#sometimes the best thing in the world is to have your pc do something utterly ruinous in service of a good story

[executiveibex]

yes it is mildly upsetting where Echo is, mentally speaking, at the end of "The Siege of the Lineage Brighton"........ but it really, truly delights me when players consciously, and with great zest and love for the story they're telling, choose to have their characters make incredibly in-character decisions that are just the worst.

[americasmarauders]

Time--Steve Rogers.

authors note: to everyone that accompanied the journey that was to write this fucking bible, thank you. not sure you’re there but thank you. this got completly out of hand and it’s considerably late and i’ve spent the majoruty of my day on the pc so bare with me on the typos. here’s 25 pages of steve. 

masterlist

summary: time is all that she wanted. steve wanted to give it to her. but it seemed like it was all that he couldn’t give.

warning: angsty, fluffy and me fixing the end for endgame cause that was shit.

#

He was there every day. It was hard not to notice him. He was so bright, a shining light inside the dirty, dirty walls of the New York City train.

           Y/N may be a bit distracted, but she was no idiot. She saw how he behaved. Clothes bigger than it should be, trying to hide and blend in as much as he could, even though she was almost completely sure he knew he couldn’t. He was so out of place. Her heart went out to him. She had been in his shoes, once. Coming in from another country to a city arguably bigger than it should be was the most daunting thing she had ever had to do. But she had made it.

           Y/N was almost sure she knew who he was. But then again, all those history classes were fuzzy inside her brain. Maybe she was just imagining things. Just maybe. But she would rather gamble with that thought a bit longer.

           He was already there when she got on the train that morning, one week after she saw him for the first time. And just like always, sitting awkwardly and uncomfortably on the same seat he sat the first time she saw him. She gripped the book tightly. Y/N hoped this would do the trick.

           Instead of taking the seat a couple of rows ahead of said man, she chose to sit next to him. She was betting and riding on a lot of assumptions she had made along the week she spent observing him. She could feel her heart thumping against her ribcage. She gulped, and finally opened the book to the page she had last read, sharing a millisecond glance to the man sitting beside her.

           Steve noticed the girl beside him. He was sure she was the same one from last week. The one who exchanged kind smiles and knowing glances. The one who hadn’t been frightened or intimidated by him and the only one who had the courage to sit next to him in the entire week he started taking this train to Manhattan.

           She was intriguing to say the least. She had always a pencil and a notebook in hand, and despite Steve’s hopes, he knew the scribbling she made were not drawings. He had quickly glanced one day in the contents of her notebook—in passing not like a creep. He had understood nothing. All the numbers and symbols were just that to him. To her, it must have some meaning because he saw a smile passing every time she managed to stop and look at what she did.

           But that morning she wasn’t scribbling. She had a battered book in hand, almost as if she gripped more tightly the cover would crumble into pieces. He looked again at the title. This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald. He had read that, once when he was in high school. Steve wasn’t one to sympathize with Amory’s quest for purpose. He thought it was silly for the man to not settle, especially after he came back for the war. He was innocent back then; he thought the war was what would honor Steve’s purpose in this world. Hindsight was precious and a burden.

           “I read that book, once,” he commented in passing. She looked up from her book and looked at him. Steve didn’t miss the kind smile on her face.

           “Really?” she said. Her voice had a different lull to it. Steve found it intriguing. “I’ve just came across it. It’s really interesting.”

           “It is,” he rubbed his hands in a nervous habit he had acquired in the week he had been defrosted. “I used to think that Amory was jerk.”

           “Well, you’re not wrong,” she said playfully, and Steve cracked an involuntary smile. “I’m Y/N,” her hand extended while the other kept the page she was reading.

           Steve took her hand and shook it. “Steve,” he said simply.

           Her eyes twinkled with knowledge. “Nice to meet ya, Steve.”

           There was something about her tone—and she knew that wholeheartedly—that screamed acknowledgement. Y/N wished that wasn’t so transparent. “Where are you headed, Steve?”

           He looked at his hands an embarrassed smile framing his angelic face. “I have some, huh, errands in Manhattan.” How would he say that he had to go to a secret government agency so he could regulate his situation, because he had been presumed dead for the last 70 years? “How about you?”

           She smiled. “Manhattan, too. I’m an engineer for Stark Industries.”

           “That’s, uh, great,” he said shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Do you work on something interesting?”

           Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Do you consider clean energy interesting?”

           Steve looked into her eyes for what it felt the first time. He felt something weird in the pit of his stomach. “I—” he hesitated. “Yeah, sure.”

           She felt his hesitation and decided not to push further. Y/N could feel his uneasiness and decided not to push it further. She fumbled for something inside her bag. She extended her hand, a piece of paper laying in her palm. “Here,” she said. Steve took it delicately, his fingers brushing lightly on the palm of her hand.

           He opened it. There was an address and a phone number written on it. “I, uh, realized that you were quite out of place, and I was once in that situation, God knows how much I needed someone,” she brushed a loose strand of her out of her forehead. “I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, you can drop by or give me a call. I’ll help you.”

           He smiled, shoving the piece of paper in his jacket’s pocket. “You really shouldn’t give your address to strangers.”

           She smiled at his concern. “I know,” she got up, her stop approaching. “But I trust you, Steve. Even if you are a complete stranger.”

           With that, the doors of the train opened. She gave Steve one last smile, leaving him completely and utterly speechless. Somehow, he trusted her too.

#

#

Against any better judgement, Steve found himself on her doorstep, that same evening.

           Brooklyn had changed so much since the last time he saw it. He looked around the tall buildings and a sense of tread dawned on him, just like the first time he saw it. He didn’t remember any of those buildings being there back then. Maybe except the one he was standing right in front of.

           It was a wonder that it had survived that long. Steve reminisced that right across the street had a swell bar that Bucky once took him to. He remembered walking down the streets alone, even with all of Bucky’s protests, after his best friend found a dame to dance with.

Now, it was a simple market. No more of that crowded atmosphere. No more of the extravagant glimmer it held back then. Just a simple market.

           He turned around and got up the stairs. He saw a box with buttons on it. Yet another obstacle, something seemly so simple and so foreign to him. The tread seemed to take permanent residence on the pit of his stomach. Steve saw the tags next to buttons and looked for her name. He pressed it, hoping it would do something.

           “Hello?” Y/N came out through the static. Steve jolted, in surprise.

           He hesitated before decided—as silly as it sounded—to speak to it. “Is that Y/N?”

           “Steve? Hey, I’ll let you in,” then the door buzzed. Steve pushed it open. He glanced at the little paper she had given him earlier that day, noting the number of the apartment and walking up the flights of stairs.

           He could smell something delicious as soon as he got to her door. He knocked on her door, and a muffled ‘come in’ sounded through. Steve turned the doorknob and opened the door, finally. He was overwhelmed by a variety of things, mostly the familiar smell of homemade apple pie, that his Mum made him, once upon a time.

           “Sorry I couldn’t get the door, I was kinda busy with dinner,” Y/N turned off the stove as Steve got in the apartment. She cleaned her hands on a rag and closed the door behind Steve.

           “I didn’t know you were having dinner. I would have brought something,” Steve said looking at the ground.

           “Nonsense,” she smiled. “I hope you like pasta and apple pie, ‘cause that’s all I have today,” she opened the oven to check on her pie. Steve noticed she was barefoot, wearing a hoodie with a university logo on it.

           “That’s fine, ma’am,” he told her, shifting uncomfortably.

           “Ma’am?” she said under her breath. She looked at him and saw his awkward posture. “Please, sit. Suddenly I forgot all my manners.”

           Steve rubbed his hands on the side of his pants, as he followed her lead towards her sofa. “I gotta be honest, Steve, I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

           “Honestly, didn’t think I would either,” Steve replied in a breathy laugh. Y/N could tell he was nervous, but she was confused on the why.

           “I’m glad you’re here, though. I want to help. I can tell you are kind of lost,” Y/N said kindly. She smiled knowingly. “But, before you tell me anything, I have to say something,” she said. “I don’t want to fool you into thinking I don’t know anything about you, ‘cause that would be a lie. I don’t know you, but I know what happened to you,” she gulped. “It doesn’t make me want to not help any less, though.”

           The corners of Steve’s mouth quirked up. “That’s… good.”

           “Perfect,” she said clasping her hands together. “Let’s get started then. I’ll set the table up, you can tell me the things you are struggling with and we’ll talk over dinner.”

#

#

One dinner lead to another. And then another and another.  Truthfully, Y/N knew she was being more help than she knew. Sometimes she felt that just having someone to make him company, no talking needed, was more helpful than any advice or piece of information she might throw his way.

           A week later after the first dinner, they encountered themselves at Steve’s chosen gym. Y/N could see why he had chosen it. It was very vintage. She could feel in her bones the number of stories the walls must have seen. Maybe she briefly wished walls could talk. But despite it, she knew it made Steve feel a little less like a fish out of water.

           She was there to keep him company. He was so quiet all through their meal. She sensed something wrong. He had trouble sleeping, he said. She suggested that maybe he should tire himself out. So, they walked to his gym.

No one in sight, only them, she observed Steve as he angrily took off his hand wraps, the boxing bag he had been punching lay on the floor, ripped. She knew he didn’t want to talk quite yet, so she calmly and quietly sat on one of the benches, waiting for him to be ready.

           And yet, her waiting didn’t pay off. Y/N saw a dark figure, dressed all in black, wearing an eye patch to match his already shady persona. She felt like she shouldn’t be there anymore. “Steve,” she whispered. She caught his attention and motioned discreetly towards the door. “I’m gonna head home. We’ll talk later, okay?” she squeezed his hand lightly. Y/N walked past him and the dark figure, not exactly looking back.

           Steve observed Y/N walking out, then glanced at the man before resorting to continue taking off his equipment. With that familiar sense of tread settling in the pit of stomach, he braced himself for what was to come.          

           “Trouble sleeping?” Fury said.

           “I slept for seventy years, sir. I think I’ve had my fill,” Steve replied, a bit out of breath. He seated on the bench looking at his calloused hands.

           “Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world. With your lady friend.”

           Steve sighed. “I went under the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”

           Fury replied, calmly: “We’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently.”

           “You here with a mission, sir?” Steve asked, already knowing the answer.

           “I am.”

           “Trying to get me back to the world?”

           “Trying to save it,” he threw a thick case file on the bench Steve was sitting on. Steve picked up and opened it, the glowing blue cube the first to stare back at him. The tread intensified in his stomach.

           “Hydra’s secret weapon,” he said, quietly. He had hoped that he had left Hydra in the forties. Maybe he had been a fool to let himself believe that.

           “Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That’s something the world sorely needs.”

           Steve remembered something Y/N said in passing about that. “Who took it from you?”

           “He’s called Loki. He’s not from around here. There’s a lot we’ll have to bring up to speed on if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

           Steve scoffed. “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.”

           “Ten bucks says you’re wrong. There’s a debriefing package waiting for you back at your apartment.”

           Steve pushed himself off the bench and brushed past Fury. He knelt and picked up the ripped boxing bag with ease and started walking towards the exit.

           “Is there anything you can tell about the Tesseract that we ought to know?”

