alone.”

She brushes her thumb over the curve of your cheekbone again. “I know.”

When she lets go the heat of her lingers on your face, like how a fire lives on in the warmed hearthstones. You press a hand to your cheek absently as you slip off your shoes.

Your father bends down to take them. Just like your mother, he ignores your protest. He tucks them carefully beside a haphazard pair of Takao’s slippers. The soles are worn thin, especially compared to the thick, shiny soles of your heels.

You suppose you can take new slippers off of your shopping list.

“Go inside,” your father says. “You need rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You will be,” he says. He touches his mark gently, as if its charred kanji will crumble into ash beneath his fingertips. “You will be.”

You let them usher you inside. Your father tucks you in under the couch’s throw blanket—patterned with plump lemons, each with a tuft of bright green leaves attached to their stems—when you curl up into an armchair. It’s soft, warm, and it smells of Takao.

Your parents retreat to the kitchen. You can hear them puttering around, likely putting together some food for the next few days.

Your phone is heavy in your hand. For a moment, you look at the contact you’d pulled up without thinking. The little rice emoji next to Kita’s name almost seems like it’s swaying in the wind, the golden panicles draping elegantly next to the kanji. You touch his contact and open your messages and stare at the last few you’d both sent. Even over text, Kita’s steadiness comes through.

You start to type. Stop. Start again and then stop once more.

“Shit,” you mutter, closing out of the message thread and tossing your phone onto the couch next to you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, sinking into the couch even further.

When you wake up, it’s dark out. You blink. The streetlights have come to life; their fluorescent light slants into the living room, cutting through the dim. There’s a glass of water on the side table next to the couch. There’s a note under it, your father’s spidery kanji unmistakable.

You read it as you scrub a hand over your face, trying to get rid of the last vestiges of your nap. It’s a simple note. Just enough to tell you there’s food in the fridge and that they’re just a phone call away.

You push to your feet, folding up the blanket and putting it back in its place. Your footsteps echo as you head into the kitchen. Each one feels unnaturally loud. Like the tolling of a bell, deep and low, impossible to ignore. You bite at your lower lip.

Halfway through reheating your food, you give in. You grab your phone and dial.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says as soon as she picks up. “Are you okay?”

“The house is so quiet.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I can, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

“Seriously, over the phone is enough—”

“My shoes are already on.”

You blow out a big breath. “Thank you, Asako.”

She hums. “Want me to stay on the line?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She says a quiet goodbye before she hangs up.

You clear away your food, your appetite gone, and decide to water the plants while you wait. The kitchen plants are thriving; they’re bathed golden every morning and it shows. You murmur softly to them as you water them, filling the kitchen with the slow rush of running water and your own voice. The plants tremble as the water hits them, their thick, lush fronds dancing under the shower.

You also refill the vase on the kitchen counter.

You know it’s stupid. Cut flowers are just ghosts, unaware that they’re already dead. These ones are curling in on themselves, their edges going crisp, but you can’t bear to get rid of them.

The door to the house clicks open. You can hear Yoshikawa rustling around in the genkan before she appears.

“Hi,” she says.

You burst into tears.

She’s across the kitchen in a heartbeat, gently tugging the watering can out of your hands. She doesn’t say a word as she wraps her arms around you. You press your face into the crook of her neck and she cradles you closer.

Her skin is cool to the touch. It’s a balm against your heated face, like a breeze on a hot summer’s day. You lean into her even more.

She hums, adjusting easily. She pets at the back of your head. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs, low and promising, and you cry harder.

She lets you cry your fill, holding you for as long as you need. You finally pull away when your head starts to pound. You sniffle as she sweeps her thumb under your eye to wipe away some of the remaining tears.

“Want me to call Natsumi?” she asks.

You shake your head. “She’s got that work thing tonight.”

“She’d leave it.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t call her.”

Yoshikawa hums. “Okay. Want to watch a movie?”

“Yes please,” you say and the two of you promptly get into an argument about what you want to watch.

You give in to her when it becomes clear that she has no intention of letting you win. You’d be annoyed but it warms you instead. Movie chosen, the two of you settle in on the couch again. You curl up against her and she weaves your hands together, giving you a light squeeze before turning her attention to the screen.

You stay tucked up against her as you watch. She doesn’t move, letting you cling to her like a limpet, and maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s how steady she is. Maybe it’s simply because she’s there. The credits are rolling, the music of them a gentle, swaying tune that makes you think of rippling rice fields. Yoshikawa shifts under you, and without thinking, you say:

“Do you think it’s my fault?”

She goes still.

“Is what your fault?”

You do not look at her. “Aoshi,” you say, his name heavy on your tongue. “Do you think it’s my fault?”

She shifts to look at you; when you stay staring at the screen, she cups your cheeks gently and turns you to face her. She studies you for a moment. Her eyes are night-sky dark and they gleam in the low lighting.

You don’t know what she sees in your face, but her mouth thins into a gash of a thing, sorrow tucked up into the open wound of it.

“How could it be your fault?” she asks.

“Soulmates,” you whisper. “We weren’t soulmates.”

“That’s true.”

“What if it was fixing that? What if he died so I could be with Kita?”

She sucks in a sharp breath but breathes it out softly. Her lower lip trembles. “It was an accident,” she says. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“But what if it does?”

She knocks her forehead against yours. “Four years of marriage seems like a long time for the universe to wait to course correct you.”

You stay quiet.

She searches your face again. “Listen to me,” she says. “It is not your fault. Do you blame Kita?”

“What?”

“Do you blame Kita?”

“No.”

“Then why are you blaming yourself?”

You twist your wedding ring around your finger. “I just—”

She waits.

A car goes by; the headlights play over Yoshikawa’s face. She gleams golden for a brief moment and you think of a shooting star. The words are heavy on your tongue, sickly sweet, like half-rotted fruit. You catch them there, behind the cemetery gate of your teeth, and swallow them down.

“You asked if I thought it was your fault,” she says softly. “I don’t. It’s not your fault, okay?”

You bite at your lower lip. Yoshikawa meets your gaze head on, her vulpine eyes sharp.

“It is not your fault,” she repeats.

You collapse in on yourself without a sound. Yoshikawa catches you and pulls you close. You rest your head against her breastbone and listen to the sound of her heartbeat.

“You’re sure?” you murmur into her sweater.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you say softly. “Okay.”

For now, it’s enough.

***

The next day comes too soon.

Yoshikawa leaves early. She examines you before she goes, her gaze careful, but she knows as well as you do that you have to face today without her.

The sky is a perfect blue as you head to the crematorium, the same shade as a robin’s egg, a true spring day. You greet Takao’s parents quietly and with great respect. His mother reaches for your hands and squeezes them. It takes everything you have to not flinch away.

The three of you enter together. You hesitate on the doorstep, your breath catching, but Takao’s father says your name. He’s gentle with it but it’s enough to make you walk into the building.

Takao’s father picks up the first bone. You lose yourself during the rest of the ceremony; all you know is the soft bell of your chopsticks against porcelain, a delicate death knell. You come back to yourself as the lid to the urn closes. Your fingers are so tight around the chopsticks that it hurts.

After, Takao’s mother finds you hunched over by the entrance. She trails a soft hand over your shoulders. You take a deep breath. She gazes at you with tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Stay in touch,” she tells you.

You nod.

Her pained little smile says she doesn’t believe you.

You watch as both of Takao’s parents get into their car to go to the graveyard. His mother is clutching tightly at the urn, grasping at the last vestiges of her boy before they can slip away. You turn away.

The ride home is like being caught in resin; the world moves around you while you stay still. Once home, you bundle yourself up on the couch in the lemon-patterned throw. You curl up into yourself and swallow down the sobs.

It’s the next day by the time you pick yourself up off the couch. Your head hurts, a slow, steady pulse of pain that’s settled in your left temple. It’s joined by the steady ache of your body, a complaint from your joints that you aren’t as young as you used to be. You groan.

When you check your phone, you’re surprised to see how late you’ve slept. Your messages are a mess, but you ignore most of them, skipping to your group chat with Abe and Yoshikawa. Then you pull up your messages with Kita. You stare at the last few for a moment.

You start to type. Delete what you’ve written. Start typing again, only to stop and stare at your screen.

Finally, you hit call instead.

He picks up before the first ring has even finished.

“Hi,” he says.

You breathe out a soft sigh, his voice melting through you.

“Hi,” you say, your voice watery. “It turns out the bone-picking ceremony is the worst part.”

“Was that today?”

“Yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice tender.

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

You’re both quiet for a moment. You listen to him breathe; it soothes something in you, a scrape you try not to think about.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Kita asks.

You blink. “I’m not sure,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna cook.”

“Kita, it’s the middle of your day!”

“And we’re gonna cook.”

“It’s fine, I can just grab something, you don’t need to—”

“I’m not sayin’ it a third time.”

“You’re so stubborn!”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Fine,” you say. “I’m switching to FaceTime, though.”

“That’s fine.”

As the camera comes online, all you can see is the little rice charm he still has dangling from his phone, something he’d kept even after the rain had ruined his flip phone. You hear him hum and the charm moves so he can fill your screen.

In the afternoon light he’s tanner than ever, his skin burnished bronze. His gray hair rustles in the breeze, even under his hat. He’s rosy-cheeked with exertion and something in you pangs. He gives you a small, fond smile, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks like he wants to laugh. “Hi,” he says. “What do you have to cook with?”

You list everything off and he nods, looking thoughtful.

“That’ll work with a recipe I know,” he says. “I can lead ya through it.”

“Okay.”

You talk as you cook, but it’s subdued. None of the normal excited chatter is present, but Kita makes a valiant effort to keep the conversation afloat. He gives you time when you have to take a minute to recollect yourself. He’s patient but keeps you on task. He doesn’t give you time to wallow.

Soon, the savory scent is billowing through the kitchen. Your stomach growls. By the time you’re finished cooking, you’re starving.

“Go ahead and eat,” Kita says. “I can stay if you want.”

You glance at him. “Will you?”

He gives you a small smile. “‘Course.”

“Just for a bit longer,” you say.

He meets your gaze. Under the brim of his hat, his amber eyes have darkened to a deep brown, the color of the earth.

“As long as you need,” he says quietly, and you hear the promise in it.

You know it’s one that he’ll keep.

***

Spring, you find, is unconcerned with sympathy.

It keeps blooming into being, all golden sunlight and birds trilling. The trees are budding, little stitches of green sewn onto branches. Flowers unfold under the sun’s tender touch, turning their faces up towards the light like acolytes at an altar.

The world keeps turning and you can’t keep up.

“Shit.”

“What’s up?” Abe asks.

She’s lounging at your kitchen table, carefully trimming the ends of a lush bouquet that’s bigger than her head. It’s a riot of color, thick dahlias spilling over the paper it’s wrapped in, a sunset of a thing, with deep oranges flaring like fire and the bruised purple of the oncoming night. You think they’re for her girlfriend, but she rarely talks about her with you now.

Silently, you hold out the carton you’d picked up out of the fridge.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, okay, I can take it when I leave. Do you want me to do that?”

“Please,” you say, swallowing down the tears.

You hadn’t even realized you bought it. It’s Takao’s favorite juice, something you never drink, and it’s a brand new carton from yesterday’s delivery groceries.

It’s stupid, you think, to be so affected by something so small, but you can’t stand the idea of it sitting there, never to be drunk. You shove it back into the fridge and sink down to the floor.

Abe’s by your side instantly, crouching down next to you with a gentle hand on your back.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “You’re okay.”

“Am I?”

It’s scathing, meaner than you’d meant it to be, but you’re so tired.

She winces. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I just meant it’s okay to grieve—”

Something ugly swells up inside of you and spills out from behind your ribs, an oozing miasma that you can’t swallow down.

“What do you know about grief,” you snarl, your voice a winter crackle of breaking ice. “What do you know about what I lost?”

She sucks in a sharp breath. She pulls her hand off of you; it leaves some of her warmth behind, a ghost of her kindness.

“That’s not fair,” she says quietly. “You know that’s not fair.”

“Oh, please.”

“Wow.”

“You know it’s true.”

“You don’t get a monopoly on grief,” she snaps and you surge to your feet.

“Get out!”

She pushes to her feet as well. She doesn’t look at you as she collects her bouquet and her bag. It’s only in the kitchen’s entrance that she turns to face you.

“I lost Aoshi too,” Abe says, tears brimming in her eyes. “I lost him too.”

She leaves before you can say anything else.

You stand there, breathing heavily, your hands clenched into trembling fists. The first of the tears start to slip hot down your cheeks.

“Goddammit.”

The couch is your familiar haven; you curl up on it as you scour away the tears with the heel of your hand. You watch the afternoon light shift, how it plays across the living room as the sun sinks in the sky. It swathes the room with gold that melts into the softest shade of blue. When true night sets in rendering the living room into darkness, you finally shake yourself into a semblance of reality.

Your stomach growls and you get to your feet. When you open the fridge, the first thing you see is the carton of juice.

The sound it makes as it falls into the garbage can is heavy.

You grab your phone from the counter. There are no messages from Abe; the group chat is solely Yoshikawa talking.

For a moment, you miss the regretful moments of your childhood, where you never had to worry about what to say. How you could flash a light in the window, a firefly apology, and simply move forward.

Instead, you don’t talk to Abe for three days.

“I just—I don’t know how to say sorry,” you tell Kita over the phone, worrying at the sleeve of your shirt. It’s starting to fray.

“‘Sorry’ is a good place to start,” he says.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Could be.”

You sigh. “Kita—”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughs softly. “You’ll feel better,” he tells you. “But you already know that.”

“I do.”

He hums. It’s a low, sweet sound and you bask in it for a moment.

“I should go,” you say as the sound fades away. “The delivery should be here any minute.”

“Groceries again?”

You pick at your fraying sleeve. There’s no judgment in his words but they weigh down on you anyway, an anchor with a heavy chain. You’re still tilted off your axis; you cried in the vegetable aisle of the grocery store last time you went. You haven’t gone back since.

Most days, it’s easier to not leave the house.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

“Do you wanna cook together later?”

“I don’t want to take—”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t have the time.”

You twist the fraying thread around your finger. It cuts into you, making your finger swell as the blood is cut off.

“Not tonight,” you say after a moment. You just don’t have it in you. “But thanks.”

Kita hums again. This time there’s a sharper edge to it. You’re not sure he even realizes it.

But he doesn’t push today.

“Alright,” he says. “If ya change your mind later, just let me know.”

“I will. Bye Kita.”

He says goodbye, but there’s something melancholy woven through it, a thread so thin you barely catch it. It weaves its way through you. You sigh.

You don’t bother to put down your phone. Instead, you call Abe.