           Steve said, immediately after, bitterness crawling his way to his voice: “You should have left it in the ocean.”

#

#

“We’re here on the scene now where the group of superheroes called the Avengers are fighting what it seems to be aliens, Tom,” the reporter said through the television. Y/N chewed on her pen, nervously. She was glad she wasn’t in Manhattan, but her stomach did funny churns every time the camera showed even a little but of the action. She hoped Steve was alright.

           It was funny how two little weeks made him care for him so much. It was also funny how she had stopped working on the biggest project of her career to hold her heart on her hand and watch the television for some clue that Steve was fine.

           Funnily enough, she felt like she was in the forties. Waiting for her brother, or husband or whatever to come back from a war that most likely he wouldn’t come out alive. Y/N knew he was more than capable to survive. He had survived before. He will again.

           That certainty did ease at all this anxious feeling she felt prickling at her skin.

           “We see Iron Man ascending towards the hole in the sky, Tom,” Y/N’s breath hitched. “The hole is closing and we do not see Iron Man coming out.”

           “Now, we are accompanying our field reporter Tania with news coming from what it is now being called The Battle of Manhattan. Iron Man has dived into appears to be a Black Hole opened in the middle of the city’s sky. Tania you have new information?” Tom said hastily.

           “Yes, Tom!” Tania said excitedly. “Iron Man was seen falling from the closing Black Hole and the Hulk dived to catch him, let’s see the replay.”

           Y/N felt like she could breathe again. It was over.

#

#

Steve had done it again. He had survived. At that point, he had lost count on how many times he managed to pull through the other side.

           He stumbled through the streets of Brooklyn, his uniform tattered and extremely dirty. He limped slightly and his hand found his side, caressing gently wishing the pain would go away. The battle had ended, they had dealt with everything, and he found himself lost, yet again.

           His feet carried him to the familiar building. Funny how in two weeks Y/N managed to go from complete stranger to the one thing he thought about. How he managed to come out of the other side he didn’t know, but he knew that in every second he wished Y/N was safe and as far away from the madness the world had become as possible.

           Steve limped towards the handrail of the building’s stairs. He leaned on it, taking a rest. He could feel the serum take away his pain, but he was still so hurt.

           “Steve?” he heard. He looked up, towards the entrance of the building, Y/N standing there in her sweats, barefoot. She got down the stairs and stood next to him. “Are you okay?”

           Steve laughed breathily. “I’m alive.”

           “That is not funny,” she said, suppressing a giggle at his attempt of a joke. “Let’s get you inside.”

           She tried to support him so he could go up the stairs, but he managed on his own, even all the way up to her floor. She opened the door and he stumbled in, limping to lay on the couch. Y/N closed the door and looked at Steve. “I, uh, was worried.”

           The corners of Steve’s mouth quirked up involuntarily. “I was, too.”

           “You don’t have to worry about me, Steve,” Y/N said shyly.

           “I can’t help it.”

           There were a few beats between them, before Y/N cleared her throat. “I think it’s a good idea for you to take a shower. I’m going to head out and get you some clean clothes, okay?”

           “Yeah, okay,” Steve saw her pick up the keys and wallet. “Wait,” he said. She stopped and looked at him. “Thank you. For caring.”

           She smiled in return, her stomach filling with a nervous feeling she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t quite know how to respond to him, so she settled for: “Go take your shower, I’ll be right back.”

           Steve got up from the couch with difficulty as he said: “Yes, ma’am.”

#

#

Steve nervously fiddled with the food on his plate. Y/N was talking on the phone over some important shipment of something Steve hadn’t quite understood. Even after a couple of months in the future—which he still struggled to call his present, but not as much as he had—he had yet to grasp a few concepts.

           He had to tell her. He wouldn’t be staying in New York. It just hadn’t felt right ever since he came out of the ice. So, when the transfer came his way, he thought it would be a good idea. See the world, try different things, discover another place. Why not?

           But the lingering question was: why was he nervous to tell her?

           She had been nothing but supportive to him. Patient, when Steve knew most people would have walked out. Caring, when he had no one to care about him. She would be okay.

           “I’m sorry, it’s just the delivery is going to be delayed again and I can’t have—” she started to ramble.

           “Y/N, I have to tell ya something,” Steve interrupted her. Her face sobered up immediately.

           “What’s wrong?” her eyes scanning his face, looking for a clue of what might have happened.

           “I’ve been offered a position in Washington,” Steve said lowly.

           Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “That’s great, Steve. You should be happy, it’s a great opportunity. Why’re you so serious?”

           “Because I plan on taking it.”

           “Oh,” she said, understanding the problem. “Steve, if you’re worried about me being angry about you moving, you shouldn’t. It’s great that you want to do this,” she continued.

           She couldn’t help but feel like she was lying. It was genuinely great that he wanted to do this, it meant he started to move on with his life. It also meant that he was ready to leave her behind. And she didn’t want that. She got attached. The butterflies only grew with each time she saw him. It was exponential.

           “I don’t…” Steve trailed off. “I’m not worried.”

           Y/N knew he lied. He wouldn’t have been that serious if he hadn’t been worried. “It’s okay, Steve,” she reached for his hand and squeezed. “I have something to tell you too.”

           “Okay,” he said, suspicious.

           “I’ve received a call from Tony Stark,” she said.

           “Really?” Steve said slightly confused.

           “Really. He said he was impressed with my project and wanted to meet with me, tomorrow,” she said coyly. “Can you believe?”

           “I can,” Steve said confidently. “Tony mentioned you to me, actually.”

           Y/N looked up from her plate, her eyes twinkling. “What did he say?”

           “That he was impressed with your work and some other stuff that I’m not allowed to mention.”

           She shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m pretty sure he will tell me tomorrow.”

           Steve laughed and shook his head at her cheekiness. “Will we be okay?”

           She looked at him once more, her face contorted to a baffled expression. “Of course, we will,” she abandoned her silverware and held Steve’s hands in her own. “we can always stay in touch. Letters, texts, video chats. This isn’t the end of us, Steve.”

           That last phrase sent butterflies into Steve’s stomach. He hadn’t felt that since 1945. She was right. They had more resources to keep in touch than in the forties.

           Everything would be alright.

#

#

Washington had been great. Until it wasn’t.

           Steve had thought that Hydra would just be a skeleton in his closet. Something that he would never heal from, but in the past. He had sacrificed himself to end Hydra, to end all wars.

           He had quickly seen that to think that he would end all wars was naïve. But he still hoped that it had ended Hydra. Even if the remains of that organization were still around, Hydra was done.

           Washington had proved that you cut one head two more appear in its place.

           Hydra not only had survived like a cockroach; they had corrupted the legacy of his friends. If Peggy could have seen what her organization had become, she would have… Steve didn’t want to think that.

           Back in New York, Tony had insisted he stay in the Tower. Not that Steve planned to go back to the depressing apartment S.H.I.E.L.D had arranged to him back when he got out of the ice. Besides, he was sure he wouldn’t stay much, he had Bucky to look for.

           He shoved his hands in his pockets. Walking down the corridor he wondered if he would ever feel at home again.

           “Steve?” he heard. He looked up from the ground and saw Y/N at the end of the corridor. She smiled brightly at him and he felt his insides melt. “Is that you?”

           “Yeah,” he breathed out. She started to walk towards him, with open arms, heals clicking on the cold floor. She threw her arms around his neck and Steve couldn’t help but blush. He thanked that the corridor was empty.

           “What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be back for a while,” she quizzed him, her breath tingling his ear a bit.

           “I came back earlier. It was—Had a few surprises back in Washington and it was best I headed back here,” he explained.

           “I saw the news. You don’t need to be cryptic about it,” she said breaking the hug and taking a good look at him.

           “You have no idea,” Steve muttered.

           Her eyebrows furrowed at his comment, confused. “You look different, Steve,” she said, kindly.

           “I feel different,” he responded. “I’m not…” he trailed off.

           “It’s okay,” she whispered, hugging him again. He always seemed to run out of words when he was talking about his feelings, and Y/N completely understood that. “Let’s go to my office, so I can change out of this stuffy suit and you can tell me all about your adventures,” she said kindly and honestly.

           “Okay,” he said, once again breaking the hug and walking beside her towards the other end of the corridor.

           There was a door with her name on it, and Steve felt his stomach flip with pride and butterflies at the sight. She opened the door and pushed him inside, closing the door and locking it, clearly a sign to not disturb.

           She kicked her heals off, the shoes complete thrown on the floor. Steve stood stoically beside the locked door, and she eyed him suspiciously. Y/N walked behind her desk and picked her change of clothes out of a drawer. Still looking at him, she walked behind a bookcase that separated her office to a small living space, so she could have some privacy.

           “Steve,” she raised her voice, catching his attention. “Is everything okay?”

           “Why wouldn’t it be?” Steve deflected the question.

           “I don’t know, Steve. You seem weird,” she said as she walked out from behind the bookcase, her old clothes folded in her hands. Now in sweatpants and barefoot, just like Steve remembered her, he felt the familiar clench in his stomach.

           “I’m not weird,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, and for a moment Y/N saw Steve back.

           She laid her clothes on her desk and sighed heavily. “I’m going to say something and please don’t take this the wrong way.”

           Steve suspiciously looked at her and nodded.

           “You don’t have to be Captain America around me,” she said, looking at her hands. “You seem so tense,” she walked to him, her hands finding his shoulders.

           He breathed out, his shoulders relaxing and his hands finding hers. “I am tense,” he muttered. His heart started beating faster at the proximity.

           “What happened?” she whispered, her heart beating faster too.

           “My past keeps haunting me,” he said. Her hands found the sides of his face, and Steve didn’t have the time nor the will to be afraid at the shift in their relationship. “Bucky…He was my best friend. And I thought he died. He fell off a train, logically he would have died. So, I didn’t look for him. His family had to burry an empty casket because I didn’t look for him,” he said, bitterly. Her thumbs stroke caringly on his cheeks.

          “He…Hydra found him. They had captured him before and injected something on him that made him survive the fall. They brainwashed him,” Steve continued, his voice full of emotion, one thing he didn’t allow himself to show in front of others, he didn’t know why. “He suffered a fate worse than death, all ‘cause I was too busy to look for him. He would have looked for me.”

          Her arms found his way to his shoulders and she hugged him tightly. His face buried on the crook of her neck, he breathed slowly trying to calm himself down. “It is not your fault. Hydra did this.”

          “It sure doesn’t feel like it,” he said, his voice muffled by her hoodie.

          “But it is not your fault. They did this to get to you, because they knew how much he meant to you,” she said sternly. “Don’t let the horrors that they did rest on your shoulders. Find Bucky and help him. It is the best that you can do.”

          “I know,” Steve said quietly.

          She broke the hug and looked him over once more. He still looked different, but he looked like Steve and that’s what mattered. “I’m here. Always,” she said, looking him in the eye.

          Steve looked right back. It was like her eyes held the secret to the entire universe, and only he could know. He loved it. “Thank you,” he said seriously.

          “You don’t need to thank me, Steve,” she said smiling. His eyes flickered for one second to her lips. He felt the urge to kiss her, he wanted to kiss her.

          She wanted to kiss him, truly. She had waited too long for lingering thoughts and doubts. He was right there, his eyes on her lips. But it wouldn’t be right. It wasn’t the scenario she had imagined. He wasn’t okay. So, she would wait.

          She gave him a lingering peck on the cheek and left his arms. Steve never felt this cold. “So, what do ya want for dinner?” she said with a smile.

          Steve smiled back. Even with everything, it was good to have her. It was familiar. He liked it.

#

#

Y/N stood awkwardly in the corner of the room bustling with people. She doubted that she would have been invited to that party if she weren’t working closely with Tony Stark. Too many important people were there, and she knew she wasn’t one of them. She was just an engineer.

           She looked down at her glass and noticed it empty. She made a bee line to the bar, avoiding eye contact. She reached the bar and took a seat on the empty stool at the edge of the counter. Her fingers traced the rim of the glass, bored.

           “What can I get for the lady?” the bartender said.

          Y/N looked up and shrugged. “Just water, please.”

          “Don’t drink?” she said lightly, while she poured water for Y/N.

          “No, actually. I don’t quite enjoy alcohol.”

          “Huh,” she hummed. “I see,” she said. She put the pitcher of water down and extended her hand. “I’m Natasha.”

          Y/N took her hand and shook it. “Y/N.”

          “What are you doing here, Y/N?” Natasha asked.

          “I was invited by Tony, actually. I work with him,” Y/N explained.

          “Tony works with a lot of people. He doesn’t invite just anyone to these things,” Natasha said suspiciously.

          Y/N let out a nervous laugh. She felt like Natasha was profiling her, which was most likely the case. “I worked with him on the Avengers facility upstate. He says he ‘hand-picked me’. Whatever that means.”

          “I see,” her eyes narrowed. There was something Y/N was not telling her. She noticed her glass empty again. “More water?”

          “No, thanks,” Y/N let out a strained smile.

          Natasha lingered a bit more before going to the other end of the bar to talk to someone else. Y/N stayed planted on the stool, too bored to try to mingle of the others, but most importantly too shy.

          She felt a hand on the small of her back. “Hey,” the husky voice said. She only relaxed when she saw that it was Steve beside her.

          “Steve…” she breathed out, relieved, a smile forming in her face. “I thought you would stay with the others.”

          “They’ve had enough of me for now,” he smiled. “Why’re you alone?”

          She shrugged. “I don’t feel like mingling,” she said. Steve’s hand remained on the small of her back and she liked the feeling of it.

          “How ‘bout a dance?” Steve said, his eyes twinkling in a way she had never seen before.

          She let out a nervous breath. “I don’t know, Steve. The music,” she heard the obnoxious beat of an overbearing song blast through the speakers, “it’s not exactly for dancing.”

          “We can dance to our own music,” he extended his hand to her. An invitation she couldn’t quite refuse.

          She took his hand, a shy smile on her face. The warmth of his hand on her brought an eruption of a million butterflies to her entire system. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he guided her towards the more disguised place of the room. Both of his hands were on her waist, and her arms found their way to his shoulder.

          Steve guided her through a slow rhythm. “Aren’t ya worried your friends are going to see us? I mean, it’s not exactly known that we’re…” she didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Because Steve was her everything and calling him a friend felt like an understatement, at least.

          “I’m not. I just want to enjoy a dance with my girl,” Steve said bravely, and Y/N smiled shyly and looked to the ground. He had called her ‘my girl’ that meant something.

          “Steve, I think we need to talk,” she said quietly, her eyes trailed to their feet.

          His hand found her chin, pushing gently her face to look at him. Her eyes were filled with uncertainty, his were filled with something that Y/N thought resembled love. She hoped it was precisely that. “Not yet. Please,” he said, begging for more time.

          She wished she could give him more time. “I don’t know about that…” she muttered.

          “I promise you; we will have this conversation. But, not yet,” he whispered, his forehead now resting on hers.

          She couldn’t find in her to argue and scream to the top of her lungs how she was tired of waiting for him. But then again, she had waited this long. And he had promised, and she found that he never ever broke a promise.

          She nodded, and he smiled as they continued to dance away to a song that didn’t match the beat of the rest of the world.

#

#

Y/N tinkered away in a side project Tony had her working on when she heard people walking down the otherwise empty Avengers Tower hallway.

           “A little help!” Tony yelped struggling with a giant equipment. Doctor Banner was sweating, a vein popping on his forehead form the effort he was pulling.

           Y/N dropped the equipment she was working on and grabbed her tablet, programming Tony’s robots to pick the… she didn’t know what that was.

           “I thought you wouldn’t be back for hours,” she said to Tony.

           “I thought you wouldn’t be here,” he answered.

           “I was working on the new communications system for your team. What’s your excuse?” she said, sassily.

           “Less traffic on the airway,” he said seriously, already working on what he had brought.

           “What is this,” Y/N said examining the huge box, for lack of a better description. Her eyes twinkled with curiosity.

           “Ultron’s cradle,” Doctor Banner said, looking at it with unspoken horror and guilt.

           “What?” Y/N whispered, incredulously.

           “Ultron wanted to build another body, a better one,” Banner explained.

           “So, he’s into eugenics now?” she quizzed, rhetorically.  “We don’t need another Adolph, tell him to piss off,” she said.

           “I already said that and he wouldn’t do it,” Tony answered. “So, we are changing up the strategy.”

           “What will you do?” she said to Tony.

           “Still haven’t found that answer, can you wait like, two minutes?” Tony responded his eyes trailed to what he was doing.

           “No, Tony. I shouldn’t be here, this is none of my business and I won’t be any help so I’m going to get my things and work in the other lab,” she said gathering her equipment.

           “We could use your help,” Tony said, still typing.

           She left without making a sound, ready to cross the entire floor to put some distance between her and that craziness. She made large strides, eager to not get involved in whatever her boss had up his sleeve.

           The rational part in her told that if she didn’t want to get involved, she shouldn’t have accepted a job in Stark Industries, least of all accepted a job that close to the Avengers. The scientist part in her told her to turn back and watch science be made.

          She compromised.

           She ran to the smaller lab at the other side of the floor. Hastily throwing her things on a nearby table, she accessed the nearest computer. “FRIDAY, show me live footage from the main lab.”

           The screen popped out. Jarvis was in the center of the room, the big yellow ball moving like it was breathing. Tony was with that stupid expression on his face when he wanted to convince someone to do something stupid with him.

           “No, I’m in a loop!” Dr. Banner said exasperated. “I’m caught in a time loop; this is exactly where it all went wrong.”

           “I know, I know,” Tony answered, trying to ease his friend. “I know what everyone's going to say, but they're already saying it. We're mad scientists. We're monsters, buddy. You gotta own it,” Dr. Banner shook his head, maybe in denial, but most definitely trying to not be convinced by Tony. Y/N knew better than to resist her boss’s demands. It would only lead to headache and Tony would end up getting his way, no matter. “Make a stand. It's not a loop. It's the end of the line.”

           Bruce made no sound, he simply moved to start working, considering the fight lost. Y/N observed quietly the dance they made, only comprehensible to only those involved.

          Hours passed eventually and she continued to absentmindedly tinker with the comms, listening patiently to the movement of the footage displaying on the computer screen. She had made little progress optimizing the tech, she would surely go back to it later.

          “This framework is not compatible,” Tony said, breaking the silence.

          Y/N looked up from her work, her eyes perking up, “FRIDAY, turn up the volume please.”

          “The genetic coding tower's at ninety-seven percent. You have got to upload that schematic in the next three minutes.” Dr. Banner answered, just as Steve stormed in the lab with two people Y/N didn’t recognize.

          “I'm gonna say this once,” Steve’s voice was menacing and heavy with authority, and she had never seen him like that. Steve Rogers was no longer the gentle and kind man she had seen; he was Captain America.

          “How about ‘nonce’?” Tony snapped back.

          “Shut it down!” Steve raised his voice.

          “Nope, not gonna happen,” said Tony, moving around his work station, practically ignoring the three new people in the room.

          The feeling that Y/N shouldn’t be watching this was growing within her. As much as she was involved in the tech and upgrades of the team’s equipment, she wasn’t a part of it. She felt like she was intruding a family quarrel.

          “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Steve replied, his voice once again menacing.

          “And you do?” Bruce interfered. “She’s not in your head?” He motioned to the girl in the room next to Steve. Y/N’s heart raced in her ribcage, feeling something bad happening.

          “I know you’re angry,” the girl said, accent heavy.

          “Oh, we're way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade,” Bruce said, angrily.

          “Banner, after everything that's happened...” Steve interfered.

“That's nothing compared to what's coming!” Tony screamed.

          Y/N took that as a sign. “FRIDAY shut down the footage. I don’t want to see this anymore,” she requested politely, her voice trembling.

          It took a few moments before she could recollect herself. After that, her first thought was Steve. Where was he?

          “FRIDAY?”

          “Yes, Miss Y/N,” the AI answered.

          “Where’s Captain Rogers?” his title felt weird on her lips. To her, he would always be just Steve.

          “He is on his way to his dressing room,” FRIDAY replied.

          “Thank you,” Y/N said bolting out of the tiny lab, on her way to her…something she couldn’t quite classify just yet.

          She reached the quiet room. Steve with his back towards the entrance, adjusting his uniform, his shield discarded somewhere beside him. “Steve?” she whispered.

          He whipped around, brows furrowed in concentration, relaxing when he saw her. “Hey, Y/N” he breathed out, relaxing. He could feel the knot in his stomach uncoiling.

          “You just got here and you’re already leaving?” she asked quietly coming into the room. Steve met her halfway, embracing her warmly in his arms.

          “We need to do this,” he said, righteously.

          “I know, I just miss you,” she answered. “Please come back to me, I’m not ready to say goodbye to you,” she pleaded to him, looking in his eyes.

          “I promise, I will come back to you,” he said, lowly but confidently.

          “Steve,” she said and he hummed in reply. She reached for his lips, kissing him tenderly. He was caught by surprise, but quickly recomposed himself answering her kiss. His hands found her waist as her arms crossed behind his neck.

          The kiss was far shorter than both would have liked. But both had places to be, and things to do.

          “Please be safe,” she pleaded once again.

          “Don’t worry,” he pecked her forehead. “I will.” 

#

#

Steve was nurturing a headache ever since the meeting with the Secretary of State. He had managed to slip out of the meeting and avoid the looming conversation of whether he was going to sign the stupid Accords or not.

           He leaned into the frame of the main laboratory in the arms crossed on his chest, a light smile on his face. God, he was so whipped.

           Y/N was working on something he didn’t quite know what it was yet—she had been secretive about it. Her hair was tied in a bun, and Steve could tell she was wearing her glasses. Dozens of mugs littered her work station and the smell of fresh tea lingered in the air. She yelped as something on her table snapped, dropping the tool in her hand.

           He pushed himself off the frame. He walked next to her and crouched picking up the abandoned tool.

           “Steve, thank you” she said coyly. She still wasn’t used to having this man, this God-send man, at her mercy, wrapped around her finger. Because he was, so much. “I thought you had a meeting.”

           He got up, his hands now on her waist, close to her. “I managed to get out early.”

           She smiled. His forehead leaning on hers, his eyes filled with something she could only classify as love.  “What was it about?” she asked curiously.    