“You gonna yell at me again?” she asks as soon as she picks up.

You wince. “No,” you say quietly. “I’m gonna apologize for that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Natsumi. You were just trying to help.”

“I was,” she says softly.

“You deserve to mourn Aoshi, too. I’m sorry if I took that from you. It’s…hard to see past my own grief, sometimes.”

“I know.”

“It won’t happen again.”

She snorts. “We’ll see.”

“Hey!”

“You’re grieving,” she says simply. “Sometimes that means doing stupid shit. It’s not an excuse, but I can understand it.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

“You’re not supposed to agree!”

“You’re the one that said it!”

The two of you quickly devolve into bickering but it’s sweet at the edges, lined by fondness. Not for the first time, you think of how lucky you are to have the friends you have.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” you say, halfway through catching up on the past few days. “I couldn’t make it without you.”

She goes quiet for a minute.

“You could,” she says. “You could. But you don’t have to.”

The world goes blurry at the edges. You blink back the tears and clear your throat. Abe sniffs, the sound barely audible on the line.

“Are you crying?” you ask.

“No!”

The laughter wells up inside of you before spilling out like a waterfall, flowing fast and free. It fills your living room. You keep laughing until the room is brimming with it, the corners echoing with joy.

It peters out slowly. Even the air feels lighter, you think. Then your stomach sinks, a skipping stone gone too far and falling into the depths.

“Hey,” Abe says softly. “You’re allowed to laugh.”

She’s always known you best.

“It just feels wrong,” you whisper.

“I know. But he would want you to laugh. To be happy. Try to remember that.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now let me tell you about—”

The two of you chat for a while longer. Abe regales you with stories that you’ve missed. There’s a shocking amount of them (“I’m a busy girl, you know.”) for the time frame you haven’t been talking. You hadn’t realized how much you missed her until now.

When you hang up, the emptiness of the house comes rushing back in. It’s a tide of a thing, rolling in against the shore of you like a storm, the waves of it lapping higher and higher. You take a deep breath.

You keep the TV on until bedtime, where you replace it with a book. You read and read and read until you can barely keep your eyes open, the kanji blurring at the edges. You put the book down on the nightstand and curl up with Takao’s pillow. You bury your face in it. It still smells like him, just a bit.

It almost lets you pretend that he’s still here.

***

The summer rolls in with a storm.

It’s the first of many, but you think the first is always the saddest. The ground churns beneath the fat droplets as they pelt against the dirt; there are petals scattered around, torn from their stems. You watch one of them float down to the storm drain, a pretty pink sailboat destined to capsize.

The clouds are blue-gray and heavy, bruising the sky. They’re the color of the winter sea and have teeth like it too. There’s no lightning but you can hear the promise of it in far-off thunder, just loud enough to make itself known over the hum of your dryer.

You watch the rain run down the window in rivulets. It’s a bleak picture; even the flowers have been dimmed by the thick gray of the storm, their bright pinks tamped down to a blush of light rose.

“You still there?” Kita asks.

“Sorry,” you say, glancing back at your phone to see him already looking at you. “Got distracted by the rain.”

“S’pouring here.”

“Mhmm, here too. It’s kinda nice for laundry day, though. Even if I can’t hang anything outside. And you get a day off.”

“I suppose.”

You laugh. “You don’t have to sound so put out about it.”

He sighs. “It’s fine. Good day for housework.”

“You keep busy, don’t you?”

“There’s always something ta do.”

You laugh. “True,” you say. “Oh, there goes the dryer, hold on.”

You bundle the warm laundry into the basket, taking a moment to sink your fingers into the mess of clothing, letting it heat your hands.

Kita’s in the middle of mending something when you come back to your phone. For a moment, you just watch him. He’s bent over it, his hair glinting silver in the light of his kitchen, the black tips of it all the darker for it. He moves with steady assurance, the needle flashing in and out of the fabric like lightning. His big hands dwarf the needle but it doesn’t seem to hinder him.

He glances up, his amber eyes finding you immediately. He smiles, soft and fond and a little bit teasing. “Something I can help ya with?”

“Just watching. You’re good at that.”

“Granny taught me,” he says as he finishes, running his finger over the mended tear to make sure it’ll hold. Satisfied, he bites off the thread, his teeth gleaming as he does. “And I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Guess so,” you say, moving your phone and propping it up so you can see him as you fold. You fold up a few of your pants, putting them beside you on the couch. You move without thinking, just talking to Kita as you work, when you come to a stop.

It’s Takao’s shirt. You hadn’t realized it was in the wash—you’ve been putting off washing all of his clothing, afraid that one day you’ll wake up and even the scent of him will no longer linger.

Kita says your name.

You ignore him, running your hands over the shirt instead. You lean down and sniff it and find only the scent of your detergent. You take in a deep, slow breath.

There are more in the basket. You lean down to touch them, grabbing the nearest one. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Kita watching you. He stays quiet.

You fold up another one of Takao’s shirts. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, the cotton worn thin with use. You trace your finger along the pattern. Loop around it, over and over again, until you’re half dizzy with it.

Something in you breaks.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you say, the words spilling from you like an oil slick, catching on your teeth and tongue and coating them with something sour. You fist your hands in the shirt. “Shinsuke, I can’t do this.”

He says your name, quiet and tender.

“It’s just so much,” you sob. “I don’t know what to do without him, I don’t know how to live without him, not anymore. And work—going to the office and smiling like I’m not empty inside, like there’s not this gaping wound inside of me. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

You suck in air in great, gasping breaths, your chest cinching tight, like a marionette caught up in her own strings.

“Breathe with me,” he says, his voice stern. You take in a deep, slow breath, matching his, and then another. “That’s it. There you go.”

Your chest starts to loosen as you breathe; you keep matching with Kita, following his careful lead. When you’re finally steady, you can’t help the way more tears brim on your lash line.

“How am I supposed to do this?” you ask quietly. “How am I supposed to survive this?”

“You’re already survivin’ this,” he says. “It might not feel like it, but you are.”

You lean back and stare out the window. Outside, the cicadas are calling even in the rain, a familiar song; you close your eyes.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you say softly. “I can’t keep doing this. This big, empty house is killing me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Come to the country,” he says.

“What?”

“Come to the country,” he repeats.

“Visiting isn’t—”

“To stay.”

You suck in a sharp breath and bite your lip.

“Just for a while,” he says softly. “And not with me. There’s a granny outside of town who’s got a room that she rents out.”

“Kita…”

“It’s just an option,” he says. “But I think gettin’ out of the city might do you some good.”

You fidget with your wedding ring, twirling the thin band of metal in place. It’s warmed by your skin.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.”

The two of you lapse into silence as you scrub the remainder of tears away. Your cheeks are still hot and you grimace as a headache starts to make itself known.

“I’ve got a headache,” you say. “I’m gonna go lie down.”

Kita hums, his amber eyes tracing over you. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Okay. I’m just a call away.”

You soften. “I know.”

You bid each other a quiet goodbye. You move the laundry out of the way and curl up on the couch, one hand fisted in one of Takao’s shirts. You bring it to your nose and only smell detergent again. You tighten your grip and close your eyes.

You wake to Abe shaking you.

“C’mon,” she says, giving you another little shake. “We brought dinner.”

“Natsu?” you say blearily, rubbing at your eyes. You swat at her when it looks like she’s going to shake you for a third time. She dodges with a grin.

“Yocchan too,” Abe says as Yoshikawa flashes you a peace sign. “How long have you been asleep?”

“Dunno,” you say. “I was on the phone with Kita and he—”

“He what?” Yoshikawa asks, her sly eyes going sharp.

“I was having a…hard time,” you say. “I had a bit of a breakdown. He thinks I should go to the country for a while. Get out of the city.”

Yoshikawa hums, settling down next to you on the couch. She leans over and rubs her thumb over your cheekbone; you realize that there are still salt stains there. She tilts her head, sending her long hair rippling. It gleams in the light and you think of a lake at night, the surface gone dark beneath the moon’s tender touch.

“That might not be a bad idea,” she murmurs.

“No way,” Abe says, plopping down on your other side. “Unless you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” you say miserably, pressing your face into Yoshikawa’s shoulder. “I don’t feel like I know anything anymore.”

Yoshikawa presses her lips against your hairline. “You don’t need to know,” she reminds you. “It’s just an option. You can decide later. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head.

“We brought udon,” Abe informs you. “Because we’re the best.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You are.”

They trade a glance you can’t quite make sense of. Then they’re chivvying you into the kitchen with gentle hands, pushing you into a seat at the table.

The kake udon is still hot. Steam wisps up from it in tiny curls before dissipating, each one undulating like kelp in a current. You stir it and watch the broth swirl.

“You’re supposed to eat it,” Abe says.

You glare at her. She grins.

You take a bite and flavor comes to life on your tongue, deep and rich. You close your eyes to savor the simplicity of it. When you open them again, Abe and Yoshikawa are watching you with fond little smiles.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” they chorus.

You narrow your eyes but don’t say anything. The three of you settle into a conversation, moving from story to story like a skipping stone, pausing only to take bites of your food. The chatter flows like a river, certain in its path, and you bathe in the easy familiarity of it.

You’ve just finished your udon when Abe puts her chopsticks down and says: “So. The countryside.”

“Natsumi,” Yoshikawa groans. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?!”

“You’re always jumping in feet first,” Yoshikawa grumbles.

“I’m just curious!”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “It might be good to talk about it.”

Abe sends Yoshikawa a victorious grin. Then she turns to you with a softer look on her face. “You don’t have to,” she says.

“I think I might want to.”

“Talk about it? Or go?”

“Both.”

Yoshikawa hums. “Do you think you might be running away?” she asks.

Abe winces along with you.

“It had to be said,” Yoshikawa says, not unkindly. “I can’t understand what you’re going through and I know that, but is going somewhere else really going to change anything? Or are you just running away from something inescapable?”

“Earlier you said her going might be a good thing,” Abe points out.

“It might be,” Yoshikawa says. “But it might not be either.”

“I don’t think I’m running,” you say. “I just think that maybe I need a break. A place that’s not so filled with Aoshi.”

“Okay.”

“What about Kita?” Abe asks.

You scrunch up your brow. “What about him?”

“Will he take it the wrong way?”

“No,” you say. “He knows I’m not looking for anything from him. That I can’t give anything to him.”

“You sure he knows that?”

“Yeah.”

They trade a glance but don’t say anything. You bite at your lower lip.

“Don’t decide tonight,” Yoshikawa says, getting to her feet and collecting the bowls from the table. She sets them down in the sink and pulls on a pair of dish gloves. “Or even tomorrow. You have time.”

“I know that,” you grouse.

She rolls her eyes. “Consider it a reminder, then.”

“Consider me reminded.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Oh, don’t ask for the impossible,” Abe says, throwing you an obnoxious grin when you scowl at her.

The conversation flows on into a different topic. The two of them keep drawing you into it, but you’re stuck in your own head, rolling the idea of the country around it like a pebble caught in a wave. You think of the sunshine bathing the fields in gold and the way the air smells different there. The countryside is a world all its own. A world not built around your life with Takao.

You think you might need that.

***

Kita picks you up from the train station a few months later.

“I could have arranged something,” you tell him as he takes your suitcase from you. “You didn’t need to come and get me.”

“I wanted to,” he says calmly. “This all you brought?”

You nod, already shedding your light sweater as the two of you emerge from the station, out of the aircon and into the countryside heat, a lingering remnant of summer. You follow Kita to his truck—old, but well-maintained, with a carefully stenciled rice plant over the passenger side door—and watch him heft your suitcase into the bed of it. He tucks it carefully into place, giving it a tug to make sure it won’t go anywhere.

As he does, you watch the ripple of his back muscles under his shirt. It rides up when he tugs on your suitcase, a crescent moon sliver of paler skin peeking out from under it. He turns around after thumping the truck bed closed, and you tear your gaze away.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.”

You climb into the truck, shutting the door with a solid thump. Across the cab, Kita does the same. The truck rumbles to life. He puts his hand behind your headrest to reverse out of the parking lot, his amber eyes brushing over you before he concentrates on driving. You breathe in through your nose, far too aware of the heat of his hand.

Once he pulls out of the parking lot, the two of you drive in silence. You gaze out the window, watching as the railroad tracks fade away into the town. The tracks are shiny and new, a testament to how recently the station was put in.

“It’s not a long drive,” Kita says, his voice soft. It rolls over you, steady and sure, an anchor of a sound. “Yoshida’s house is just outside town.”

“Okay,” you say. “Thank you for setting this up.”

He glances at you. He’s as stoic as always, but when he looks at you, something in him softens.

“Yer welcome,” he says. His smile is small but it settles over you like a quilt, warm and well-worn. You ache with it.

“Tell me about the farm,” you say, feeling your stomach twist. “How are the ducks?”

He shakes his head. “The same,” he says, that small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Happily gobblin’ up the little pests in the paddies.”

You lean back in the passenger seat, letting his voice wash over you. You’ve always liked the way Kita talks; he’s to the point and brief, but not impatient. Never impatient. Always steady.

The town gives way to the farmland. The truck trundles along the road, kicking up a little cloud of dust behind it. You can see it in the rear view mirror, lingering like smog. The road is lined by a sea of rice paddies that wave gently in the wind, an eddying tide of plants. They’re Midas-touched, gone gold with the season, and they glint like treasure in the sunlight.

You watch the world pass by and marvel at how big it is. In the distance, you can see the hills, rising green into the horizon’s gentle embrace, cutting through the skyline. There are power towers running along the edge of them; you trace along the lines with your index finger.

A cyclist goes by: it’s a young girl, her hair flowing freely in the wind. Her dress—periwinkle blue, almost the same shade as the sky—flaps around her, too, but her no-nonsense boots are steady on the pedals.There’s dirt smeared on her cheek. She waves cheerfully at the truck. Kita raises his hand in acknowledgement but doesn’t stop.

“You know her?”

“It’s a small town,” he says. “That’s Suzuki’s girl. His youngest. You’ll probably meet her. Her granny is friends with Yoshida.”

You lower your window and let the breeze play over you. It tugs playfully at your collar; it keeps the worst of the humidity at bay. Still, the heat rolls over you in a wet lick.

“S’hot,” you drawl, rolling your head around to look at Kita.

He glances at you and gives you a little smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Ugh.”

He smiles again and turns into a drive. “This is Yoshida’s,” he says.

The farmhouse is older, but it’s clearly been cared for through the years. The engawa has several types of windchimes hanging from it; they sing out a crystalline symphony as the breeze picks up. There’s laundry on the line in the front yard and a few small vegetable patches surrounding it. You see squash starting to fatten on the vines and the remnants of strawberry season, the very last of the berries gone a deep red.