           He sighed, knowing that she would not cave in for some talk about wanting not wanting to talk about it. Because it was clearly bothering Steve, and she would do just about anything to ease his worries. He kissed her lips trying to distract her, and she responded lovingly.

           Unfortunately, the kiss was broken too soon. Steve found that al of their kisses didn’t last long enough.

           She pushed herself off Steve, taking a step back and holding his hands on hers. “Talk, please,” she said.

           “They want to restrict the Avengers,” Steve said bluntly. “The Avengers will not longer be a private organization and will be supervised by the UN.”

           Her furrowed and she let out a confused what. “How? I mean, I know how, but that…that’s just wildly…Why would they do that?”

           “I guess Lagos was the last straw,” Steve said quietly.

           “Steve,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

           “This feels low. Wanda’s having a hard time dealing with this, and these Accords are going to restrict her to a weapon of mass destruction,” Steve said. “we’re all going to be puppets for the government.”

           Y/N sighed, breaking the hug. “Steve, look at me,” she demanded. Steve’s blue eyes found hers. “Do what you think is right, but please, please, don’t do anything stupid.”

           Steve kissed her forehead tenderly, filled with love. “I won’t,” he answered, knowing he would most likely do something stupid.

#

#

Steve Rogers was a criminal. A fugitive of the law. It was hard to wrap her head around that.

           She said: ‘Don’t do anything stupid’. She knew what he did wasn’t stupid, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was.

           What was even harder to fathom was that it had been two years since she last saw him. Two years since she last hugged him, kissed him, hell, spoke to him. The line of communication they shared was scarce, and letters—like those Steve had send to her when he was living in DC—were completely and utterly impossible to be sent.

           It broke her heart, to spend so much time away from him. She hoped he still loved her because it was impossible for her to stop loving him.

           “Still no word from Vision?” Secretary’s Ross hologram asked to Rhodes. Sitting on a near by table, Y/N feet dangled a bit, quietly watching the exchange.

           “Satellites lost him somewhere over Edinburgh,” Rhodes said.

           “On a stolen Quinjet with four of the world's most wanted criminals,” Secretary threw back.

           “You know they're only criminals because you've chosen to call them that, right, sir?” Rhodes said, beginning to get annoyed at the situation.

           “Rhodey,” Y/N warned quietly. She was rightfully ignored.

           “My God, Rhodes, your talent for horseshit rivals my own,” Secretary Ross rolled his eyes.

           “If it weren't for those Accords, Vision would've been right here,” Rhodey argued.

           “I remember your signature on those papers, Colonel,” he said, menacingly.

           “That's right. And I'm pretty sure I've paid for that,” Rhodes answered bitterly. Y/N got up and stood next to Rhodey.

           “Mr. Secretary, that’s enough,” Y/N said firmly. The Secretary gave her a once over. He couldn’t let out a response, not when Steve rolled into the room.

           “Mr. Secretary,” Steve said, his voice impassive. Y/N fought herself to not run and hug him and not burst into tears at the sight of him.

           He was so different. His hair was longer, and he sported a beard. She had never imagined him like that. She liked him like that. His uniform was different too. Torn. No star on his chest, a sign of grief of what was torn away from him by a bureaucratic decision, by men with agendas.

           “You got some nerve. I'll give you that,” the Secretary said, unbelieving of what he was seeing.

           “You could use some of that right now,” Natasha answered. Y/N hadn’t noticed she was there.

           “The world's on fire. And you think, all is forgiven?” Ross asked.

           “I'm not looking for forgiveness. And I'm way past asking for permission. Earth just lost her best defender. So we're here to fight,” Steve took a step forward, and Y/N held her breath. “And if you wanna stand in our way... we'll fight you, too.”

           “Arrest them,” Ross said to Rhodey.

           “All over it,” Rhodes replied, dismissing the hologram. “That's a court-martial. It's great to see you, Cap,” he embraces Steve. Y/N felt a flash of green rising in her sight, before remembering herself that it wasn’t exactly known that she had a relationship with Steve in the first place.

           She took a step back as Rhodey hugged Natasha, wishing she had invisibility powers so she could disappear.

          Steve took notice of that, his heart breaking a little at the sight of the love of his life recoiling in shyness and heartbreak. He wished he could have ignored everyone in the room, kissed her like the world was about to end—cause it was—and just whisper to her all the loving thoughts that had consumed him the past two years.

          They hadn’t bothered to listen to the rest of the conversation, to engrossed in their own thoughts of longing and un-whispered ‘I miss you’s and ‘I love you’s. The rest of the people present in the room took the injured Vision to another room, most likely to examine him.

          Once they were alone, Y/N broke out of her trance and lunged herself onto Steve, her view blurred by tears. She kissed him passionately, and he responded as such. “I missed you,” she sobbed. “I’ve never thought I would miss someone like I missed you.”

          He wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks, “I love you,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve said it enough.”

          “You being here with me is enough,” she said.

          “Cap, come here! We need your help,” Rhodey sounded in the room next door.

          “Coming!” he shouted.

          She looked once again at Steve, his gloved hands still on her cheeks. “Duty calls,” she said cheekily, and he cracked a smile.

          She watched Steve walk out. She dried off her tears, and grabbed the cup of tea she was drinking, already cold. She bottomed the rest, the bitter taste of green tea on her tongue. She rested her mug on her workstation and sighed.

          She doubted he would be around for much longer.

          The world was collapsing, and she was going to arrogantly think that she would be his priority, because she wasn’t. He had a duty to complete. When he did finish it, she would be his world. Until then, she would have to wait.

          She sat down, her hands on her face. She was so tired from feeling like a widow of a soldier, she just wanted him. Steve. Steve. Steve. Steve. He consumed all her thoughts.

          “FRIDAY open the schematics for the new Quinjet,” she said quietly. Best to dive into the work than to dwell on the inevitable.

          “Here are the last 20 blueprints you’ve produced, Ms. Y/N,” the AI answered.

          The blueprints appeared before her, in hologram. Y/N cleared some out of the way, looking for the main blueprint. “Okay, Fri. It’s time to start running some tests.”

          She started building the miniature Quinjet, her fingers typing away all sorts of codes and prompts most wouldn’t understand. To be fair, it took her a while before she could to. A knock sounded not long after she started, and she looked up from her half built miniature Quinjet.

          “We’re going to need a Quinjet,” Rhodey announced.

          “You’re leaving? But they barely got here,’ she said sadly.

          “Steve says he knows someone that can help with the Vision problem,” Rhodes explained. “And I thought it would a better idea to get a newer jet.”

          “Well, you’re right, that jet is over two years and who knows what kind of problems it has,” she muttered. She then opened a drawer and drew out a tablet. She twilled with it, a bit.  “The one in Hangar 2 is ready for use.”

          “Thanks, Y/N,” Rhodes said.

          “Hey, Rhodey,” she called after him. He turned around and looked at her softly. “I’m gonna put the latest version for your suit in it. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

          “Thank you,” he smiled.

          “Send the others in so I can give them the updated communication system. I don’t want to be blindsided during this.”

          He laughed, airily. “Sure thing.”

          Moments later a herd of super people walked in her lab. She felt like she was in a weird convention, except the people in costumes weren’t overexcited geeks and actual super people that could overpower her in the blink of an eye. Steve looked at her apprehensively.

          “I need to change your intercoms, they’re a bit old,” she said. “We don’t need ya dealing with faulty equipment on top of… what else you’re going to deal with.”

          She opened a drawer and pulled a box out of it. She started to rumble through it, the sound filling the room awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I have these for literally everyone that has ever worked with the Avengers, Tony likes to be safe with these things.”

          She pulled a little suitcase out of the bottom of the box. “Here. I hid these after everything that happened,” she explained and opened it. She started handing them out, Steve the last one to receive his. His gaze lingered on her longer than it should have. “They are going to connect automatically with any one wearing the same comms. I can access remotely too if anything happens.”

          “Thank you,” Sam said, putting his on his ear already.

          “It’s nothing,” she dismissed. “I gonna put any piece of tech you can use in that jet, just to be safe.”

          “You really don’t have to,” Natasha said.

          “Better safe than sorry,” Y/N muttered, programming the Dum-E’s—or whatever they were called—to put what she wanted in the jet. “The Quinjet is ready in Hangar 2. You should get going. Time,” she looked at Steve, a fleeting glance, “is a precious thing.” 

#

#

She worked tirelessly on the new project she had in her hands, determined to finish.

           Hours had passed since they were gone, FRIDAY occasionally giving her updates on the situation in the field. Every time she heard FRIDAY’s voice telling her something from the battlefield—what better word to use? —her stomach did the same funny flip it did seven years prior, when she had only met Steve and New York was in chaos. Except it was worse.

           It was much worse because she finally had him, and the prospect of losing him again made her sick. She had waited and waited and waited, all she wanted was him. She was always almost there, but someone always managed to rip him from her.

           She heard radio silence. No birds chirping, nor ruffle from trees. Nothing. Lifting her head, she looked out of the window. “FRIDAY?”

           “I have lost connection with over half of the team,” the AI informed.

           “Connect me to the remaining ones,” Y/N ordered.

           She heard panting. “Hello? Steve?” she asked, afraid that it might not be him. That he might not be here at all.

           “Y/N?” Steve answered. “You’re alive?”

           “Of course I am, silly,” she said. “What happened?”

           “We…” Steve was unable to finish that sentence.

           “Steve, please,” Y/N begged.

           “We lost,” Natasha answered for him.

           Lost. Defeat. That was foreign to them. Y/N dropped mug on the floor, bumping it from the desk by a simple mistake. “What are,” she swallowed nervously, “the casualties?”

           She opened the connections log, to see the ones on their team that were lost. “Half of the universe,” Steve muttered.

           “God,” her eyes filled with tears.

           The list. It was heartbreaking. She was going to be sick.

           Tony.

           Vision.

           Wanda.

           Sam.

           Peter.

           And it went on. Forever.

           “Y/N,” Steve begged.

           “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Steve, please come home. Please.”

#

#

Five years.

           Five years since that day.

           Five years with Steve by her side, no interruptions, no one to rip him away from her.

          The little apartment she lived in Brooklyn was now her haven, the place where she and Steve would stay endlessly. Cry over what was lost, make happier memories, dance to no song and kiss to their heart’s contempt. Happy memories were made in detriment of the biggest tragedy the universe had ever seen.

          Her ring shone in the sunlight, her hand holding Steve’s as they drove upstate. She sighed. Steve had been down ever since the group therapy. She didn’t ask why. “Do you want to talk?”

          Steve’s eyes were focused on the road. “It’s hard.”

          She looked at him softly. “I know.”

          “I can’t move on, Y/N. I can’t. Not when I feel like there’s still somethin’ I can do,” he said, defeated.

          “I know,” she squeezed his hand. “I’m truly sorry.”

          He looked at her, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it. “When this is all over, I’ll give up the shield. We’ll buy a house, live quietly upstate.”

          “Steve…” she said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

          “This one I can,” he said seriously. “I promise you; I’ll give up the shield. Retire.”

          “I love you,” she confessed.

          “I love you,” he replied.