“Okay,” you say, wiping your suddenly sweaty palms against your thighs as a woman appears on the engawa. “Right.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kita says, laying a hand over yours. His palm is work-rough, his fingertips callused, and you can feel the strength in each flex of his fingers. He gives you a little squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”

You nod and slide out of the truck at the same time as him. You fidget as he rounds the back of the truck, the bed popping open as he grabs your suitcase. The woman on the engawa comes to the edge of it; she reaches up with a gnarled hand and drags her finger along a chime carved from wood. Its sound is more of a hollow echo than a chime, but she smiles anyway.

Kita comes up beside you, your suitcase in hand. “Let’s go.”

“Right.”

You follow him up the drive and to the engawa. Yoshida’s a small woman, her black hair shot through with gray, like a river stone in dark water. She’s hunched in on herself slightly, and the skin on the back of her hands is papery with age, but her eyes are sharp.

“Shin-chan,” she says warmly as the two of you approach. “It’s good to see you.”

He gives her a little bow. “It’s good to see you too, Yoshida.”

“I’ve told you to call me Granny, boy.”

He smiles. “Yes, Granny.”

“Is this your friend?”

“Yes, this is her.”

You sketch out a respectful bow and tell her your name. She repeats it, testing the sound of it on her tongue. She gives a decisive nod.

“It’s a good name,” she says. “Come, let me show you to your room.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, reaching out to grab your bag from Kita. He sidesteps you easily, hefting it up and gesturing you forward. “Shinsuke—”

“Don’t make Granny wait,” he chides.

You scowl at him but head up on the engawa, ducking beneath a set of clear chimes that are scattering rainbows around on the ground and the side of the house alike. You toe off your shoes at the genkan and slip on the house slippers that Yoshida gestures to.

The farmhouse is cozy as you wander through it, the decor minimal but still homey. It smells warm, like fresh dashi simmering on the stovetop.

The room Yoshida leads you to is small but perfect. There’s a twin bed tucked into the corner and a desk with a little vase of flowers on it, their periwinkle blossoms waving in the breeze coming in from the open window. The quilt on the bed is handmade, each square featuring a different crop in the height of their season, beautifully stitched and filled with care.

You step inside and trace a finger over an embroidered daikon as Yoshida starts to go over the expectations for sharing the house. You listen as best you can but most of your attention is now on the window. It looks over the paddies. You watch them ripple with the wind, a golden sea of slow, sweet waves.

Kita nudges you lightly; you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He smiles at you knowingly, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and you refocus on Yoshida. She’s smiling, too, a little twinkle in her eye, but she doesn’t say anything aside from continuing to talk about shared cleaning duties.

“Any questions?” she asks, hands on her hips.

You shake your head. “No,” you say. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

She waves a gnarled hand. “You remember any questions, come find me,” she says. “I’ll let you settle in.”

She’s out the door before you can respond, closing it firmly behind her. You blink.

Kita nudges you again. “Where do you want this?” he asks. You glance at your suitcase, nestled carefully between his feet.

“Over there is fine,” you say.

He puts your bag where you gesture and then turns to you. He watches you for a moment, a small, fond smile tilting his lips up. “How’re you feeling?”

“Dunno yet,” you say. “It’s all so new.”

“S’fair.”

“I think it’ll be good, though,” you say slowly, glancing out the window again. The countryside stretches far before you, the rice stalks glistening in the sun, and something in you shifts. You toy with your necklace, rubbing your wedding ring between your fingers, ignoring how it tugs on the chain. “I think it’ll be good.”

“Good. I’ll let you settle in some more,” he says. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“Shinsuke?”

“Yeah?��

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Fer?”

“All of this,” you say, a little bit helplessly. “All of it.”

“Of course,” he says. His amber eyes are almost glowing in the afternoon light, the color of sunlit whiskey, a deep golden brown. He opens his mouth and then pauses.

You tilt your head, but he shakes his head and just gives you a small smile.

He leaves the room with the same confident grace he always has, his lean muscles coiling under his skin as he moves. For a moment, you just watch him. He moves with careful intent. Not a single motion wasted. It’s impressive, the control he has over himself, and he does it so easily.

You sit down on the bed as he makes his way down the hallway. You glance around the room again. You reach up to your necklace again, wrapping your hand around the wedding rings dangling from it. Tears burn in the corners of your eyes.

You lay back on the bed, into the patch of sunlight that’s pooling on the pillow. It’s hot. Outside, the countryside sings, from the quiet melody of the rice rustling to the calling of the storks. The breeze tugs at your clothes and hair as it spills in through the window. It feels nice. Real.

You close your eyes.

When you wake up, it’s gone twilight, night encroaching upon the last light of the horizon. The sky is a bruise of a thing, deep purple and glittering with stars. You rub the bleariness from your eyes and curse to yourself.

Your phone screen is bright in the dark; you wince as it sears your eyes.

Kita has sent you a message about how he didn’t want to wake you and promises he’ll see you soon. You text him back and scrub at your face again to wake yourself up. When that fails, you wander down the hall to the bathroom. The cool water wakes you up quickly. It’s crisp and clean and you wonder if it’s the country or if it’s just in your head.

“Yer up,” Yoshida says crisply when you step into the kitchen. Her words are almost sharp, but her eyes are kind. “I sent Shin-chan home—the boy looked like he was about to wait ‘round.”

“Oh,” you say. “I’m sorry if I kept either of you waiting. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

She waves you off with one hand. “Travelin’ is tiring,” she says. “I’m about to make dinner if ya’d like some.”

“Can I help?”

“You can chop.”

You sit where she gestures and take the squash she hands you. It’s as orange as a sunset, with thick ribs and a wide, sturdy stem. You get to work cutting it into little cubes per her instructions.

The two of you work quietly. The breeze flutters in from the open shoji; it’s still hot but it’s cooling off quickly with night settling in.

“It’s beautiful here,” you say absentmindedly, staring out the open door into the fields again. They’re moonlit, bleached to a soft white-gold, shimmering as they dance in the wind.

“It is. Been here my whole life and it’s never lost that prettiness.”

“I can’t imagine it ever does.”

Yoshida glances at you.

“It’s a good place to take time away,” she says, matter-of-fact. “It’s just different here.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m hoping so.”

She hums.

The two of you chat as you keep making dinner. Yoshida’s son—broad-shouldered and kind-faced—comes home from the fields just as you finish, earning a scolding from his mother for being so late. You politely look away but can’t stop the small smile from blooming on your lips. You cover it with a little cough.

He introduces himself sheepishly then joins the conversation easily and happily. The talk carries through the meal, warm and flowing. The night passes quickly with them.

As you get ready for bed, you can’t help but think that maybe this will work after all.

#kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #bee writes hq!!#.lbgtm

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wonderinglostsoul · 1 year ago

Text

Criminal Minds FanFiction Chapter 7

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are an FBI agent with a past and you were about to enter the BAU.

Trigger warning: BAU stuff like killing, snipping, violence, suicide

Master List:

You were healing nicely and ready to go back in a few days. You also heard that the team wrapped up there case and will be coming back tomorrow. While folding the laundry, your phone ring.

"[Y/N]" you said

"Hi." It was Aaron.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you" You were suddenly attentive.

"I just want to invite you tomorrow. It's Jack's birthday at the amusement park. The rest of the team will come."

"Sure, that would be lovely." You said enthusiastically.

"Ahm, How are you doing by the way?" He asked.

"I am healing nicely. Thank you for your concern, Sir" You answered happily.

"Aaron, I told you to call me Aaron outside work" He told you seriously,

"I am sorry, Aaron" You said emphasizing his name. He let out a low chuckle

"Alright, We'll see you tomorrow at 3." He said.

"Sure, Thanks for the invite Aaron." You answered

"Bye."

"Bye." You caught yourself smiling. Damn! You thought. You cannot catch any feelings with your boss. You shake your head and continue with your chores.

The next day, you arrived at the amusement park. There was a ferris wheel and a Merry go round. There were also booth for carnival games. You spotted Hotch immediately with Reid and JJ so you joined them.

"Hi [Y/N], how are you feeling" Reid asked while hugging you

"I am perfectly fine now." You said.

"I am glad you could come." Hotch said hugging you as well. You slip a look at JJ and she smile teasing you. You hugged her too.

"By the way this is Jack." Hotch introduces. "The most handsome birthday boy" Hotch teases Jack, both of them laughed.

"Hello Jack!" You said kneeling so you can be at his eye level. "I am [Y/N], it is nice to meet you" You said shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you too" He said shyly.

"Happy Birthday! This is for you!" You handed him your present. Jack smiled shyly and accept the gift.

"Thank you" He said.

"You're welcome!" You stand up. Morgan and Penelope are just arriving. They greeted everyone and gave Jack his present. After a while, Rossi arrive as well. He has a bottle of wine in one hand and Jack's present on the other one. He greeted everyone and jokingly gave jack the bottle of wine. Jack was confused but Rossi told him that it was a joke and gave him his real present, everyone was laughing.

Hotch suddenly has a call. Everyone was frozen because it could be a case. He was serious while talking. And when he is done, he look us all one by one.

He sighed and said, "The cake has arrived, I'll need to get it." Then he started laughing. All of us sigh in relief and he laugh more. He also told Jack to go with uncle Reid. Reid asked Jack where he wanted to play first and Jack pointed out the booth where you need to shoot cups to win prizes. Jack also asked Henry if he wanted to come. Both of the boys comes with Reid. You got curious so you tagged along as well.

On the booth, Reid asked for 3 guns, one for each of them he also paid for them. They aim it and fire but none of the cups were hit. So Reid paid for another game but they did not hit anything again. Reid was paying for another one but you know it is a waste of money so you asked if you can play as well.

"May I join you 3 gentlemen" You asked them. Jack and Henry nod.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked. "What about your injury?"

"I can shoot with my left" You said taking your position.

"Here take my gun" Reid gave you the toy gun.

"Are you sure?" Reid just nod. You took the gun, step back and shoot. All the cups was hit and the three boys was so amaze.

"Wow teach us [Y/N]" Jack said.

"Please!" Henry begged. You smiled on both of them and nod. They squeal with excitement. This also got the attention of the team so JJ and Penelope join you.

"Alright boys, follow my lead." You said like a drill sergeant. "First, you must step backward 2x." Jack and Henry steps backward

"Make sure that the but of your gun is touching your shoulder." Both the boys followed. Hotch arrives with the cake. He asked Rossi what's happening and he said that you were teaching the kids how to shoot. He nod, impressed.

"Then look at your scope and aim at your target. dont shoot yet." Both of them aimed for there target.

"You inhale and when you do exhale you shoot." Both of the kids inhaled deeply and shoot at the same time they exhale and both of them were able to knock down a cup.

"Woah did you see that!" Jack said to Henry.

"Yeah! We are awesome." Henry said. Both of the kids high five-ing. They continue to shoot until they got the prize. Jack and Henry was so happy. They both showed it there parents.

"Oi Reid!" Morgan called him. "Should try it as well and knock down some cups." Rossi and Morgan stands up and join you. Morgan asked the custodian to give you a gun. He handed it to Reid despite his protest but Morgan was persuasive so Reid just took the gun. He followed my instruction, step back 2x, put the butt of the gun on his shoulder, aim and fire but he did not hit any of the cup. So you come with him and whispered something in his ears. His eyes widen. You step back with a smirk on your face. He aimed again, taking a deep breathe and shoot. Then BAM! He was able to hit one. He continue until he hit all the cups.

"[Y/N] I am curious what did you tell him?" Rossi asked.

"I told him that if he did not hit the cup I will shoot him in the head." You look at Reid with a teasing smile and he smile at you back. The rest of the team laughed.

You went back at the table with 2 extra prize so you gave it to Jack and Henry.

After the party, JJ and Henry has to go because Henry is already sleepy and tired. Reid also said good bye and joined JJ. Morgan and Penelope has to go as well because Penelope has a date and Rossi also needs to go because he is also having a date with the future 4th wife. Hotch thanks all of them for coming. You stayed to help Hotch cleaning up.

"We are fine, you can go if you need to." He told you.

"Its fine, I dont have any plans." You said while putting away the cake in the box.

When everything was cleaned up you help him and Jack to bring there things to the car. When everything was settled both of them said good bye.

"Jack you say good bye to [Y/N]" Hotch told him

"Good bye, [Y/N]. Thank you for the gifts" He said with a big child smile.

"You're welcome, Jack. Happy Birthday!" You told him.

"Thank you for all your help" Hotch said.

"You're welcome, Aaron." You answered, still not used on calling him on his first name but his smile upon hearing his name make you smile as well.

"How are you going home?" He asked.

"I have a motorcycle." You point the motorcycle parking at the other side of the parking lot.

"You have a motorcycle?" Jack said enthusiastically.

"Yes! I like riding them because they are fast." You said

"I like them too! Can I ride it?" He asked you, almost pleading. You look at Aaron but you know that he is skeptical but does not want to disappoint his son on his birthday. "Of course but not today because I dont have another helmet for you and it is not safe to ride a motorcycle with out the proper gear. How about I visit you at your house when I have the gear and let's have a spin?" You told him as gentle as possible. His eyes widen with joy and nod profusely.

"That is if your dad is ok with it." You added and both of you look at Aaron. You nudge Jack to mimic you and give Aaron a puppy eyes. He looked at both of you seriously.

"Fine" He said defeated. But all of a sudden Hotch's phone ring. He answers it. You both know what is it. He ended the call and look at you.

"Its a case. Lets meet at the office in an hour." He said. You nod. You said your goodbye as well and headed to your motorcycle.

Jack and Hotch went inside the car. As Hotch was revving then engine, Jack spoke

"I like [Y/N], dad. She is cool!" Hotch gave out a low chuckle,

"Me too, Jack. Me too"

————-

Author's note: Its a little bit biased but this is one of my fave chapter to write. Its lighthearted and you can see that Aaron was smitten with [Y/N] here.

Please please please! Like, follow, comment and share if you are enjoying this fanfiction. Thank you!

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jj jareau #jennifer jareau #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch

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justahumblememefarmer · 11 months ago

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Ultimate Doctor Who Poll Round 2 - Matchup 17

Episode Summaries under the cut

10: The End of Time Part One/Two - 2009 Christmas/New Years Special: The Doctor is summoned by the Ood, who give him a vision of the Master returning and the End of Time. The Doctor rushes to the TARDIS to get to the past, but is too late as a ritual is completed to revive the Master, which destroys the building in the process. When the Doctor lands he is found by Wilfred Mott, his former companion Donna's grandfather. They chat, but the Doctor goes off to find the Master, and searches his mind for the sound of drums beating, which has driven him to insanity. He's gleeful to discover that the sound is real, but is soon captured by a billionaire's men and taken back to his mansion. The Doctor and Wilf follow in the TARDIS.