          “Please, don’t let me down.”

          He looked at her, “I won’t.”

#

#

She had missed her lab. It was a bit dusty; she hadn’t been there in months. The last time she was there, it was just to repair some tech that was malfunctioning for Natasha. She was the only one that still lived in the compound.

          She ran her finger on the surface of her old workstation. The last few years were filled with smaller projects, and somehow that felt just as satisfying as sitting there making the best tech in the country.

           She sat on her chair, still as comfortable as she had been before. She turned on the computer in front of her. “FRIDAY?” she said, hesitant.

           “Yes, Ms. Y/N?” the AI responded, just like before.

           “Nothing,” she smiled. “Just wanted to check if you were there.”

           “I’m always here, Ms. Y/N,” FRIDAY answered.

           “You know the drill, Fri. Something happens, please tell me.”

           “Of course.”

           Out of pure nostalgia, she opened her old projects resting on the board. Endless files for all the holograms and communications systems for the compound and the jets. The projects for new armors for Rhodey and the one she dared to design for Tony—she had never actually showed him the blueprint.

           She scrolled through everything, ideas popping in her head. She fished out a new notebook from a draw and picked a pencil, scribbling away endless maths and weird drawings for new things. There was a thrill to these types of projects that she had missed. But it couldn’t help but leave a bittersweet taste on her.

           “Oh! Hi. Hi! Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport. In Germany? I got really big, and I had my mask on. You wouldn't recognize me,” she heard, behind her. She turned around in her chair and looked at the screen that popped up.

           She recognized him. He was supposed to be one of the victims. “FRIDAY? What is this?”

           “It is live footage from the front door,” she answered.

           “Ant-Man? Ant-Man, I know you know that. I need to talk to you guys.”

           Y/N dropped everything and headed to where Steve was. Something big was about to happen.

#

#

Standing in the woods just outside Tony’s house, Y/N sniffed as she helped Doctor Banner set up the tiny time machine.

           The briefcase that held the cursed stones sat on top of the station, ready to be put back in their respective timelines. She shivered just at the mere memory of how much pain those tiny rocks had brought to everyone. She buried her hands in Steve’s coat, his scent impregnated her senses, bringing her comfort.

           “Now, remember– You have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them. Or you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities,” Bruce said.

           “Don't worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches,” Steve answered.

           “You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back,” he looked at Steve. “I miss them, man.”

           “Me too.”

           Sam stepped forward. “You know, if you want, I can come with you.”

           “You're a good man, Sam. This one's on me, though,” Steve said. She knew of his plan. Her eyes watered a bit.

           He looked at Bucky and hugged him. “I’ll be back, Buck.”

           “I know,” Bucky said.

           Steve looked at her briefly, a soft smile on his face. Her eyes watered even more. “I love you,” she mouthed.

           He went towards her and kissed her hand, her engagement ring glistening.

           Steve stepped on the platform, and Y/N went back to the workstation, pressing buttons to ready the machinery.

           “How long is this gonna take?” Sam asked.

           “For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds,” Bruce answered.

           Steve picked up Mjölnir and closed his helmet.

           “Ready, Cap? Alright. We'll meet you back here, okay?” Bruce asked. She smiled beside him.

           “You bet,” Steve affirmed.

           “Going quantum. Three, two, one—” Bruce and Y/N flipped a couple of switches and Steve was swallowed by the machinery.

           “And returning in, five, four, three, two, one—” They continued to flip the switches necessary but nothing happened.

           “Bruce, where is he?” Y/N asked, starting to get exasperated.

           “I don't know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here,” Bruce explained trying to mend this.

           Y/N became nervous. He was supposed to be back. She reached for Bucky, shaking. She needed to ground herself. Bucky grabbed her arm and steadied her.

           Then the machine started to hum, the floor started to glow. And Steve popped out of it, as if nothing had happened. She jumped out of Bucky’s hold and into Steve arms.

           He dropped the hammer ans shield by his feet and hugged her, lifting her out of her feet. “You’re okay.”

           “I am,” Steve replied. “I’m sorry it took longer. I had a promise to keep and some things to fix.”

           “It’s okay all that matters is that you’re here with me.”

[blueberryraindrops]

Blueberry’s Ultimate TUA Masterlist

KEY

Fics are organised alphabetically (articles e.g. ‘the’ will not count) 

mostly gen and fiego fics 

Download links are EPUB files only 

authors can feel free to send me a msg if they want their fics’ download link taken down

Links are now unavailable on PC due to a Tumblr link limit (I also had no idea this was a thing, but apparently it is?)

Regular updates can be expected as long as I remain in the fandom

Last Update: 15/10/2020

FANFICTION

☁︎ actions are worth a thousand words by achilleees { E }

→ Download Here

“I think it would be best if we keep up the ruse for a short while longer,” Five said. “For the sake of time-space continuity.”

“Oh, so Klaus was right before, huh?” Diego said. “The fabric of the universe unravels if my hairdresser knows we’re not boning?”

☁︎ Adventures In Childhood [Series] by just_a_sunflower_girl { G / Partially WIP }

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Five really should have guessed that something would go wrong. The universe hated him, it was an abject fact. And right now, Five hated the universe right back.

The commission turns Five into a four year old, hoping it will make him easier to kill.

☁︎ all dressed up and naked by cathect { E }

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The skirt hanging off of it is pleated and pale pink, with two white stripes near the hem— like a cheerleader might wear, Diego thinks wildly— and Five looks almost awed. Diego doesn’t want to assume anything by an expression alone, but he can’t quite help it.

Before he can stop himself, the words are tumbling out. “That would look good on you.”

Or, the one where diego fucks five while he's wearing a skirt.

☁︎ another cog in the murder machine by Ford_Ye_Fiji { T }

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Five finally gets the breakdown he deserves

☁︎ As I Want You to Hear Me by karcheri { E }

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“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Five sighs.

“I’m trying to prove that our current timeline has branched off from it’s initial trajectory by such a large margin that it could only have been caused by the existence of unknown variables interrupting the timeline at non-linear points throughout history. I believe that we are living in...let’s call it timeline 2.0.”

“I don’t understand,” Diego says. Nutcase, he thinks. Insanely hot nutcase.

This time Five smirks at him, looking bratty and arrogant and entirely too sharp; “I know you don’t.”

Or: What I like to imagine alternate/Sparrow Academy timeline 2019 Five and Diego are up to

☁︎ Bizarre For You Is Normal For Us by pupeez4eva { G }

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“I think he’s talking to himself again,” Ashley said, leaning forward. “Okay yeah he is �� oh my god, is that kid talking to the mannequin?”

Maggie shot a glance behind her. Yes, the boy was talking to the top half of a mannequin.

“I love working here,” Ashley breathed.

Wherein Klaus, Dave, Five and Dolores go on a double date, and people are confused and very concerned.

☁︎ Blink by Lady_Origami { G }

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When Five blinks, sometimes he's back in the world of ash and embers. It's hard to remember how to breathe when that happens. In which Klaus tries to play the role of supportive brother with Ben's help, and Five struggles more than he lets on.

☁︎ Blood like Lemonade by Ford_Ye_Fiji { T }

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Hunting high and low to seek revenge, Brand new moral code, got made reluctant renegade. Leaving empty souls when he avenged, Evil spirits flowed he drank the blood like lemonade.

Five's sordid past comes to light in, quite possibly, the most unpleasant way

☁︎ Bloom by jenpix { E }

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The first thing he noticed was the heat. A sudden, overwhelming heat. It started by his neck, his throat tightening, cutting off oxygen to his brain. The heat spread lower, permeating throughout his chest and abdomen, focusing and growing in his groin. Every inch of his skin was on fire. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think. He needed something- anything- to relieve the ache that had abruptly settled in his bones. Lust utterly consumed him.

“Something’s wrong.” Diego concluded.

☁︎ Call Me Wild Thing by Electra_XT { E }

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“Diego’s been screwing guys who look exactly like you,” Klaus said.

“True,” Five said.

“He acts embarrassed when you encounter him with one of these lookalikes,” Klaus said.

“True,” Five said.

“You want to bang him,” Klaus said.

Five hesitated.

☁︎ Comes And Goes (In Waves) [Series] by hujwernoo { M }

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The apocalypse happens, Five arrives in the rubble, and his entire family is dead.

However, one of them has power over ghosts. And even if being dead seriously sucks sometimes, Klaus is going to be there for his brother.

☁︎ Dead Aren't Good Company, The by RosyPages { G }

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They’d been back in time for less than a month when their father forced Klaus back into the mausoleum.

But maybe this time his family can do the right thing.

☁︎ Details [Series] by VeteranKlaus { T }

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The last time Klaus saw his siblings was at Allison and Patrick's wedding. A lot had changed since then; including the not-so-accidental, irreversible loss of his sight.

There's no time to tell them that, though. Not with the return of their long-presumed-dead brother and the impending apocalypse. Plus, it doesn't matter. He's got Ben as a good seeing-eye ghost.

☁︎ Digging Up The Past by FiveUmbrellaAcademy { E / WIP }

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"You want to roleplay me being raped." Five muses, stirring his margarita. He plucks out the tiny umbrella and leaves it abandoned on the edge of the table.

Diego splutters, before glancing wildly over his shoulders.

Five and Diego are in a busy bar, and Diego had absentmindedly suggested Five looking particularly hot, especially when he's pliant, almost as if he's being -

"What the fuck? Shut up, Five." Diego hisses, eyes darting around. "Anyone can hear you."

Five says nothing.

Or: Unfortunately, the roleplay triggers a memory Five desperately wishes he'd forget.

☁︎ do androids dream of electric sheep? by the_crownless_queen { T }

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Number Four is crying, and Grace was made to care for those children.

In which Grace was created to protect the children of the Academy. Even, as it turns out, from their father.

☁︎ don't waste your time (or time will waste you) by rosewitchx { T }

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He was an old man. He is sixteen. Ben dies next week. How does he know that?

“I think I broke it,” Five stutters, and for the first time in her short life Vanya sees absolute terror in his eyes.

Or, Five travels back again. Something goes wrong.

☁︎ Dulce Periculum (Danger Is Sweet) by Anonymous { E }

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Klaus swallows heavily.

He brings up the hand that says “Goodbye” on the palm up to Five's hair and rakes his fingers through the strands. When Klaus is blessed with a high pitched whine, he knows he's done for.

or: Five wants something stronger than alcohol.

☁︎ Fighting (Pre)Determinism by chibi_tantei { T / WIP }

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They go back in time, determined to rewrite their own family history. Only problem is, only one of them looks the proper age to get near their younger selves.

Or, six months after Five stormed out, determined to time travel, he returns home. His siblings are happy to have him back, but he's acting differently...

(Or, Five goes undercover as himself. Twice the siblings should make saving the world easier, right? Yet somehow, he's only now realizing how many issues his family has to fix.)

☁︎ Five and Dave's Life Changing (Life Saving) Field Trip by neuronary { T }

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The little boy, who Dave could now see was not as little as he’d first thought, shoved a tin mug at him. “Drink this.”

Dave drank. It tasted sickly sweet and slightly citrus-y. “Who are you?”

“Five.” The boy’s scowl deepened at Dave’s confusion. “Klaus’ brother.”