The billionaire has the Master work on a medical device that he believes can bring immortality. The Doctor discovers two aliens that were the original owners of the device working in secret at the mansion. They share that the device actually heals whole planets at a time by distributing a healthy genetic template across an entire population. The Doctor runs to stop the Master, but he has already escaped and entered the device, transmitting a signal to turn every human on the planet into himself. The Doctor is able to protect Wilf from this.

Elsewhere, the Time Lords of Gallifrey are working to stop the Time War by implanting a signal in the Masters head as a child, the drum beats. They send a diamond to Earth in order to make the link physical. The Doctor is rescued by the aliens from before, who teleport themselves, the Doctor, and Wilf to their ship in Earth's orbit. The Master, and all his clones, use their combined focus on the drumbeats, allowing the diamond to come through. The Master gloats about this and the Doctor realizes he plans to bring the Time Lords back.

He flies the ship down to Earth, he crashes into the room where the Master has brought back the heads of the Time Lord council. Lord President Rassilon reverses the Master's transformation of all of the humans, and begins to summon Gallifrey into space next to the Earth, which the Doctor warns will bring all the horrors of war with it. Wilf returns to the Doctor and rescues a worker trapped in a control booth, trapping himself in the process. Rassilon also reveals his plan to destroy time itself, allowing Time Lords to ascend to a state of higher consciousness.

The Doctor shoots the machine creating a link, sending the Time Lords back to the war. Rassilon aims to kill the Doctor, but the Master gets in the way, attacking Rassilon and going back to Gallifrey with them. The Doctor is surprised to be alive, after a prophecy he'd received said his death would be after "he will knock 4 times" which he'd assumed was about the drum beats in the Master's head. As he lies there, relieved, Wilf knocks on the door of the control room 4 times. The Doctor realizes it is about to flood with radiation, which would kill Wilf. The only way to save him is to take on the radiation himself. He laments losing his life to save his friend, but does it, which kickstarts his regeneration.

The Doctor goes on a tour visiting his former companions. He saves Martha Jones and Mickey Smith from a Sontaran. He saves Sarah Jane Smith's son Luke from getting hit by a car. He sets up Captain Jack Harkness with another man. He visits a book signing of the great-granddaughter of a woman he fell in love with when he turned himself human. He shows up at Donna's wedding, where he leaves a lottery ticket as a present for her. He finally stops at Rose's flat, on New Year's Day before she first met him. He then walks to his TARDIS and regenerates.

138: Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution of the Daleks - Season 3, Episodes 4 & 5: The Doctor and Martha land in 1930's New York City, where people from a homeless encampment have been going missing. Meanwhile construction of the Empire State Building is being overseen by Daleks from a Dalek cult the Doctor had encountered before. The Doctor discovers that the Daleks have been experimenting on humans. Those they deem to be low-intelligence are turned into slaves mixed with pig dna. Those with high-intelligence are selected to be turned into Dalek-Human hybrids.

The leader of the cult agrees to turn himself into a hybrid to test the experiment. His newfound humanity makes him believe that the Daleks can change their ways and he asks for the Daleks help in creating the hybrids with even more humanity. The other full Daleks turn on him and a fight breaks out between them and their experiments. The hybrid Dalek and all their experiments are killed, as well as 2 of the three full Daleks. The last Dalek escapes using an emergency temporal shift.

(Beat 119: Orphan 55 in Round 1)

#doctor who #ultimate doctor who poll #my post #polls #10th doctor #wilfred mott #donna noble #the master #martha jones #david tennant #bernard cribbings #catherine tate #jon simms #freema agyeman #the end of time #daleks in manhattan #evolution of the daleks

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sleepy-aletheas · 7 months ago

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Clockie: Dreamjoy Memoir Event and what the special endings reveal

It's ridiculous how much info is packed and hidden in the Clockie event. I wrote down the special endings, because that probably is the true history of Penacony than whatever we are told.

This also makes me think that the person that intercepts the text messages when we finish Hanu's minigames, is Hanu himself, because there is no definite conclusion of what happened with him, so I think it's reasonable to put him as a stand-in until the plot advances and tells us the truth.

Anyway, below the cut I transcribed the hand-written retelling of what the event reveals. Not everything is word-for-word, but that's to keep it at least a little bit shorter than the original text (my hand would actually fall off otherwise).

In short, the story is about: Penacony has a harsh history of waring for freedom, lies, backstabbing, manipulation, corruption. it's one big tragedy hidden as a cutesy cartoon, veiled in a golden dream and sticky SoulGlad.

But in the longer version, the story goes along these lines:

The Compass sets foot on the streets of Nightmareville, only seeing a wasteland. Flames licked the wooden houses, and hungry crocodiles roamed the ruins. ("What on earth is going on here?")

The Crew comes across an intoxicated Mr. Soda who wants to share the bubbly potion with them. ("I'm Mr. Soda. Would you new friends like to buy a few bottles of SoulGlad?")

Clockie doesn't want any, but the Crew take quite few. It's hard to refuse.

The Crew find an abandoned mine stacked with sparkling gems which seems to be the town's treasure vault. Clockie thinks it got to be worth good money. The Crew warn him, but Clockie takes many gems anyway. ("You don't really think about whose stuff you're taking when you usually open up chests, do you!")

Brother Hanu stumbles across the Crew in the mine, ready to fight these strangers. Clockie tries to beg for mercy, but Hanu arrests everyone. ("We were dancing to the jailhouse clock.")

Mr. Soda is a friend of Hanu and wants to resolve the conflict with the Crew. Hanu reluctantly agrees to ceasefire. Mr. Soda tells the story of how the crocodiles attack the Townfolk of Nightmareville all year round, and it wasn't until a shooting star fell that Hanu started to lead everyone to rise up. This makes Clockie admire Hanu.

The Crocs attack them. ("Brother Hanu, taste the wrath of Boss Stone!") They barely make it out the bloody battle. ("I- I feel like I'm about to stop ticking.")

Mirror Princess was seriously injured, her mirror scratched up, and she fell into deep sleep. Hanu disregards personal safety and plucks herbal medicine out of the croc's jaws and heals the princess.

At night, Boss Stone ambushes Hanu's stronghold. The Crew and Townfolk must fight. Hanu is confident, and everyone feels more at ease.

Clockie and Hanu temporarily defeat Boss Stone, but if the crocs don't leave, Nightmareville will always be locked in nightmares. The Crew would never turn a blind eye to this. They decide to help Hanu and the Townfolk to take back their happiness. ("The Crew of The Compass is truly loyal!")

Hanu and Clockie come across Sister Wildflower, who is currently being hunted by Lieutenant Chitters. ("If you want my help, hurry up and save me!") Hanu rescues Sister Wildflower. ("Here's a gossip: Hanu was totally blushing.")

Clockie comes across a Crybaby who is also a captured Townfolk. ("If you want my help, then you're gonna have to tell me a sob story!") Clockie tells about Master Hat. ("That's a real tearjerker. I hope you'll be even sadder in the future.")

Clockie meets Shopkeeper Leaf, who used to be one of Boss Stone's lackeys. ("If you want my help, tell me what's in it for me!") Clockie takes out a piece of treasure from The Compass, and Shopkeeper Leaf instantly joins the squad. ("Shouldn't we sign a service contract first?")

The squad grows and Boss Stone launches an ambush at Hanu's panic room. Many Townfolk are injured. ("They don't have any respect!") Hanu and the Crew team up to defend against the surprise attack. ("Friendship bounds, uh.. the future!")

Even if they won, the casualties are tragic. To commemorate those Townfolk and Crew members who gave their lives, Hanu hosts a funeral. Sister Wildflower sings a funeral dirge, and Hanu is sad during the song. Hanu gathers everyone to soon launch a counterattack. People are ready to give up their lives for freedom. ("This is for the dream to eat, drink, and be merry every day!")

The night before the battle, the Crew and Townfolk stage a grand party. This might be the start of a long and grand event or the final feast for everyone.. At the party everyone feels down. ("I'll settle down back in Watch City and get married after this fight.")

In the battle, Nightmareville pays a heavy price defeating Boss Stone, but he is able to stage a comeback. The Townfolk are anxious and all propose to Hanu to conduct peace talks. He agrees to the proposal, and Boss Stone shakes hands with the Townfolk to make peace. ("He really offered too much there.")

Boss Stone signs an agreement with Hanu to not let the Townfolk dig for gemstones again. He also gives Hanu a large financial stipend. Clockie convinces Hanu to take it to rebuild Nightmareville with Boss Stone. ("I guess that was all just a big misunderstanding before!")

Some Townfolk don't let go of old grudges and refuse to team up with Boss Stone. They sow chaos everywhere and raise resistance against Boss Stone. They're no longer ordinary Townfolk, so Hanu throws all the rebels into prison.

Many Townfolk were injured in the war, so Boss Stone hires the best doctor from the sea to offer free treatment. They get patched up and are gifted a large supply of health supplements. ("The first dosage is free for the initial cycle, and if you feel the effects are good, you can purchase more. Townfolk get a 20% discount.")

Hanu doesn't know how to develop the town, and the Townfolk blow through the money from Boss Stone. The Townfolk turn and complain about Hanu's incompetence. ("Boss Stone, he's an idiot who can barely string a sentence together.") ("Yeah, that's what I love about him.")

A Nightmareville faction grows against Hanu with riots and skirmishes out in the streets. Hanu calls for his mates for help. Shopkeeper Leaf comes up with a plan: ("Whoever causes any trouble, just take away their stipend! They've just had it too good for too long. Once they start to suffer a little, they'll behave!")

The town fell into despair, and Boss Stone offered a hand to Hanu's brothers, and told them that the most valuable thing in Nightmareville was its gems. He proposed that if they collaborated with him to develop the mines, the town could thrive once again.

Hanu and Boss Stone partner up to develop a large-scale gem extraction project to earn stacks of money for the town.

Boss Stone grows really popular and decides to publish an autobiography. However, Hanu realizes that Boss Stone erased all his wrongdoings from the book. Hanu doesn't care for the lies and lets the book go viral. ("Boss Stone, enslaving us? There's such thing as being too unhinged!")

The time is ripe for hammering out negotiations. Boss Stone thinks he deserves to enjoy more power as the hero who brought happiness to Nightmareville. Hanu refuses and Boss Stone takes away all previous funding. ("Brother, unlabeled gifts are the most expensive ones of all.")

Boss Stone is posturing for war; down with Hanu. He picks out two special dark secrets to reveal to the Townfolk.

Hanu secretly executed his partner, Sister Haru, to consolidate his power. ("Who is Sister Haru?")

Hanu seized the compass from The Compass and forced the Crew to serve him. ("Why don't I know about this!?")

Boss Stone lets the Townfolk decide what to do with Hanu; attack, or be under his tyranny. Boss Stone announces the Townfolk choosing war, even if never releasing any evidence, and people buy into it. ("Nobody disputes it, which means it's perfectly reasonable.")

Boss Stone lays out his dream for the town before the Crew; Nightmareville should turn into the richest town in the world. To do that, the Crew has to help subdue Hanu. Clockie chooses to help Boss Stone defeat Hanu, hoping it will be a wakeup call for Hanu. ("Boss Stone is doing his best for everyone. I'm sorry, Brother Hanu.")

Boss Stone exhausts Hanu and wins the war. Hanu is imprisoned, and the Townfolk once more becomes Nightmareville's staff. Of course, it's all legal. Seeing Hanu turn into a prisoner, Clockie feels uneasy. But he understood that it was the best outcome for the Townfolk. Or was it really?

The crocs kept digging for memoria, while they made people build a wall against an upcoming storm. To buy their protection, the people had to give their valuable gems as protection money. They must do so at a ceremony. ("I'll provide the services and you pay. That's the law of this world.")

The contract, if signed, would trap the Townfolk forever inside voluntarily. ("Even so, it's better than dying out there in the storm, right?")

Clockie and Captain Revolver sneak into the construction site and embed a bomb inside the already laid out bricks. It detonates, and the debris splashes right into the nearby Boss Stone.

The people still have to submit, because it's better to lose their freedom than be outside in the storm.

The walls get higher, blocking out wind, sand, and even sunshine. Dreamville turns back to Nightmareville under Boss Stone's 'protection'.

Clockie vanishes. Then he returns, and people see him as their leader, and hope he can persuade Old Man Wood to give up his position.

Clockie gallops into the wilderness, remembering his days on The Compass and firmly believes that Dreamville should bring comfort and freedom.

The Cowboys never wanted to be a part of Dreamville, wanting to live outside in the desert. They bullied the town until Clockie gave them a sense of justice, maintaining peace and order. (There is nothing wrong with this -wanting to live outside. Most importantly, everyone should be happy!")

The Cowboys make an alliance and want to comfort Old Man Wood. ("Old Man Wood seeks unity to enforce rules, but our unity is for freedom!")

Old Man Wood wants to get his hands on the desert no matter what: ("The land is the desert is the most important treasure in the town!"), refusing the amicable proposal of the Cowboys. He wants to allocate them to an autonomous area, and keep the rest.

Old Man Wood raises weapons to the Cowboys, and they flee back to the desert. Clockie apologizes to them and they throw a party to cheer him up. He guzzles up bottles of SoulGlad containing excessive stones, and drunkenly promises to fulfill the Cowboys' dreams. ("Are woods and trees inherently nobler than us...")

Old Man Wood raises a forest as a wind barrier, keeping the town and desert separated. A divide keeps growing between the people, marking their estrangement. But Clockie secretly opens a passage through which the Townfolk can leave to the desert. ("One day, we will tear down this forest!")

Less people in the town made Old Man Wood question why they would abandon their warm and beautiful town. ("It's because of novelty, that's all.")

The Cowboys and Townfolk are tired and decide to burn down the forest. In response, Old Man Wood launches a campaign to cut off resources to the desert, leaving them to starve in the wasteland; Clockie is disappointed in him. Old Man Wood expected people to turn on each other, instead they helped out. Clockie was also helping during that period, hoping it would teach Old Man Wood a lesson. ("It's better to overestimate than underestimate human nature!")

The Cowboys and Townfolk for a decentrilized force that tries to fight for their freedom. ("Our goal is freedom, not victory.") Old Man Wood takes the folk that sides with him to force them into submission. ("Chaos is not equivalent to freedom, Clockie.")

The Cowboys win and Old Man Wood despairs. He bids farewell to the town he cherished. the Cowboys celebrate and divide the town's territory into pieces, each representing a piece of their newfound land of freedom.

Clockie and Old Man Wood form a partnership again to do good for the future; a paradise.

Someone was penniless in Dreamville. ("What should we do, Old Man Wood?") Old Man Wood would take away the person's desires. No dissatisfaction should be in Dreamville. ("Buck up, and enjoy free SoulGlad on the Golden Street!")

Someone committed a crime in Dreamville. ("What should we do, Old Man Wood?") Old Man Wood would take away the criminal's evil thoughts. No baddies should be in Dreamville.

Someone is sick in Dreamville. Old Man Wood took their worries. No pain is allowed in Dreamville. ("You can't feel pain now. Cheer up!")

Hurting others? Old Man Wood inflicted the same mount of pain on the culprit. No hurting each other in Dreamville.

Permanently departing Dreamville? Old Man Wood made wood sculptures of the departed. No separation in Dreamville. ("Brother Hanu, Mirror Princess, and Captain Revolver are also back!")

Addicted to joy of games? Make them unable to feel the joy of playing games. No addiction in Dreamville. ("Bad games make people mad!")

Treason? No betrayal in Dreamville. ("Because everyone must be loyal to him.")

Reminiscing about the past Dreamville? No. ("Because there is only the present here.")

Meaning of life? Old Man Wood answered. There were no questions in Dreamville. ("Old Man Wood in the smartest tree!")

Questioning the ruling of Dreamville? No skepticism in Dreamville. ("Because he's right.")

Desire freedom in Dreamville? Give it to them, but leave them nothing else. ("That's the price of freedom.")

Over time Dreamville became united as one. Old Man Wood was nurtured into a towering tree that shelters all the Townfolk with its shade. There, Clockie also stopped thinking and immersed himself in joy.

("Old Man Wood can solve all the problems.")

...

The..end?

#penacony spoilers #hsr spoilers #hsr clockie #the event lives rent-free in my mind running circles as i try to figure out who is who #if there are any grammar mistakes then i blame the week long ongoing migraine and light sensitivity #i wanna take clockie by his face and shake him hard enough so the whole lore drops out of him without allegorical rewording

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troius · 2 years ago

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I am genuinely asking this cause this is a plot point I've been stuck on: how would you write Ichigo getting his powers back? The Shinigami ex Machina twist felt like bland fan service but I don't know how else it should go.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I've been thinking about this a lot, and I don't really think it's too hard! It's kinda sad, because all the heavy lifting has actually already been done-- we have four whole volumes of set-up. We've established:

Ichigo was depressed because he was powerless. This provided an in for a gang of con artists to sucker him in with the promise of making him feel better about himself. The lesson he has to learn here is his own self-worth absent his powers (which thematically will result in him getting his powers back).

Ichigo and his friends completely fail to communicate with each other throughout the arc, thinking that keeping things secret will keep their friends safe, only for it all to blow up in their face. The conclusion therefore must also involve these idiots finally talking to each other.

How I, were I Kubo's editor and yet completely immune to the commercial pressures of Shonen Jump, would do this after the cut:

We're going to start our divergence when Ginjo and Ichigo arrive at Tsukishima's mansion, with maybe a slight change to establish this thing earlier in the story because it sort of came out of nowhere. But rather than bring in Ichigo's nonpowered friends and family for a second round of trauma, I'd suggest keeping it tight on Ichigo's desire to kill Tsukishima. This is what he thinks will solve his problem. He fights his way shockingly easily through the other members of Xcution (it's almost like they're not really trying...) before getting to Tsukishima.

And naturally, Orihime and Chad intervene. But instead of being strangely stoic about it all, they're acting like you would expect people to act if one of their best friends was trying to kill the other. Orihime is full-on crying as she heals and shields Tsukishima. Chad is screaming to Ichigo about how this isn't what Ichigo used to take pride in. And most importantly, they're actually trying to restrain him and stop the fight instead of just passively protecting Tsukishima when attacks happen. As the fight spills outside, Ichigo can't win the fight without hurting them.

And so finally, finally, Ichigo resorts to dialogue. He tries to talk them out of it. And Chad and Orihime, who still have all of their memories of Ichigo even if Tsukishima is weirdly in some of them, listen. They're not going to harm him either. Ichigo, breaking down, apologizes for failing to protect them. Orihime and Chad tell him he doesn't need to apologize for anything, that they're fine. Even Ginjo and Xcution stop fighting each other. It's all very sweet. And that's when Uryu shows up and seemingly ruins everything.

He drops out of seemingly thin air with a massive licht regen that completely demolishes where Ginjo and Tsukishima are standing. Ichigo, Orihime, and Chad are astonished, verging on furious. But Uryu responds that those two are the ones who attacked him. The dust clears, and rather than being dead by Quincy powers, the two of them and the rest of Xcution get the drop on the Karakura kids. Uryu, Chad, and Orihime are all quickly taken down, and Ginjo takes Ichigo's fullbring.

Ginjo and Tsukishima do their villainous exposition. Ichigo has his full-on breakdown. But his friends are there too, and share in his pain. Uryu tells Ichigo that he's arrogant for assuming its his job to protect them. Chad points out that all their instincts to protect worked disastrously as they concealed the truth from one another. Orihime says that what matters here is that he, and everybody here, aren't hurt. Rukia calls him an idiot.

OH SHOOT, RUKIA'S HERE. She says that the four of them really made a mess of things, but that Isshin sent a message to her through Urahara that something was wrong. Ichigo says that she didn't think she cared, as she hasn't been in his life for 18 months. Renji (who is also here) points out to Ichigo that she is an immortal soul with a job, and that if he wanted to see them he should have asked! And then Rukia points out that it won't be a problem going forward, as Ichigo can see them now.

Because Ichigo has his powers back! No magic sword necessary-- we already established when he was training with Ginjo that his powers were coming back. Rukia gives the above spiel about how Ginjo couldn't steal them, and then informs him that she and Renji are taking him in. Xcution naturally does not take kindly to this. Our six hearts each pair off with a Fullbringer (Orihime did some healing during all this), and if people ask for it I'll do a second post about how I'd pair those fights off.

But I'll leave it at this for now. That's how I would thematically tie off the arc.

#bleach #ask troius #this might be my longest post on this blog lol #hope it satisfies

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cbk1000 · 8 days ago

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I am bored, so I have decided to pick a random word from the book next to me, and search that random word in each Merlin fic I've posted*, and post the first sentence/passage that contains that word. Why? I dunno; this is how I spend my free time, I guess.

First word is 'know'.

From that fic where I rewrite the entire show, plus Arthurian legend:

“How would you know?” Arthur snapped, but in a princely way, since he did not allow peasants to rile him up to anything which could be credibly called peevishness, or even mild pique.

From that fic where they have a lot of sex in a cave (Merlin is claiming he can smell storms, btw; I didn’twant to include the full argument because it's them, so it's long):

“I can smell it, and it’s going to be a nasty one, and if you insist on going out to shoot tiny, innocent little baby deer in it, I can’t say what will happen to us. Especially in a wood with obvious murderers in it. Do you know, there are these little old women who live in huts, and they--”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, in a very pleasant tone of voice. “There’s only one murderer in this wood, and it’s going to be me.”

From that fic where they have a lot of sex on a train:

"How's work?"

“Like arse,” Merlin said, paying for their coffees, and handing Arthur his. “I think they would have asked me to push off my holiday, except they know I’m a biter. And not just the sexy kind.”

From that fic where they heal sick animals, and then have a lot of sex (starting to sense a pattern):

“Oh, crap. I guess you don’t know; the schooling’s changed since Gaius went. Yeah. They teach you just to ram it up there and stir it round a bit. Really, if the horse isn’t shrieking, you’re doing something wrong.” He looked up from under the curling fringe, going round behind the mare, and speaking to her in a far lovelier tone than he had used on Arthur. “Someone want to hold her? And by someone, I mean the person who didn’t call me a useless infant baby who has no business touching his precious capitalist wet dreams.”

From that fic where they have a lot of sex in a sex club:

“Why would she think that?” Arthur demanded. “Why would she go to a sex club--whip people, or whatever it is you do there, and think, ‘Oh, you know who’d fancy this? Merlin.’”

From that fic where Arthur comes out and they hook up and Merlin is still too stupid to figure out that Arthur’s attracted to him:

“You’re the one who wanted to go for a run. Didn’t you let the weather know a Pendragon would be in attendance, and it ought to have put out its best silverware and the tablecloth it inherited from five generations of Tory wealth?”

“Try not to be a wanker, Merlin.”

“I will not try, it’s bloody five am in the bloody morning.”

From that fic where they're gay farmers:

Because folklore has a right to a certain poetical flair, it is stated, many times over, by many various people, that the Once and Future King shall rise again: and there is a certain implication of glamour, as if he were going to come in as he had gone out, wielding a very large sword, under a very heroic banner. People in folklore are rather more grandiose than real ones, because no one really likes to read, in a nice little book of fairies, about how a great king might actually go about getting himself out of his tomb, which was what the lake was. They would not like to know that he did not just appear one day, jauntily from nowhere, a bit shiny round the edges, to show that he was a legendary rather than ordinary man; but that his first act upon the new earth was to crawl out onto its shores and vomit up some lake water with weed in it.

From that fic where they think they can be friends with benefits:

“You’re the one who broke up with Freya.”

“I know; I don’t mean a relationship anyway. I don’t think I have time for one. Between work and you, I don’t have the emotional energy for a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.”

“What do you mean, ‘between work and you’? What have I done?” Arthur demanded, sitting up on his bed where he had been lounging back whilst Merlin carried on with the business of packing, and throwing at him a pair of socks which had not yet gone into the luggage.

“What do you mean, what have you done?” Merlin asked, throwing the socks back at him. “We’re practically married. I was chatting with Lance the other day and realised I haven’t talked with him or Gwen for almost three weeks, but you texted me yesterday to tell me you had got a hangnail that was bothering you. And asked me to go to Tesco for you because the washing up liquid was out. Whilst I was at work, you daft numpty.”

From that fic where Arthur is a sexy water demon/spirit/creature of folklore who lures people with his naked wiles and drowns them:

“Well I order you to get in the water,” Arthur snapped. Now because the poor cog took up so much of the introduction, there was never any mention of what or who it was carrying; and anyway what had marked it for royalty was unrecognisable in the crush. So it is helpful now to mention that Arthur in his life had been a prince: disinherited, to be sure, by his own death, but still the marked superior of this peasant. He was not used to being disobeyed. No one had ever looked up to his station, and spat on it.

“Well I’m not going to, you patronizing prick.”

“Do you know who I am ?” Arthur demanded.

“You’re an areshole in a lake.”

And finally, from that other fic where I rewrite the whole show, but also T.H. White's 'The Once and Future King':

But this is not the case. Arthur was given a tutor (a great many tutors, actually) as you remember, but it was a tutor who was not Merlin, because Merlin was still a boy in a small village called Ealdor making cracking good sport of his magic, as he was a child, and children do not yet know that Man is the only beast who has learned to fear what is innocent, and pervert it accordingly, and then, having quite thoroughly ruined it, kill it with the worst of their weapons, known even to this day as Justice.

*Excluding the social media fics, since I can't do a ctr f on images.

#fic #writing #at first I thought this would be kind of fun to see where certain words first show up #and then after a while I started to be like 'why did I write so many damn fics'

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magicspace114 · 10 months ago

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New Guardians part 4

You think you've made progress with Tillen. She doesn't hate you now. In fact, you think she's actually starting to care for you. She was anxiously pacing as your mother saw to your injury. She'd already built a nest and put Toby and Lovik in it. The pair huddled together, Toby eventually falling asleep and Lovik blinked out of sync as he fought to stay awake. Tillen never settled, glancing at you every time you hissed in pain.

It was basically a large burn. It wasn't the shoot-a-gaping-hole-through-your-chest laser. Still, it wasn't just a little singe. The skin had turned pale and was starting to blister. It hurt every time your mother touched it but she had to apply ointment.

"How long will it take to heal?" Tillen asked.

"Can't say for sure," your mother said, "it can be a week or maybe three."

"I don't know what weeks are."

"7 days," you said, "I'll be fine."

"As long as you don't aggravate your injury." Your mother said sternly.

You went quiet while your mother continued to care for your wound. It was a rather large burn and your mother had made you take your shirt off so she could tend to it, meaning your brother and father were not allowed in the room.

Without your shirt, Tillen could see more scars on your body. You could feel her eyes linger on the largest one that ran from the top of your left shoulder, diagonally down to your mid back on your right side. It was still red and raised like you'd got it recently.

"What are you thinking about, Tills?" You asked, not looking round at her.

Tillen paused at the nickname but having heard one already with Toby, she didn't dwell on it. "That's a back stab. Right?" She asked.

You nodded. "Yeah, it's an old one now."

"Was it that man who broke into your home?"

"Yeah, Freddy." You said, "he uh..."

"Got angry?" Tillen asked, clearly remembering what you'd said about him. Your mother silently nodded while continuing her work.

"He gambled money, he lost it. He took it out on me." You said shortly, not really wanting to explain it.

"Neighbours called the police about the screaming." Your mother said, "that was the last time she lived in the same place as him."

"Did he suffer for it?" Tillen crept closer, her tail swishing in agitation.

"I dropped the charges," you said, "I wasn't in the best place to pursue the issue with the law. Living under him, I didn't have the strength to fight back at the time. I'm better now though."

"Her brother and father paid him a visit after she'd moved back in with us," your mother said, "so he didn't get away unharmed."

Tillen hissed lowly, "but not as hurt as her."

"Correct," your mother nodded.

You just smiled at the pair, "oh, he will be soon. Once they find him again. I know I'm back to fighting strength."

"You're not fighting anybody, little missy." Your mother said.

"What?! Not even to knock him out?!" You huffed, "I think I'm entitled, it's me he kept harassing. Do you know that idiot thought that because I dropped the charges that meant I was still interested in him?"

"You need rest." Your mother said, wrapping your shoulder in dressing, "I trust that Tillen will make sure you stay in bed." She looked at the alien expectantly.

Tillen seemed a little surprised to be given the task but gladly accepted, "definitely. I'll take care of her."

Your mother smiled at her, "be careful, she's a slippery one when she wants to be."

"No more slippery than my younger siblings after bedtime," Tillen's tail wagged as she guided you to the nest with Toby and Lovik.

"Is this you starting to like me, Tills?" You grinned.

Tillen twittered scoldingly at you, "absolutely not." She wrapped you carefully in blankets, padding up your injured shoulder and immobilising you.

Your mother just smiled, watching Tillen's rather practised ease at settling you to the point that you started getting tired. The warmth from the nest and the warm bodies inside made you want to drift off. Toby rolled over and onto you which made you glad that Tillen padded up your shoulder so well. You curled an arm around Toby, closing your eyes.