Or, Five saves Dave's life to stop Klaus from moping. From Dave's perspective, a very grouchy, sleep-deprived twelve-year-old kidnaps him and he finds it much more entertaining than he should.

☁︎ Five And Diego Take Ukraine by yawarakai { G }

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It’s definitely her. She's around fifty, and striking – Diego can see where his brother gets his features. Light skin, grey eyes, hair dark and straight, slim. She’s a carbon copy of the boy standing before her.

“Da?” Five’s mother asks warily.

☁︎ Forward Trajectory by karcheri { M }

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“Ha ha,” the cop replies,” How’s your little troupe of nerds today anyways?”

His Professor groans, burying his face in the man’s neck and Nick winces. He should’ve anticipated that answer.

“That bad, huh?”

Or: Every semester students work themselves to the bone to score the highest mark on Professor Five's final project.

☁︎ Ghost Math by pinstripedJackalope { G }

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Number Five needs a new hobby now that the apocalypse is off. He decides to help Klaus--and in turn maybe he'll help himself.

☁︎ game of waiting, a by sky_blue_hightops { G }

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He was always the fastest. He always beat the others up the stairs, down the halls, through time and space. If there's one lesson he's learned, it's that there's always a finish line. A stopping place. Blood bubbles from between his fingers, and suddenly there's no air in his lungs.

Five jumps in front of a bullet. He calls it quick reflexes. Diego calls it stupidity.

☁︎ Gift-Wrapped by punk_rock_yuppie { E }

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Diego discovers Five's secret.

☁︎ god-intoxicated by chrysostomos (nantes) { E }

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Of all the things Diego expected to get dragged into this month, meeting a mythological witch, finding out Five is married, and rescuing him from his unwanted sun god husband were not on the list.

☁︎ handling myself by achilleees { E }

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Five pressed his lips together. “I advise against… touching them with your bare hands,” he said, taking the pills out of his pocket and dropping them into Diego’s gloved palm. “It would be unwise.”

In the light streaming from the Academy windows, Diego could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, trickling down his temple.

“Oh my god,” Diego said, starting to laugh.

☁︎ Happy Accidents by Starrstruck_64 { G }

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You’re making a mess, is what Diego wants to snap back. Instead he hears his mom’s voice clear as day say ‘boys will be boys’ and without thinking he’s moving on autopilot.

Diego can feel his hands clenching rhythmically at his sides before he’s moving forward to take the bowl from Klaus and ripping the apron off in one smooth motion. Discarding the bowl to the side he works on getting the strings untangled and slips the apron over his own clothes.

“Out.”

He has so much work to do. The pancake is beyond salvaging, the kitchen is a mess, and he’s fairly certain the batter is inedible.

Aka: the fic where Diego’s mothering instincts go wild

☁︎ haven't you heard of meditation? by rosesareredvioletsareblue { T }

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"Klaus, you have a piece of glass sticking out of your neck!"

Klaus felt for the glass, wincing as he found it.

"Oh yeah. Fun." It took all of Five's willpower not to throttle him.

☁︎ Hidden Variables Theory, The by siriuspiggyback { T }

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Something has disturbed the space-time continuum, and it's up to Five to figure out what it is.

With a bit of luck, and a lot of alcohol, he might even manage to do it before he snaps and murders his siblings.

☁︎ Honey and Vinegar by JayTRobot { M }

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The Handler sends Five on a mission only he can complete - to seduce a known pedophile for information. Then kill him.

Five doesn't appreciate playing the honeypot.

☁︎ I Want It (I Got It) by Electra_XT { E }

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“Oh, Christ,” Five said, starting to grin. “Diego, no. Don’t tell me you’re actually into being called—”

“Shut up,” Diego muttered.

“It’s not sexy,” Five said. “It’s cliche and corny and macho and self-aggrandizing, and I’m disappointed in you.” He waited a beat. “Daddy.”

☁︎ i'm gonna be here til i'm nothing (but bones in the ground) by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid { T }

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Someone definitely just punched him in the chest, right? That’s the reason for that feeling? Or that last batch of pills had something seriously off-label mixed into them. Because there’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

He squeezes his eyes shut until dots burst behind his eyelids, but when he opens them, the hallucination doesn’t go away.

“… Five?”

☁︎ I'm The Daddy? by TUA (IAMS) { G / WIP }

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Five spends fifteen years in the apocalypse and two years working for the Temps Commission before breaking his contract and time traveling back to the year 2003; just a year after he originally went missing.

According to his calculations, wiping Reginald's existence from the timeline means the apocalypse never occurs. But of course, this leaves several newly orphaned fourteen year olds in his care.

Let the family bonding and therapy ensue.

☁︎ if the sky comes falling down by synchronicities { T }

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The equations are still wrong.

In 2002, Number Seven wonders why her siblings are acting odd.

(Or, the post-finale “Vanya doesn’t remember the time travel” fic)

☁︎ If You're Different And You Know It (you're not alone) by M3zzaTh3M3z { T }

→ Download Here

Five was different. He’d always known. Different from most people, what with his freakish birth, powers and unconventional upbringing, all that old news. And different from his siblings. He was smarter. His powers were stronger. And he’d never picked a name. All that was old news too. But there was something else that separated him from the rest, something he didn’t know how to put a finger on, how to categorize, analyse, understand. Five didn’t like not understanding. It was probably Klaus that made him first notice something was off.

☁︎ Is the sadness everlasting? (love, I think it is) by ArmedWithMyComputer { T }

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A look into what Klaus' newly discovered ability could mean for the siblings.

Diego could feel his whole body trembling as he faced the ghosts, only able to take shallow breaths as he struggled to process the true horror of what he was seeing.

And then they started howling.

The sound pierced though his stupor and forced him to his knees instantly. It was like nothing Diego had ever experienced before, and he was consumed with the intensity and overwhelmed by a deep chilling fear. It felt as though his mind had been taken over and all he could hear was the shrieks of grief, more intense than any emotion he had ever felt.

☁︎ It Does(n't) Matter by MYSTERYstew { T }

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It’s a familiar feeling, being lifted up by Luther and tossed around like he weighs nothing (to Luther he certainly does), it was a favorite move of Luther’s as a child. Nostalgia is not what Five feels, he’s too busy flailing as Luther throws him over the railing.

or, Five fails a jump

☁︎ Jealousy Sucks by FiveUmbrellaAcademy { E / WIP }

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"God, Diego." Five rubbed his temples, sounding exasperated. "He's our brother."

"I'm your brother, too." Diego blurts out. Fuck, now he's sounding like an insecure, whiny boyfriend. Perfect.

Five just stares back at Diego, his eyebrows burrowing.

At the physical age of seventeen, Five has, in Klaus' words, grown up hot.

☁︎ Just One Minute by willowhisperer { T }

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Five holds up his end of the deal, soaked in blood. The Handler decides to toy with him a little while longer.

Maybe it's revenge, maybe she's riding the high of her shiny new position as head of the Commission.

Really, she just wants to win, once and for all.

☁︎ Kinktober Day 12 - Crossdressing by Multifangirl69 { E }

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The Umbrella Academy Kinktober Fest//Day 12

☁︎ Kitten Socks by sky_blue_hightops { G }

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Klaus's lost his favorite pair of socks (again) (Ben shut up) and finds them in an unexpected place.

☁︎ Lessons 'verse [Series] by Soulykins { T }

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Five was maybe four years old when he figured out that he was pretty much ride or die for his siblings. He was also four when he figured out that in the Umbrella Academy, you could never let Reginald Hargreeves figure out what you loved lest he use it against you. There was safety in aloof indifference, more than could be found anywhere else under their roof.

Five times Five Hargreeves protected his siblings the best ways he could, and the one time he failed.

☁︎ Lethe by shoelaces { T }

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Le·the | A river in Hades whose waters cause drinkers to forget their past.

Or: Five loses his memories instead of Vanya, and it falls to his siblings to raise a superpowered teenager in the 1960s, all whilst preserving their own new lives and preventing yet another apocalypse.

☁︎ Like an abyss by fridayyy { T }

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For the second time, Five has to (gets to?) grow up.

☁︎ Like Oxygen by sevansa { T }

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Klaus's powers may be a bit more extensive than just seeing the dead, he's not sure what to do about that.

OR

The one where Klaus's power is not ghosts, but souls and that makes a hell of a difference.

☁︎ master of my domain by achilleees { E }

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“You’re asking five 13-year-old boys not to jerk off for – it can’t be done,” Luther says. “Now that we’re older, it would be different, but back then –”

“Excuse me, I could do it,” Five says. “I could certainly outlast all of you.”

They all look at each other.

“Oh, no,” says Allison.

☁︎ Meet the Hargreeves Siblings by AmyR { G }

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Klaus is found passed out by a confused Patch and Beaman. When Diego comes to get him, refusing to divulge who the unconcious man was, things get weird. At least the first time. The second time, it was a different person. And then the third. Then the fourth.

Until finally, explanations are demanded.

☁︎ Mellow Rays of a Departing Sun [Series] by Emotionally_Detached (Yeah_Toast) { T }

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He makes it. He time travels and makes it through another apocalypse. He makes it, but his siblings don't.

His siblings don't make it, except he's in his own childhood and they're still here, alive and thirteen and he can fix things.

He will fix things

☁︎ Midmorning Coffees and Therapy Sessions by wereworm { G }

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Local woman working at coffeeshop accidentally adopts a child and gives advice with a focus on getting closer to siblings when she, herself, has a sub-optimal relationship with her sister.

Or the time Five went to get a good cup of coffee and ended up slowly befriending the barista while trying to reconnect with the siblings he hasn't seen since his childhood without the looming threat of the apocalypse anymore.

☁︎ most dangerous place in the world, the [Series] by Princess_Sarcastia { T }

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"Grace is the third model in a series created by and for Sir Reginald.  She has access to the knowledge obtained by her predecessors in their time assisting Sir Reginald in his many endeavors.

All three of them were primarily designed as protectors.  Do no harm, just as Mr. Asimov said!

But Grace is slightly different."

[priority one: protect the children]

☁︎ Need a Vacation by Electra_XT { E }

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“You ready for a relaxing weekend at the beach?” Diego said.

“Thrilled,” Five said, looking down at the map in his hands. “A relaxing weekend of hunting down a hired killer and pretending I’m dating my brother.”

☁︎ New Life, A by BirdInTheCave { T }

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Allison had convinced Ray to come back to 2019 with her and her family and after a month of being cooped up in the house with the other Hargreeves plus their own unconventional guests, Ray suggests they spend some time alone. He's still struggling to fully comprehend the new world he's stepped into but he's determined that with Allison at his side he can get used to anything. Allison can't find a reason to say no. She should have said no.

Luckily for her, Five will always be there for his family, now that he's back.

☁︎ Next time, hire a nanny by TheArchaeologist { M }

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While the rest of his family go out to Vanya’s concert for the evening, Five, still recovering from the remains of a lingering chest infection, agrees to watch Claire. He is fifty-nine, he can handle a little girl for the night.

Everything goes fine.

Until it very much doesn't.