As your mind faded, you could hear your mother talking lowly and Tillen's melodic twitter respond to her. Toby's sleepy bleats made you smile as you rather quickly fell asleep.

< Previous

#writing #creative writing #humans and aliens #protective human #protective aliens #@ixylle-d-from-the-stars #honestly your art inspired me to make this part

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deranged-chinchilla · 1 year ago

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| Coffee and Kisses

It’d been a couple weeks since the incident and since then you’ve been hired as Abby’s assistant, usually staying at the lab late to help her get her work done.

But one evening you had fallen asleep unusually early and Abby was worried, coming to Gibbs at his desk where he was doing his share of paperwork.

“Hey, Gibbs. Sorry for bothering you.” She said softly, Gibbs immediately noticing her worried tone.

“Don’t be, what’s up?”

“I think there’s something wrong.” She said and Gibbs immediately got up.

She lead him to her lab where she lead him to you, fast asleep at your desk with her jacket around your shoulders.

“I think… I think Ari really got to them.” Abby whispered as Gibbs approached you and examined your face.

He had assumed your resting face was peaceful, but he saw the fear and the way your eyebrows were still tense even in your sleep, accompanying your dark eye bags.

Even though Ari was dead thanks to his sister, Ziva, he knew the effect he probably had on you in the time he was alive.

“Have they not been sleeping?” He asks and she shook her head.

“I don’t think so, no.” Abby admitted sadly.

He tucked some disorderly hair from your face startling you awake as you quickly sat up to look at him.

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck, how long was I out?” You groaned, drying your drool-covered face, being careful of your healing bottom lip.

“Not long. Wanna come with me to get some coffee?” Gibbs asked you softly as you got up and nodded, rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry about that Abby, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“We’re actually all wrapped up after all you did for me, good work.” She smiled as you handed her back her jacket.

“Happy to help, drive safe.” You manage to say before a yawn interrupted you making Abby smile to cover the concern in her eyes.

“Thank you, see you tomorrow.” She gave you a hug before shooting Gibbs another glance and leaving.

Gibbs looked at you, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you out of the lab.

In the break room, though it was a little stale, he gave you a warm disposable cup of coffee.

And though you preferred it iced, you took a long sip due to your fatigue.

“You alright today?” He asks, sitting in the chair beside the one you had settled into.

“I uh,” You cut yourself off and saw the look that told you not to bullshit him, making you sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

It was a day or two after the attack and you were recovering at home with ice cream and movie marathons when there was a knock on your door.

Figuring it was Abby or one of the guys coming to check on you, you unlocked and opened the door only to be grabbed by the throat by the intruder as soon as it was opened wide enough.

Pushing you back he kicked the door shut before pinning you to the wall and holding something to your stomach.

But before he could do anything, you grab his weapon and aim it elsewhere making a shot fire off getting the attention of Gibbs who was just outside, in his car parked under a shaded tree.

Upon hearing the shot, he armed himself and jumped out of the car to sprint to your apartment.

You struggled with Ari for a bit, trying to unarm him for what felt like twenty minutes before he draws back one of his hands and punches you across the mouth, dazing you as your head hit the floor behind you.

You tried snapping out of it, groaning in pain as you attempted to grab anything useful while he smiled down at you in triumph.

“I’ll be sure to tell Gibbs you tried to put up a fight—“ He yelled in pain when you grabbed a vase that had been knocked over in the struggle and smashing it against his head, making him fall over.

Then you stumbled to your feet and kicked him until he made a break for your window.

That’s when Gibbs ran in and you spun around to face him while Ari slipped out the window.

Gibbs couldn’t shoot off a round in time, running to you instead to check on your busted lip and you while McGee and DiNozzo chased after the guy on foot.

“Ari?” He asks making you nod.

“I know he’s not worth the energy but I can’t stop thinking about how close I was to dying that night. And before, if I wasn’t in the lab, how it could’ve been Abby, I just—“ Gibbs comes closer to you, pulling you to his chest and holding the back of your head in an embrace which you didn’t know you needed and graciously returned.

“You got lucky that night.” He said calmly, in his soothing and sexy voice before pulling away and moving his hand down to your shoulder to look at you. “And so did I. If I lost you and was that close to stopping it, I would never forgive myself.”

His words stunned you as you stared at him for a moment, your eyes getting teary. And before you could even process it, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in your own in a vulnerable moment he didn’t dare pull away from.

When you came to your senses, you pulled away with a sniffle and looked away with shame.

“I’m so sorry.” You shy away, expecting him to scold you but to your surprise he holds your face, grasping your cheek in his hand and turning you to face him again.

And once you were, he kissed you, his lips slowly coming to yours and pressing into yours perfectly and passionately as he pulled your body into his, putting you in his lap.

He pulled away to breathe for only a second, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears falling from your eyes.

“I’ll keep you safe… for as long as I’m living.” He said softly, drawing you close once more to keep kissing your lips as you melted into his hold.

(Sorry that was short, I’ve gotta work two shifts tomorrow so I’m kinda low energy, anyway here’s Mark serving some serious cunt lmao)

#ncis #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs #silver foxes supremacy

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halfbakedspuds · 6 months ago

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Thanks to @illarian-rambling for the tag

OC Quotes

Rules: write quotes based on the prompt for some OCs, then come up with a new prompt for the next people

My prompt is: a quote about a time you got hurt.

I think I can do this for the protagonists across all my WIP's (plus the two characters from a little side project I've started writing that I'll have some info up for as soon as I finish writing up the introduction post for it)

TW: mentions of disfigurement, allusions to chronic pain, broken bones, amputation, pain, torture, long term psychological and physical abuse, psychological torment, burns, and impalement.

Echoes of Shadows

Johan: Other than that crazy Rostovan motherfucker Maxim dropping the sun on me, I've actually lived a pretty injury free life. Of course, I still need to go in for healing almost every week, but that's just the perks of knowing you will bleed out from a paper cut long before your body manages to close the wound. I don't even think a paper cut can bleed faster than your body produces more blood, but you get my point.

Hans: *Silently shrugs off his coat and pulls off his shirt, revealing scars all over his chest and upper arms, and what look like marks from a whip on his back* This is all you're getting from me.

Anastasia: Gemeendaal, about... three months ago? Around that? Anyway, Johan ask I watch target, learn routine so he can figure out if she is suspect. I pray that Bozhe leave... particulularly toasty spot in hells for whoever installed roof tiles like shit. I step wrong, I fell three stories: break leg. Then there was chase, shootout. Long story, but story for other time.

Maire: Wha', this old thin'? *Hits her mechanical leg for emphasis* Tha' was wae back in th'war, dearie. One o' our guys (Wha' was 'is name...? Jako, A' think) took a bullet while coverin' our retreat. Bein' th'medic, A ran out tae get 'im. Had 'im on mah shoulders an' everythin', runnin' back tae safety with gunfire, explosions, fire,- utter bedlam 'round me. Fifteen measures from our perimeter, A fell. A didnae e'en know wha' had happened at first, hell, A thought A'd tripped and was actually just annoyed. Well imagine mah shock when A looked down only tae see mah left leg about three meters back, cleanly severed by some Bioworker who'd probably been watchin' me through a rifle scope and wanted tae lure our people with me as bait.

Sasha: People always think it must be so nice to be a high order mage, to have that kind of power at your finger tips. "Must be nice to not need fire to boil a kettle", "I wish I could constantly keep myself cool in the summer", "Wow, it must be so fun to sculpt images out of fire," - well guess what else I can do, Svetlana- *points to the burn over her eye*-I can also burn my own bloody face off with just a stray thought, it's fucking terrifying to have this much power.

Children of the Stars

Adrian: When you're in combat, on the defending side of a full scale planetary invasion, sacrifices must be made. No matter how small the payoff, they are cumulative victories. The ship I was on was commandeered by Tyrus drop forces, so I rigged one of their ammo packs to explode and take down the ship. Unfortunately for those Xenos fucks: I survived having more than half my body vaporised. It's funny, really, they called me a hero for saving maybe two, three million lives with my actions. Meanwhile human casualties in that battle were counted in the billions. People are strange creatures.

Lyanni: Adrian had to shoot my arm off after calling an orbital strike on top of us. To be fair, it was stuck, probably crushed well beyond the capability of anything to even mend it, but it still hurt like a bitch. I don't hold it against him though, it was my arm or my life, and given the pressure he was under, I think he made the best choice.

Wilhelm: The Crimson Dawn- for all their talk of being pro-human and believing us to be the rightful masters of the stars- seem to have a very specific and exclusionist policy of what constitutes as human. Clones? Well, we're just faulty hardware and they hated us for being created by them, as if our minor imperfections from their tampering with our progenitor's genetic makeup were some grave offense on our part. We were beaten, hacked at, burnt, spit on, and oftentimes killed over the most minor grievances or demented pleasures, and we were expected to take it all with a smile because our creators had deigned to even give us the time of day. Being the only one who showed enough competency to become a commander, to be put in the limelight and earn Overseer Yalena's favour meant that I often got the worst of it. God knows how much I sometimes wished I'd been one of the rejects, the ones fit for nothing better than immediate recycling. Though, having met Lyanni and Adrian... I think it may actually be worth it to have my life after all.

The Tempest Prince

Jason: I mean, I've been struck by lightning... multiple times. it never hurts any less but my god, the rush of power that follows might actually be addictive.

Helga: Demihumans, like the beasts, are functionally immortal as long as our head remains on our shoulders and our heart is undamaged. And as a hunter, that has been put to the test time and time again in several very interesting ways, but the one that stands out the most was getting run through with a lamp post of all things. Of course it hurt like hell, but you get used to tuning out pain after a while. If anything, I was moreso flabbergasted by the fucking audacity of this bitch.

Alex: Varus, that swamp-nethered moerkont son of a motherfucking who- ...calm yourself, Alex... if you've ever wondered why I'm covered in so many rune shaped burn scars: the Rogues tried to turn me into their aberrants a long time. Turns out, the blood of a Great One and their corruption runes do not mix. Varus- may even the void torture his thrice damned soul- found the pain it caused me... amusing. You can piece together the rest by yourself.

11 Past Midnight

Kat: Where do I start? I've burnt my hands on a running engine, had my ribs broken by a Pulse-spear, damn near lost my arm to Kamchatka's front door of all things... What else? Oh yeah, and Artur broke my nose one time. I guess there was also that knockoff thunderdome back in Magadan where I got stabbed with a barbed wire spear of all things, and the countless times I've been shot or thrown out of a window. Really, take your pick moi druz'ya, my scars are my trophies.

Artur: Turns out, these people see their 'mutants' the way their ancestors saw Unicorns and the like. I was captured one time, and I don't think it even took an hour before two of my four arms had been cut off and sewn into some warlord's armor as a good luck charm, and lemme tell ya, seeing a part of your own body warn as a godsdamned trinket fucks with your head very badly.

Open tag for whomever wants it, and your prompt is: a quote about your favourite person

#writeblr #writing #fiction #wip #ya fiction #sci fi #echoes of shadows #11 past midnight #children of the stars #The tempest prince #oc quote tag #writer tag

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paul-paulson · 5 months ago

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Log Entry #1

Been playing another Rimworld colony. Jungle terrain. Difficulty: Randy Random, adventure story. Naked brutality (one pawn with nothing -- no equipment no clothes no nothing)

The guy's name was Paul Paulson. He was 53 biological years old but an actual 150 years old. It said he had a couple sons to start.

Turns out on this planet, it just rains people. More awesomely, it rains Paul's family. His son, Watz, fell out of the sky and joined up. Cool. Some other guy, Dean, fell out of the sky, and joined up. In fact I think a dozen people fell out of the sky, most of them not joining the colony. Paul's dad fell out of the sky. Weird thing is that Paul's dad is also in his young 50's, but his actual age is over 1,000 years. I was like, whoa, cool dad! Stay with me! He tried to leave the colony after he healed up, and Paul punched him to try to arrest him. AncientDad was having none of it and punched him right back. Every punch landed actually decreased my standing with AncientDad's faction, Southwest Omeerain; Apparently, despite falling out of the sky, he was a member of some existing faction on the planet, go figure…

Paul's other son came by in a trade caravan. Having learned his lesson from AncientDad, he didn't try to capture his son.

Paul's BROTHER fell out of the sky.

Like Jesus Christ, Paul Paulson.

So, Randy was really kind for awhile. We got a few cows that randomly joined. We got chickens. Amazing. Free milk and eggs. We also did get hunted by wild animals a lot. No one was particularly good at shooting. Paul's son is actually incapable of shooting, and is a pyromaniac, so occasionally has to light fires, and can't fight fires. This is important later. I realized that fighting is not the strong suit of my colony, so I bought a panther. He'd need to be trained before he can attack, but hey, panther.

Unfortunately, we got a series of raids stacked up tightly. I decided to try to wait it out. This raider, hoo boy. He went straight for all the wooden latrines. Smashed up all the beds. Smashed the generator. Smashed the stonecutting table. The well. The walls. The doors. And he killed our one non-familial colony member, Dean. Ugh. Well, it happens. He stepped on enough traps that Paul managed to shoot him with the dead colonist's revolver (thanks, Dean, you raging drug addict).

Crisis averted, I zoomed out. The ~entire~ map is on fire. Jungles are apparently just tinderboxes. Plants packed together really tightly. Hoo boy. I summon Paul Paulson and his son and they get to work cutting a fire break, but it was too little too late. The fire broke through the animal pen. Some animals escaped but many burned to death.

MEANWHILE… prisoners. Prisoners never stop grinding. My imprisoned baroness, Luxembourg, went berserk. She broke out of her cell. She broke into the other prisoner's cell and beat him up. She stormed into the flaming animal pen and started stomping on chicks. She beat up the bull, downed him and kept on terminating. Paul Paulson finally arrives and promptly shoots... the cow, but the cow survives and Luxembourg is taken down.

From here, it gets fuzzy, but basically there's another raid. Paul's son is having a mental break (he has a lot of these... I think his uncle died, at least that's what his sheet says, hard to keep track -- we did find his body later and bury it properly). About half the place is burned or smashed. Paul collapses and the raider decides to run off, capturing whoever he can... which turns out to be our beloved Paul Paulson. I'm stunned. Paul! Paul Paulson, prolific spacer who fell from the sky, related to all, is gone. His son remains, but he's having a mental break. In some cases of Rimworld, when the going gets very, very tough, there is a chance for the game to throw you a Man in Black character. Man in Black is skilled at most stuff, especially shooting, has good equipment and a gun. And that's how we got Adda. He started rounding up animals and rebuilding, put down one raid handily, and finished training the panther. We then got a call from Zornie, a woman who was being chased by four thrashers. Sometimes you just need to take a risk, and we weren't going to get very far with just Adda and Paul's pyromaniac son, who was mentally breaking all the time from watching his uncle die and his dad get kidnapped. Pretty sure that Adda and a panther would give them a run for their money, and hopefully, Zornie could shoot one of the guns dropped by the other raiders. The gamble paid off, so now we have a kind night owl who's got enough skill in Plants to grow medicine. Adda also managed to tame a couple of elephants. So bring it, raiders. Although turns out, one of the very next people to fall out of the sky was from the faction that kept raiding us, Laba. In an act of goodwill, we healed her up and released her, which should hopefully shore up relations just enough to avoid all these godforsaken raids. That and two elephants and a panther.