☁︎ Not my body, not my life (But I am here) by Panonnymous_Bloom { G }

→ Download Here

He wasn't going to explain to Diego why exactly he was following Allison's every move with his eyes because he didn't own anybody any explanations, especially not his simpleton of a brother who seemed to think that every Alpha was going to pounce on Allison at the first sign of any heat.

Allison's decision to spend her heat in the house leads Five to a small realization - and even smaller desire - but he will kill a thousand men before admitting to it.

☁︎ Not with me by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden) { T }

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They never asked if any of that blood was his. Five is bleeding, and he is also giving up.

AU to 2X07, with hurt Five because after all that boy has been through...

☁︎ Number Five | And The Things that Make Him Tick [Series] by Kraeyola { T }

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It's only been two weeks for him.

AKA: Five succumbs to two weeks worth of badly cared for (physical and emotional) injuries, and ends up extremely feverish.

☁︎ On My Terms by CivilBores { T }

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“I did what you asked,” he tells her. “Now, the briefcase.”

Her eyebrows raise in mock-surprise, red lips curling up her face in a sadistic smile.

“You didn’t think that was all, did you?” she asks.

AU: The Handler gives Five a slightly different deal.

☁︎ On This Day In History by telm_393 { M }

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Five had a...special relationship with the Handler during his time at the Commission, or maybe he didn’t. After the apocalypse doesn’t happen, he tries to order his memories of the last few years while also actively suppressing them. It goes badly.

His siblings are worried, and genuinely want to help. They are not unsuccessful.

☁︎ Out of My Mind by Electra_XT { E }

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“What happened?” Diego said. He looked down at himself. “Am I hurt?”

What happened? echoed a voice from the back of his head.

☁︎ Outside, For the First Time by Trees_Frogs_andPotentially_Treefrogs { G }

→ Download Here

Grace is torn between her programming to obey the rules set by Mr. Hargreeves, and her duty to the children, and decides that being a person is self determined.

☁︎ Partners, Parents, or None of the Above by DarkFairytale { T }

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Kenny's mom assuming that Diego and Klaus were A) a couple and B) Number Five’s parents was both bemusing and amusing at the time. But that was because it was the only time it had ever happened. Now though? Now they just can't understand why these misunderstandings keep happening.

☁︎ Raising the Bar by Electra_XT { E }

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Five looked ten years older. He was still youthful, early twenties, but he had suddenly and visibly become an adult. Diego had braced himself for… something, but not this. He was dressed heartbreakingly preppy— neatly tailored slacks, a shirt that fit him like it was made for him, and a casual blazer. Diego hadn’t known a blazer could be casual before, but the way Five wore the linen jacket made it seem genuinely effortless.

Of all the ways this new body thing could have gone, Diego didn’t expect him to be hot.

☁︎ rude awakening by Soulykins { T / WIP }

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When Five wakes up, he just knows someone is in the room with him. Of course, even he didn't except to come face to face with the Handler who he'd thought to be very very dead. And he especially didn't expect her to break into his room and watch him sleep while waiting for him to wake up.

It's very fortunate that Diego and Klaus show up to wake him up and take offense to some random lady in the same room as their very uncomfortable, very thirteen-year-old brother.

☁︎ Screaming in the Face of Communication by papayaromantic { T }

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It's not that he doesn't want to pay attention to Five, just that he seriously can't hear what the boy is saying past the wailing of the torn apart woman in front of him.

☁︎ Second First Time by venDi { E }

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Five spent his early years learning about Alpha biology -- and he knows, recognizes the sudden shift in his family's scent, that his heat has sent them all into a very, very early rut.

☁︎ Servus by Anonymous { E }

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"They had been given a chance to start over, all of them, together. At least, that’s what Five intended, when he pulled he and his siblings from imminent death...He had watched his siblings be swept back to their collective childhood, armed with the knowledge of what was to come, and how to prevent it. He, on the other hand, had ended up somewhere entirely different."

Five receives one, final business proposal from the Handler, and her methods of persuasion are far from conventional.

☁︎ Shadow Elixir, The by Phantom_Vidar { E / WIP }

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With the apocalypse averted the Hargreeves attempt to rebuild their lives and transition into something that resembles a fraction of normalcy. A year later and strange visions start appearing to Klaus, of a dark space contaminated by souls bygone and a voice who aches to be free; especially Ben's. The apocalypse has passed but now another disaster awaits— one that Diego and Five might have accidentally walked into.

Alternatively: Diego and Five have sex and coincidentally start the next stage of the end of the world.

☁︎ shaking like I shook before by Anonymous { T }

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Five tries to deal with it alone, until he learns that he doesn’t have to.

☁︎ skirts and sweaters by slightlyworriedhuman { T }

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"I don't want to be a ‘cute little schoolboy’ anymore, alright?” Five snapped. For some reason, the thought of himself as a schoolboy was enough to make his skin prickle. Was it the implication that he was younger than the rest of them, less mature despite his life?

...Yeah, it was definitely that. Absolutely.Five wants a change in wardrobe. His siblings are more than happy to help.

☁︎ small changes by calypso42 { T }

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“I need to ask you something.” He set down the large stack of books he was carrying beside him. Klaus glanced at a few of the titles - Consciousness in the Brain - Memory & the Role of the Hippocampus - Soul vs. Matter: A Comprehensive Look at the Origins of Sentience - and grimaced.

“Are you… having an existential crisis, or something? Because I am possibly the worst person you could go to for that.”

...

When Five goes to Klaus to ask him something about his powers, Klaus doesn’t think much of it. At least, until he realizes that what he thought was simple curiosity was actually deeper than that, leading to a revelation about Five himself.

☁︎ Snacktime. [Series] by HotCocoaaa { G }

→ Download Here

There was a wolf spider, just, chilling on the table that morning when Diego came down for breakfast. A...a really big wolf spider. Just...a real hunk of a thing.

(“You...you just….you just ate a spider.” He murmured.)

It didn't end well.

☁︎ Special punishment by Anonymous { M }

→ Download Here

Five was the only one with a tattoo on his rib

☁︎ sweater weather by KittenAnarchy { G }

→ Download Here

Number Five, a dryer, and his first blink.

☁︎ take shelter by aloneintherain { T }

→ Download Here

AU where the apocalypse doesn’t follow the Hargreeves to the 1960s. Without the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over their heads, the siblings can take the time to be a family again.

Until they find out that the Handler has been blackmailing Five.

☁︎ There are Stones in my Stomach and Worms on my Plate by TheArchaeologist { M }

→ Download Here

If you ever need a crash diet, try the apocalypse. It is fat free, dairy free, lacking in all the vital vitamins and minerals, and totally organic.

After all, look at Five. Weeks after stopping the apocalypse and he still can’t finish a plate of food.

☁︎ there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends by Drhair76 { G }

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"What's this?" He said pointing a finger at the bread and peanut butter that was laid across the table top.

Five rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "What do you think. It's a sandwich."

"Oh?" Klaus reached out a hand to brush the sleeve of his beloved hoodie. "And what's this?"

or, the one where Klaus 'loses' a hoodie, Five gets a hug and Ben is proud.

☁︎ they could care less (as long as someone'll bleed) by Ford_Ye_Fiji { M }

→ Download Here

Number Five is cornered once again by commission agents, but this time with his family.

Diego and Klaus learn something about their littlest-oldest brother.

☁︎ this is a bad town (for such a pretty face) by luciimariiellii { T }

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Five’s gone. (How the Hargreeves cope, and how they reunite.)

☁︎ time on my hands by achilleees { E }

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“If you orgasm, you’ll die,” Five said with a grimace.

Diego’s eyes went wide.

“Bet you wish you’d just been sterilized now,” Five said.

☁︎ Timelines 1-2.1 [Series] by dgalerab { M / Partially WIP }

→ Download Here

As the world ends, Five takes his siblings back into their child bodies on the day he originally left. With the knowledge of how the world ends fresh in their minds, the Hargreeves siblings do what they can to leave clues for their past selves on how to grow up a little less fucked up before returning to the present.

A present where they all have different lives they can't remember, there's a fun new apocalypse on the way, and Reginald Hargreeves remembers the day where all his children suddenly and inexplicably lost their minds and all respect for him at once a little too well.

☁︎ to unexplain the unforgivable by darkviverna { T }

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Ability to see the dead and having a temporal assassin for a brother don’t mix well.

☁︎ Too Much Too Little by 1spideyson { T }

→ Download Here

Five says nothing on the ride back, just gently presses the tips of thin fingers to his eyes and temples like his head is a new instrument he’s learning to play. Like he’s searching for the right notes.

Diego tries not to cast too many worried glances the boy’s way, but when Five crawls into Diego’s bed, shaking and grey, he can’t stop himself from speaking up.

A look at Five and Diego's relationship through a h/c lens.

☁︎ Too Old To Be So Young by KaseyBeth { T }

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Five winced loudly, pushing his head off the floor to see bright red smeared across his chest and stomach; crimson soaked into his shorts, running down his leg. His head fell back against the ground dizzyingly, and he groaned as someone touched the wound, biting his bottom lip as he tried to stay conscious. The end of life, of everything, was in three days; they didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have time for this. A bullet wound, a stupid bullet wound and all that stupid concern and worry, was just going to slow them down. There wasn’t time for mistakes, or hiccups, or rest and recovery. It was the end of the fucking world. 

☁︎ trans diego & child five [Series] by iamnotalizard { G }

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eudora and beaman are surprised to find out diego has a kid; they're more surprised when they see what their relationship is like

☁︎ traumaversary by WeWalkADifferentPath { T }

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It follows him like an unscratched itch. Under his skin, over his body, around his energy, like a mosquito that won’t leave him the fuck alone.

April 1st. April 1st. April 1st.

(A character study of Five, with some inevitable family feels, in honour of March 24th).

☁︎ two can be as bad as one by myeyesarenotblue { M }

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“Five, sweet little Five” Klaus says, from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, next to one of the living room’s couches, instead of sitting on it like a normal person. “We love you but what the fuck”

Five growls, like he’s a dog or something. “It should correct itself”

☁︎ Uncle Five PT1 by glitched-coffee { G }

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Allison has to take care of Claire without warning the others but its all fine and dandy until Claire thinks she’s old enough to hear everything about Five. She’s seven.

☁︎ Unexpected Future, An by aseies { T / WIP }

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“I’m sure you’re looking forward to finding a way back to your own time as soon as possible,” Nedzu said. “I want you to know that U.A. will do everything in its power to help you achieve that goal. Time travel is a complicated equation to solve, but I’m sure if we put our heads together we’ll come up with something!”

Five raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re just going to do that out of the goodness of your heart? I’m not even old enough for high school yet.”

“Well, we’re all heroes for a reason, no? What good are we if we can’t help a single child in need?” Nedzu pointed out with a pleasantly neutral smile as he sipped his tea.

OR: Instead of time traveling into the apocalypse, thirteen-year-old Five Hargreeves teleports in the middle of the USJ fight.

He gets a couple of new dads out of it.

☁︎ Vital Signs by aye_of_newt { M } 

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Sometimes, it's difficult for Klaus to tell if someone is alive or dead.When Five shows up, covered in blood after killing the Board, Klaus panics.

☁︎ walls kept tumbling down, the by Ingu { T }

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It started small.