#rimworld #video games #randy random #paul paulson #survival #colony sim

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grayintogreen · 1 year ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY

I'm about halfway done with this chapter since, again, it's a long one and it's taking a bit more time than expected to finish due to length and the fact that I'm in the middle of inventory prep, SO here's a nice chunky WIP Wednesday.

It's also a very sad one, so you know. Happy Wednesday, have some Jester sadness.

When Nott- no Veth, no but she was Nott then, but she was also always Veth oh whatever- was first learning how to shoot firearms, Jester had been curious about them. She’d seen them worn on the hips of travelers coming into the Chateau and knew the exact sound they made when the belts containing them hit the polished wooden floor of her mother’s quarters. Once, from the secret place she watched all manner of exploits, she’d observed an old man from Tal’Dorei, who bragged about being a rifleman to anyone who would listen before going up, show off his collection. She had to stifle a giggle as her mother suggestively dragged her fingers down each polished barrel and spoke in clever innuendo all while praising him for considerable talents he’d only spoken about but never proven. He wouldn’t need to- the beauty of being in the Ruby of the Sea’s sights is that no matter what you told her, she would believe with her whole heart until the second you were no longer within those walls.

So with that in mind, it meant that Jester had never seen one used until she started watching Nott firing off round after round and, of course, she wanted to see up close now that she could. The resulting tinnitus had lasted for hours until Caduceus took pity on her and used a restoration spell to restore her hearing. The memory of that feeling never really went away and she went from being curious about guns to wanting to be as far from the field from them as possible.

Right now it felt like someone had fired a gun right next to her ear, leaving everything ringing like someone had hit a bell inside her head. Toll the dead, laughed some kneejerk little thought that didn’t belong here. It was the only series of words that made any sense to her at this moment- everything else was far away.

Her eyes hadn’t moved from Fjord’s crumpled form. If she took a step closer, his blood would touch her boots from where it was still pooling out beneath him. His skin was ashen, his eyes wide open and unfocused and staring right at her- oh gods.

But if she didn’t look at his eyes, she would have to look at the gory mess of his ripped open stomach, and if she turned around, she would run to the other side of the ship and start crying and throwing up and she couldn’t afford to do that. Heal him! Another voice, this one livid, shouted at her. You’re running out of time!

I didn’t bring any diamonds.

No one had. Cree and Caduceus were two feet from her, whispering frantically, their words sounding warped like she was hearing them from underwater. “My bag is in the officer’s quarters, but I will not make it back within a minute. And I burned all of my bigger spells on the fucking dragon turtle.”

“I did too. We can… We can try in the morning.”

The ringing still wouldn’t subside, like it was trying to keep her distant from reality by providing some kind of buffer, so when Jester choked, she thought it was softer than it actually was, because she could barely hear it. Cree and Caduceus jerked their heads to look directly at her for the first time since she’d screamed and she backed away from everyone’s desperate, comforting hands, because she didn’t want to be touched, she didn’t deserve it, because if she had been with Fjord, then this wouldn’t be happening.

She’d just wanted to sleep in the mansion, that was all. It wasn’t like they were fighting. Fjord preferred the captain’s quarters and when Jester shared his bed, she never got to cuddle with the mansion cats, so it felt like a fine compromise. She’d kissed him good-night as they both limped away and she’d fallen into a deep, exhausted slumber in a pile of cats until she was woken barely an hour later by Cree sounding an alarm.

She’d just grabbed her sickle because she didn’t have any spells left. She hadn’t thought anyone was going to die. And now Fjord was dead and they were going to have to leave him like this and she couldn’t, she couldn’t-

“We have to do something,” she said, because choking wasn’t conducive to actually explaining her feelings. Her voice didn’t sound like her own even beyond the distortion. It was like someone else was speaking and that person was on the verge of a panic attack. That was strange. Everything felt so numb and yet… was she shaking? Was that her heart thudding like that? “We can’t leave him like this.”

Caduceus started talking the way he did when there was grief to be consoled and she slapped her hands over her ears to block out the garbled noise of it, childishly. Now everything was muted but the ringing and the thud, thud, thud of her heart that she felt strangely distanced from. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t see his lips move or the offended way he would look at her when he realized she was shutting him out.

She counted to ten and opened her eyes. Caduceus, shoulders drooped in something akin to defeat, had knelt down beside Fjord and was casting magic on him- gentle repose and a small healing spell to close up the wound on his stomach and keep his insides in place.

The urge to vomit came again and this time it wouldn’t be ignored simply because she was disassociating. She ran to the rail and threw up so hard that she was yanked back into her body and felt everything tenfold- every ache and pain from the battle, every bruise left by the weight of her grief. She cried and choked and hyperventilated and mumbled it’s all my fault between heaves and didn’t stop until she was pulled against a soft furry chest and a rumbling purr began to vibrate through her entire body.

“It is not your fault, Jester,” Cree murmured.

“I should have been with h-him,” she hiccuped. She couldn’t admit that to anyone else- just Cree. Cree understood what it was like to be a cleric and let someone you loved slip through your hands.

“Do not blame yourself- blame me, if you must blame anyone aside from the ones who hurt him. I was close by and I sensed nothing. They got by us all.”

She wasn’t going to blame Cree any more than she was going to blame Yasha, feet away and being held up by Molly and Beau. The look on her face said she would break if anyone came close to blaming her and proving what she likely already believed and Jester would have fought anyone who tried. It was easier to blame herself for being selfish and choosing a bunch of cats over Fjord.

“I don’t wanna wait,” Jester whimpered into Cree’s chest. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if Uk’otoa has his soul or something and the ritual doesn’t work?”

“We do not have any other choice.”

She could argue for hours and get nowhere and only make it that much harder. If the three of them didn’t sleep, then there wouldn’t be any bringing Fjord back at all, but how was she supposed to sleep knowing Fjord was dead? Shouldn’t someone watch him in case Malachi came back?

“Th-they were after that crystal inside of him,” she sniffed. “We can’t leave him alone. I’ll stay up with him.”

“You will not be able to do the ritual.”

Jester laughed pathetically. “I can’t be the one to do it. I’ll fuck it up. You gotta do it, Cree. I’ll… I’ll help, but…”

But Cree worshiped a demigod of death. She had sway there. The only ritual she’d ever successfully helmed was the one that saved Yasha back in Eiselcross, and that was because no one else was willing to try it until Artie told her she should. She trusted Cree’s spellwork more right now.

“I will perform the ritual, then,” Cree sighed. “But please, Jester, I will not sleep well unless I know you are not causing yourself any harm.”

Of course she was causing herself harm- she’d decided to lock herself up in the captain’s quarters with Fjord’s body and would hear absolutely nothing else about it. That was going to fuck with her and leave her haunted. There was no sugarcoating it, no pretending that she could make a game of it. It was just going to happen and the consequences of it would be compartmentalized until she could deal with them properly, just like always.

“I have to stay with him,” she repeated, simply, and then pulled away from the comfort of Cree’s arms to go and collect Fjord- no, Fjord’s body. He was so much heavier now that he’d gained some muscle, but he still felt too light when she lifted him up in a bridal carry, his head lolling against her shoulder. It was like the absence of his soul was something felt all the way down into his bones.

Orly played a soft dirge of inspiration for her because he couldn’t offer anything else. She held the spark of it in her heart not knowing if she would have any use for it tonight, but grateful all the same for the gift. Marius held the door to the captain’s quarters open for her and then shut it behind her, leaving her alone to lay Fjord’s limp form down on his bed.

There was blood on the sheets and, in desperation to be rid of the sign, she tore them out from under him, only to find that he’d bled straight through to the mattress. Furious, she balled the sheets up in her hands, and threw them out into the ocean where she watched them sink beneath the waves as the Ball-Eater continued its course towards Rumblecusp.

She looked over her shoulder. She’d left the doors leading back into the quarter’s thrown open and she could see a bit of ashen green in the corner. If she really put her mind to it, she could believe he was just sleeping and she’d just stepped out here to get some air.

Her breath hitched. What good was it to pretend? For another eight hours, Fjord was gone and getting farther and farther away. She dropped to the floor and pressed herself into a corner of the balcony with her knees drawn up to her chin. Yeah, you’re gonna do so good watching for danger out here, Jester. You’re so stupid and selfish. First you leave him alone to sleep with a bunch of spectral cats and now you can’t even sit next to his body.

“You’re being awfully hard on yourself, my dear.”

Her head shot up. Leaning against the wall in the space between the balcony and Fjord’s quarters was Artagan, hood down and the lion’s mane of his hair falling freely across his shoulders and down his back. His arms were crossed over his chest and the long tapered fingers of his left hand tapped a steady rhythm on his right bicep. He was staring a spot across from him where nothing was suggesting he was looking beyond what was physically present.

Slowly, Jester got to her feet, catching herself on the railing when she lost her footing- how long had she been sitting there spiraling? Long enough for her foot to go to sleep. She hissed and shook it out, trying to get the tingles to go away. “What are you doing here, Artie?”

She didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but it came out that way, regardless. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and took an unsteady step forward. “I mean… I figured you’d be…” Where? On Rumblecusp watching his big plan spiral out of his control? Keeping an eye on Twiggy so they could find her easily when they finally got there? Drinking cocktails on some other island and absolutely ignoring any responsibilities he might have?

Right. It was no more fair for her to be hard on him than it was for her to be hard on herself. She took a step back and pressed herself against the rail again. “Sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about, Jester? You didn’t gut him where he stood. I didn’t either, of course.” Maybe with anyone else that would have been shouted defensively, but to her ears, it barely sounded like a statement of fact. Or maybe she was just too used to defending everything he did and said without considering context.

Shut up. Shut up. Artie’s my friend. He’s done so much for me. There’s no fucking reason for you to be mean. The you here being the shitty little voice that had taken up residence in her brain and decided to be a dick instead of helpful. When there was nothing else left to hit, you punched at yourself and everyone around you.

Artagan took his eyes off of whatever faraway place he’d trained them on. “That was going to happen the next time he set foot on the ocean, regardless of why and when.”

That bitter little voice said could’ve warned me and she bit it off before she could let it slip out loud. What would it have done to know? Made them more careful, sure, but would that have been enough? Maybe Fjord went willingly instead of having to be ripped apart to save them all. Maybe there was no body to preserve and resurrect in that version.

She blew a raspberry. “Is there any way to make it stop?”

“I think you know exactly what they were after and how much trouble they went through to try and get it. Your purple friend pulled out a gambit that won’t work twice.”

Because they only had one more of those stupid crystals and it was in Fjord. That explained why they were trying to open him up like a fish. Malachi might have made off with the one Molly threw away to take it to the temple they’d avoided with Avantika, but now there was one left and once they had that one…

Fjord could get rid of it somewhere far from the sea like they talked about doing, but that was the only way that would work. The other option was that he never went back to the sea and if she were going to ask him to do that, she might as well not bring him back. The oaths he swore to the Wildmother were out on the waves- part of his soul was out here. Land would be a cage and a prison for him no matter how far they walked if he knew that he would never sail again.

“Maybe we just kill Uk’otoa then,” she grumbled, petulantly.

Artagan laughed. “I have no doubt you could, my dear, but you have enough gods and monsters on your dance card as it stands.” He lifted an arm and gestured her closer and no bitter voices or dark thoughts could make her stay still and stand alone when given the opportunity to burrow into the folds of his cloak and curl against his side. She inhaled deeply until her nose burned with the crisp, spicy scent of evergreen that conjured images of thick forests of pine trees like arrows pointing towards candy pink skies.

It took barely a minute for her joy to become sorrow again as she wept into his side like someone had punctured a hole in her heart and this was all she had to bleed out. She was frustrated and tired and angry and confused and this whole journey had barely started and even if it wasn’t her fault, it all felt like her fault. She bit her tongue until she tasted her own blood and clung tighter to Artagan’s body like she could hold him here and refuse to let him go.

Artagan had clearly never suffered a young woman bawling on him like this and did nothing but stand still like a statue with his arm around her shoulders and mumble awkward, desperate pleas for her to stop crying, that it would be all right, and that it would all seem less like an absolute disaster in the morning. It was shockingly mortal of him, like he was trying to figure out how to mimic compassion by what he’d observed from others, because he otherwise had no context for it. It was enough to make her laugh through the least of her sobs.

“Promise me something, Artie?” She finally forced out when she could form a sentence that wasn’t some stumbling, stuttering mess. “Promise me when this is over, you won’t leave me.”

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he hissed like he’d been scalded. She was afraid to look up into his face, afraid of what she’d see there. “I’ll do my best.”

She made the decision not to ruin the only comfort she had for this long, agonizing eight hour wait by pointing out how that wasn’t a promise. Like many things that troubled her that she didn’t have the energy to be upset about or analyze, she pushed it aside to be forgotten in order to simply take joy in what she had currently.

#wip wednesday #cr fic #you can't deny high noon #my writing

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comshipbracket · 6 months ago

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Antis DNI - Block the tag "comship" if this causes discomfort.

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Disclaimer: All ships (other than the now-eliminated NozoCoco) on this bracket are FOLLOWER-SUBMITTED ships, the Mods do not always hold necessary knowledge to be aware of any errors or fanonizing what should be canon material that may arise.

Paire Propaganda (Incest - Uncle and Niece, Age Gap, MinorxAdult in Earlier Seasons)

"When a time-traveler from the future tells Peter, `Save the cheerleader, save the world`, he took it to heart, as did the marketing department, since it became the slogan for NBC’s hit sci-fi drama. Unbeknownst to her, fate of the world rests on Claire’s regenerating shoulders, and she luckily meets Peter, the handsome stranger who cheers her up and sacrifices his life to save hers at her high school homecoming. The two part ways the next day, but not before Peter is overcome with relief to see her alive and Claire is comforted to know she isn’t alone in having powers. Peter is able to access the powers he’s copied from others when, after being thrown from a building, remembering Claire allows him to use the regeneration he had in her company, which teaches him, `I don’t have to push her out! I have to remember her, how she made me feel!`" "Thanks to the meddling of Angela Petrelli, Claire discovers that her mysterious biological father is Nathan, Peter’s shady-politician older brother. When next they meet, Claire returns the favor by pulling a shard of glass from Peter’s brain stem, allowing him to utilize the regeneration his DNA copied when he met her. With the threat of a nuclear explosion destroying New York, Peter and Claire take comfort in each other’s company, looking for a way to prevent it. Though Peter had insisted on Claire shooting him if he began to combust, declaring her to be the only one who could, she’s ultimately unable to do the deed. Instead, Nathan flies Peter over the ocean so he can explode mostly-harmlessly in the sky." "For seasons after, Claire and Peter begin to fall out of step— much of season 3A follows a Peter that had time-travelled back to prevent the timeline where an angsty, violent Claire shoots him after declaring, `I’ve always loved you.` This future Peter is the one to save present Claire from getting herself hit by a train just to feel something. At one point, Peter is rendered powerless, then thrown out a window by his father, and rescued/nursed back to health by Claire. When the two hit the streets again to solve the issues created by the Petrelli patriarch, Peter describes wanting Claire to retain her innocence, having witnessed the violence of the timeline that his future self came from." "Conflicted feelings about Nathan’s actions drive a wedge between the uncle and niece at times, but Peter is almost always regarded as one of the first people Claire goes to and trusts, as the only person she believes can keep her safe. They generally can get along and talk comfortably, which becomes useful when Nathan dies, for realsies; the pair are relegated to cutting lemons and limes at the funeral reception, bonding over the way others in their lives infantilize them. Claire is the one to find and heal Peter when his grief manifests as trying to enact vigilante justice, then talking together to work through some of their problems. Regardless of familial relations, Peter is always protective of Claire, and wanting to act in her best interest by actually discussing with her what her needs are, even if they don’t always agree— he is often pulled in several directions by the moral grayness of loyalty to a toxic family system, which Claire can see through, having not grown up around it." "Claire feels safest and most secure with Peter— others might condescend her, keep secrets, act out of their backwards idea of her best interest, or make her feel weird for having powers, but he doesn’t. The two could easily have more comfortable, domestic conversations, if the universe would slow down and let them. Even when the two are at odds, they never fully forget the love they feel for each other, and the intense emotions of their interactions and utterly palpable, radiant chemistry between them is frankly unavoidable. When they interact, their hearts are in their eyes, fondness written all over their faces."

HaniMori Propaganda (Cousins, Pseudo-Age Difference - There isn't one, but Haninozuka looks much younger)

"Mori will literally do anything for Honey and it’s so cute!! You see them together in almost every scene they are so close"

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grailfinders · 2 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #305: Amor (Caren)

Today on Fate and Phantasms we have built the god of love, Amor! Just be careful you bring up Eros, she can be a real Caren about that. She is an Arcane Archer to charm anyone she shoots an arrow at, and she is also an Archfey Warlock to control love so thoroughly she can Uno Reverse any attempts at charming her. We would have loved to make her a love cleric like Kama, but frustratingly they cannot turn into demigods, which would drastically cut into her Noble Phantasm.

Make sure to check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Don’t blink.

Race and Background

Caren is a human, while Amor is a god. Combine them together, and their pseudoservant must be an Aasimar! This gives her +2 Charisma and +1 Dexterity, as well as Celestial Resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, some Darkvision, the Light cantrip to help others without darkvision, and Healing Hands to patch up anyone who bumped into something before you cast Light.

Caren was certainly an Acolyte before becoming a god, but she was also most likely a mage, so we’re tweaking her background to gain the Religion and Arcana proficiencies she so desperately craves.

Ability Scores

Caren’s highest ability should be her Charisma- you’ve convinced a god to hang out with you, that is probably a high check to clear at level 3. Second is Dexterity. Amor doesn’t wear armor, and they use a bow and arrow. Third is Strength. You can tie up giant monsters pretty easily. We won’t use strength to replicate that in-game, but it’s still impressive enough to warrant a boost. Your Constitution isn’t high, but it is relatively okay. You actually enjoy getting poisoned and frozen, so we can’t make your constitution saves too powerful. This does make Intelligence lower than I would like- we just don’t really have much of a reason to invest in it right away. Finally, we are dumping Wisdom. As previously mentioned, you enjoy being debuffed, and you clearly ignore parts of scripture when they don’t suit you.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: Starting off as a fighter grants you access to all weapons and armor, as well as proficiency in Strength and Constitution saving rolls, as well as Perception and Insight ability checks. You can also gain a Second Wind once per short rest as a bonus action, healing yourself 1d10 plus your fighter level.

There is no point pretending we’re not going with a cupid theme here, so we’ll grab the Archery fighting style right away for an extra +2 to all your ranged weapon attack rolls.

2. Fighter 2: At second level, you can perform an Action Surge once per short rest to add an extra action to one of your turns. Being able to set up your own combo is always a nice way to start a fight. Or end it, for that matter.

Now I would love to continue onto her fighter subclass, but before we can gain a magical bow we first have to meet God. One of them, anyway.

3. Warlock 1: Amor is obviously a celestial, but Caren is… arguably… Christian, so we’ll relegate him to the title of Archfey for the duration of this build. On top of not pigeonholing us into a healer role, being the ward of an archfey gives you a Fey Presence once per short rest. As an action, you can make yourself more feylike, causing every creature in a 10’ cube originating from you to make a Wisdom save against your spell DC, and the ones who fail are either charmed or frightened by you for a round. The former is more in character and prevents the affected creature from attacking you, while the latter prevents them from moving closer to you, and while you are within their field of view they make attacks and checks with disadvantage.

You also get one last benefit from your race, a Celestial Revelation. Once per day, you can use your Radiant Soul for a minute as a bonus action. With this, you gain the ability to fly, and once per turn an attack you make deals extra radiant damage equal to your proficiency bonus.

Finally, you gain Pact Magic, spells that you cast using your Charisma. You get significantly fewer spell slots than most casters, but in return they will recharge every short rest.

you start out with one fucking spell slot. the whole reason we started as a fighter is just so you have something to do between short rests.

Anyways, for your cantrips grab Eldritch Blast for another sort of arrow until we get your magic bow properly up and running. Cantrips scale with your total level, so you will be getting an extra attack from this much sooner than your real weaponry. You can also use Friends to force a bit of Storge onto another creature, though they likely will not be happy afterwards.

For your spells, Charm Person does almost the same thing but better. Distort Value will influence the love creatures have for a specific item, either doubling or halving the value of an item for 8 hours. That being said, this spell can be seen through with a successful investigation check.

4. Warlock 2: at level two warlocks get some Eldritch Invocations, which are basically your love language. Beguiling Influence will give you proficiency in Deception and Persuasion, two key components of any relationship. Armor of Shadows gives you Mage Armor. Technically it gives you the ability to cast it on yourself for free, but you might as well permanently boost your AC, since why would you ever not have it on?

for your spell, grab Amor of Agathys to… what do you mean it’s armor? ugh, it’s too late to grab something else, just take the extra temporary HP and reactive ice damage.

5. Warlock 3: third level warlocks get their Pact Boon, and Pact of the Blade lets you summon a weapon as an action. it can be any weapon you want, or you can pick a specific magical weapon to bond with. either way, it’s a fun party trick. also it has to be a melee weapon for the moment, but honestly I’d stick with the Eldritch Blast for now, especially since it just got a second beam per casting.

for your spell, you can now Enthrall enemies, making it harder for them to spot anything other than you for a little bit. this is probably more of a stealth spell, but that’s the fun part about these sorts of things, you get to be creative about it.

6. Warlock 4: use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up both your Dexterity and Charisma for stronger Everything You Care About! better bows, stronger spells, and less chance of dying from getting stabbed! win/win/win!

You are now able to stick a Mind Sliver in someone’s head, so potent is your charisma. You can also tie them up with Hold Person, making a creature paralyzed if they fail their Wisdom saving throw. They can attempt the save again each turn, but while they’re paralyzed they can’t take actions or reactions, automatically fail strength and dexterity saves, all attacks have advantage, and all melee attacks are instantly considered critical hits if they hit at all. It is very powerful. For other people.

7. Warlock 5: Your mastery of the amorous has gotten strong enough that you can Incite Greed in others, charming large crowds of creatures to follow you around while you hold a gem. You also gain another Eldritch Invocation, allowing you to create an Improved Pact Weapon. This weapon is magical in terms of overcoming resistance, and it gains a +1 bonus to attacks and damage rolls unless it already gains a similar bonus due to already being a magical weapon. You can also turn your weapon into a short- or longbow now, finally allowing us to properly kick off this build!

I would consider Caren’s bow to be a shortbow personally, but there is no reason not to take the longbow- it has a better range and damage.

8. Fighter 3: Now that you’ve properly blended together your magic and weaponry, you can truly become an Arcane Archer. With this, you learn some Arcane Archer Lore, giving you proficiency in Nature, as well as teaching you the Prestidigitation cantrip. This allows you to perform several minor magical effects at will.

You can also create an Arcane Shot twice per short rest and once per turn, currently in two variants of your choice. A Beguiling Arrow deals extra psychic damage and if they fail a wisdom save the target will be charmed by a nearby ally.

Alternatively, you can create a Grasping Arrow, dealing extra poison damage upon being hit, reducing their speed, and dealing slashing damage the first time they move each turn. They can spend an action to remove the sash with an Athletics check, or it will last for one minute.

9. Fighter 4: Use this Ability Score Improvement to improve your Intelligence. That is the ability score your arcane shots use, so having it at +0 is painful.

10. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters can make an Extra Attack with each attack action, bringing your bow up to speed with your Eldritch Blast. At least until next level.

11. Fighter 6: With our final level of fighter, your cantrips grow in power yet again while at the same time gaining another Ability Score Improvement. Use this one to improve your Dexterity for higher Armor Class and a more accurate bow.

12. Warlock 6: At sixth level, your patron teaches you how to make a Misty Escape as a reaction to taking damage. With this, you can turn invisible and teleport up to 60’ away, remaining so until you start your next turn. You can do this once per short rest.

You can also create a Spirit Shroud for yourself, allowing you to deal radiant damage to nearby creatures, reducing their speed and preventing them from healing themselves. A small taste of power that is truly coming later.

13. Warlock 7: Seventh level warlocks learn fourth level spells like Charm Monster. It’s essentially charm person, but for any creature in existence. You can also use Bewitching Whispers to cast Compulsion using a warlock spell slot once per day. Any creatures of your choice who can hear you need to make a Wisdom save, automatically succeeding if they cannot be charmed. If they fail, you can force them to move in a direction of your choosing by spending your bonus action. It can make another wisdom save after each movement forced upon it. You can’t use this to move them into hazards- it’s hard to fall in love with a fire, after all.

14. Warlock 8: Use this ASI to maximize your Charisma for the most powerful spells possible, spells like Sickening Radiance. You create a pinpoint hole into the realm of Amor, creating a 30’ radius sphere of light for up to 10 minutes. When a creature moves into the sphere or starts its turn within it, that creature needs to make a Constitution save. On a failure, they take 4d10 radiant damage and suffer one level of exhaustion. they also begin to glow themselves, and cannot become invisible. Both the exhaustion and glowing end when the spell does.

15. Warlock 9: at ninth level you can use fifth level spells like Hold Monster. it’s hold person but for not-people! is it worth a fifth level spell slot? probably not! but you’d have to use one for hold person at this point too so fuck it.

if you’d rather cast a spell without using a spell slot, Ascendant Step lets you cast Levitate on yourself at will. You can’t control your horizontal movement while floating so it’s not quite flight, but if you’re trying to get out of reach of most creatures you probably won’t care too much.

16. Warlock 10: at level 10 we finally get that immunity to charm we were looking for with some Beguiling Defenses. you’re now immune to being charmed, and if something tries to charm you, you can use your reaction to turn the charm back on its caster. they then have to make a wisdom save based on your spell save DC, or they become charmed by you for up to a minute. you also get true strike. it’s bad, but I’d hope you’re aiming that bow before you’re shooting people.

17. Warlock 11: at eleventh level you get your first Mystic Arcanum, letting you cast one sixth level spell once per day just like the usual casters. your spell is, of course, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise, finally letting you become God Caren (or Demon Caren, your choice). if you choose the upper plane version you’re immune to radiant and necrotic damage as well as… charmed. again. the lower planes version gets immunity to fire and poison as well as the poisoned condition. no matter which you choose, you’ll always get flight, a boost in AC, and magical weapon attacks that can use your charisma instead of dexterity to attack and deal damage. it’s nice.

18. Warlock 12: use this last ASI to boost your Intelligence once again. we spent 6 levels on those arcane shots, they should at least be okay to use.

also you have an Eldritch Mind now for advantage on concentration saves. dropping concentration while flying sucks.

19. Warlock 13: thirteenth level warlocks get a seventh level Mystic Arcanum, like Power Word Stun. if a creature you target has 150 HP or less, it’s stunned. then it can make a constitution save at the end of each turn to break out. stun isn’t quite as powerful as paralysis since it lacks the instant crit, but it’s still pretty good.

20. Warlock 14: your capstone level of the build also coincides with the capstone of archfey power, Dark Delirium. with this you can spend an action to plunge a target into an illusion, forcing them to make a Wisdom save. if they fail, they’re frightened or charmed by you for 1 minute, until they take damage, or until concentration is broken. until the spell ends, they can only see themselves, you, and the illusion surrounding them. you can do this once per short rest.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

almost all of your charm-based abilities can be swapped to fear for extra utility and flavor. if you’re by yourself? charm. if you need to protect the whole party? Fear! they’ll be angry at you no matter what you choose, so go with whatever’s most advantageous.

if you’re facing a charm-resistant or charm-proof enemy, you’ll always have your archery skills to fall back on. very few creatures are immune to magical arrows.

speaking of archery, having a consistent ranged attack and the ability to Fly puts you literal miles above most of the creatures you’ll face in D&D. maybe don’t actually go that high, but still, it puts you in a place you can hurt them with 0 chance of getting hurt yourself.

Cons:

speaking of consistency, your magic… isnt’. you get two arrows and three spells per short rest, with an extra two spells per long rest to tide you over. even if you’re in a game that only has one fight per short rest, that can still stretch your resources tight.

you do have a something to fall back on, but that doesn’t change the fact that the vast majority of your build is debuff based, and most creatures immune to charming are immune to getting frightened as well. turns out the guys over at WotC don’t want people in control of their stuff! how unexpected.

if you weren’t an archer, your ability to Hold Person would work a little better for you. it’s still great, don’t get me wrong, but you’ll have to have someone else nearby to get everything out of it.

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #DND #Caren Hortensia #Amor #fighter #warlock

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