There was a nagging ache in his chest, phantom pain from where the bullets had pierced his flesh, in the overwritten timeline that never will be.

(the one where rewinding time doesn't miraculously resolve mortal gunshot wounds)

☁︎ We All Deserve Second Chances (but don't repeat your mistakes) by justarandomword, wolvesandnovas { T }

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Time-travelling gave Ben a second chance at life. He's not about to let Reginald Hargreeves ruin that for him and Klaus.

(a.k.a. Reginald takes Klaus' dog tags and the aftermath.)

☁︎ we didn't choose this life, we're just (kind of) living it [Series] by noodlerdoodler { T / Partially WIP }

→ Download Here

Five couldn’t move, standing by and watching complacently, as his younger brother grabbed him roughly by the front of his sweater. It was like he was watching a play he wasn't apart of, yet that was definitely his small body being tossed over the balcony. No doubt, Luther thought that he would just jump out of the way. He'd always jumped out of the way, sometimes without even meaning to, but now visions of a world on fire flashed through his head as his body plummeted towards the ground. Seemingly, he was tumbling through the air in slow motion and absentmindedly, Five wondered if this was his life flashing before his eyes. All he saw was the desolate world he’d left behind weeks ago.

When Five hit the ground, it was with a sickening cracking noise.

“Oh my god, Luther, what have you done?”

☁︎ with two arms by karcheri { T }

→ Download Here

What it comes down to, really, is that Five had been too eager for results. Once it became clear to him that there was a connection between his powers and his energy level the obvious course of action, as he saw it, was to test this information. The hypothesis was this: higher energy levels = stronger powers and the easiest way to get more energy is to eat more. Pretty simple stuff. Too simple. 

or Five times that Five starves himself and one time that he gets called out on it.

☁︎ world of options, a by achilleees { E }

→ Download Here

“So did you ask Five about me?” Klaus asked.

“Was I supposed to do that?” Diego said.

“You are the worst fucking wingman,” Klaus said.

☁︎ year that wasn't, the by achilleees { E }

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Diego turned to Five. “I’ve already, uh, lived today. This has already happened.”

Everyone went still.

“Ooh, that’s a mind-fuck,” said Klaus.

☁︎ you from yesterday by questors (sieges) { T }

→ Download Here

The difference between who his siblings once were and who they are now.

☁︎ You Put Your Head In My Hands by shadowsapiens { M }

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“I need a favor.” Five scrambles to his feet, fluffy dark tail lashing behind him. “Don’t worry, it’s not the apocalypse.”

☁︎ You Shook Me All Night Long by Persephxneeee { M }

→ Download Here

Diego was right, Five thinking too much sometimes.

☁︎ zero to sixty by achilleees { E }

→ Download Here

“Man, have you seen me?” said Diego. “Are you really that surprised?”

Oh, Five thought.

“Seems right,” said Klaus, pleased. “Other than the turtlenecks. Very hard to take you seriously as a Dom in the turtlenecks.”

[hereisisa]

(1/?) I'm neutral to EA tbh, I like it sometimes but this isn't my OTP. I really like your blog, though. And what I want to say is - I used to ship KA after F1, but they totally ruined them for me as a couple in shorts and then in F2 (and so did they with the sisters' relation :(). As for F2, I totally agree with what you said about personality transplant the main trio went through. But put this aside, I have another thought - I feel so sorry for Anna after F2. First, she became the queen, and

(2/?) she's never asked for it, it's not her world. She didn't even want to go on that adventure in the first place. She also "lost" her sister (true love) and best friend. And now let's consider for a moment that all these 'personality transplants' are true, and that we count the deleted scenes and shorts: so she's always wanted but 1 thing, to be with her sister. In OFA Elsa promised her they'll always be together (in the song), and she'd done the same before, at the end of F1, in FF and even  (3/?) at the beginning of F2, blah blah. And now she totally, utterly betrayed Anna's trust (the ice boat), never apologized AND then went to live in the forest for God knows what fucking reason, and didn't even attend Anna's coronation (and made Anna a queen because she didn't want to do it anymore, not even asking for her opinion) nor replied for her letter. What a stinker. Then the parents - after the boat scene it seems everything has always been Elsa-centric and Anna couldn't even have her         (4/?) time to mourn. Then Kristoff in the Nokk scene. She was engaged to him, she decided to trust him after what happened with Hans, and he betrayed her trust, too. All he did for these 3 years (including FF and OFA) was a lie, he didn't mean it and didn't want it at all. Plus it seems their relationship has been pointless all along, because they can't even communicate well. I know Anna treated him badly in F2, but well, it clearly shows Elsa is her true love and she can't focus on anyone else            (5/?) at the moment... but they (KA) clearly weren't meant for each other anyway. And what I want to say, they ruined Anna's character, they took literally everything for her to five her this stupid powerful song and 'happy ending' she's never asked for. I mean, sure, she's dreamed of romance in F1, but in F2 it's none of her priorities, and definitely that's not the kind of relation ship I'd expect they'd make for her after watching F1. I don't like TNRT because I think it would be better to             (6/?) give Anna NATURAL circumstances to prove her worth, independence and strenght, instead of forcing some stupid stuff. And I don't like the fact KA relation is promoted as healthy... I don't think of it as unhealthy... it's just nonexistent. And stupid. And I totally agree that the sisters' relationship IS unhealthy - but only after how F2 pictured it! So, to sum up, she was my favourite character and I hate everything that's happened to her (as I hate it also with E and K, but well,(7/7) that's not the point of this message), she doesn't even look like her anymore, since the charades. And I hope that you won't delete this message, I didn't mean to promote KA, just wanted to share how I feel about this movie. And I truly like EA. I can't talk about it to any other part of fandom, though, for ppl who ship KA think it's a perfect ending. Sorry for such a long message! I hope the stupidity of F2 creators are the only thing that bothers you on these hard days. Stay safe!     

I really like your post, I’m sorry if it took me 2 days to reply but I wanted to be at pc and not by phone.First of all....let me say that this: “ she's always wanted but 1 thing, to be with her sister “ is essentially who Anna is. She spent her whole life wanting one thing: to spend time with her sister and prove her she’s worth it.

And how are they gonna do that? Apart. Playing it off like “she’s a grown up, she can do stuff by herself”, when she ALWAYS DID EVERYTHING BY HERSELF!!!!

It doesn’t make sense even from a psychological pov. She always feared to lose this person, she always wanted to be with this person, now she loses it. The LAST thing one would do is say “oh ok well I’ll be fine on my own!”

It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I don’t know who they paid to tell them it does (trauma experts LOL), but they wasted their money.

The mistake they did with Anna and that, IMO, widened the popularity gap between Elsa and Anna in Frozen 2, was to give her a storyline so unpopular and not relatable for KIDS.

Kids don’t want to know how they’ll feel when their sister will die, IT’S SO FUCKING WEIRD.

Kids want to see a badass princess with a sword, who fights for her kingdom!! And yet in Frozen 2 they took the one who had powers and who could fight, and turned her into an hippie who does nothing at all in a forest, and the hero, the princess who could be fucking cool, is now a bad copy of what her sister was.

Being Queen, after losing her sister, surviving another trauma, having such a not relatable storyline for a kid.....it’s not a victory.

The only ones who think it’s cool are KA fans for obvious reasons, but they should’t be so happy since he was proved “not good enough” to stand by her side.

I do not agree with you on the sisters relationship being unhealthy and I said many times that was NOT Disney’s intent. Because to paint a sisterly relationship as unhealthy wouldn’t be appropriate for a kids movi and they would NEVER do it, (can you imagine the MONEY THEY’LL LOSE???? Why would they do that? Paint as negative something that makes them sell more than everything else on the market???? It’s crazy!!) and because the weird vibe you got about the relationship comes from the rewriters.For exemple Elsa ignores Anna a bit too much, but it’s because she was supposed to be succubus of a voice and being careless in her search for it.She was supposed to die, and the audience would have said “oh yeah, she even ignored the poor Anna to follow that siren, and she got herself killed”. It was supposed to be painted as a negative thing.But this is just an exemple of one rewrite, many other details, I’m sure, made you come to your conclusion, but I know they’re all results of last minute rewritings, so I have to ignore them.

It’s pretty much the same arguments over and over again, codependency, unhealthy relationship, and I’m tired to debunk them so I’ll just go on with my reply. :)

I agree that Anna doesn’t look like Anna anymore. She was reckless, impulsive,  free-spirited and adventurous.

(now this makes me laugh at this point):

Anyway, they had to give her a personality transplant (simply “growing up” doesn’t do that) to achieve an end they desperately wanted, who knows why.

Jenn and friends wanted to give her the “Disney happy ending”, a kingdom and a dude, and they had to destroy what Frozen was, in order to achieve it. A story about 2 sisters, who always wanted to be together. A story about family, where a single (queer coded) Queen was ruling and is now replaced by the same old boring hetero couple (while the weirdo with powers was sent elsewhere, who cares where).

How can people trust someone who wanted Elsa as a villain, and wanted her dead, I will never understand it.

I’m not surprised they ruined Anna too, considering what they did to Elsa.

[jaybug-jabbers]

Pokemon Sword/Shield: A review of my experience

So, I’ve rung in the new year in style with a bad cold. Fortunately, I received a new Switch Lite for Christmas and a copy of Pokemon Sword, so at least I’ve had something to do while sitting about feeling miserble. I beat the game last night, and I figured I’d say a few words about what I thought of it. There are major spoilers ahead!

Graphics & Music

First of all, it looks absolutely beautiful. I’m used to using my 2DS, so the upgrade to the Switch Lite was quite the jump. When compared to previous Pokemon titles, the game is absolutely stunning to gaze upon. What’s more, the environments are varied, creative, colorful, and just lovely. They were such a delight that when I first started the game and had control of my character, the first thing I did was simply stand there for a solid five minutes just gazing on the dynamic, gorgeous countryside, butterfree flapping in the distance, Wooloo rolling around, people going about their day. It helps that I do love the UK and I’ve visited it in the past, and I have to say they did an excellent job evoking the feel of those landscapes. Exploring the towns and the environments was always a joy. Their layouts were natural, intuitive, and walking around or biking around was easy and fun. I was eager to explore every nook and cranny. Accompanying the environments was excellent music. All of the tracks were on-point. They set the feel of the location and they were all great to listen to.

UI & Battle Mechanics

Another thing you notice right away is the UI has been beautifully updated. It’s logically and appealingly organized, it’s very speedy, and there are a lot of quality-of-life tweaks and updates– such as accessing your pokemon PC from just about anywhere. (or easy access to Flying from the regular Map menu!) These tweaks have really helped smooth and streamline things and make for a better experience. It took some getting used to some of the tweaks, such as a forced Experience Share for the entire pokemon party. I’m still not sure what I think of that, but I kept reminding myself that full-party experience is standard in other RPGs, so it’s not so huge a jump for Pokemon to adopt it as well.

Characters

The game is also populated by many characters that I enjoyed. The character designs were well thought-out and appealing, and the characters themselves were fun. Hop may have a bit of a doofy haircut and be a bit of a dork, but he’s still an enjoyable rival. Professor Magnolia seems cool, as does her daughter Sonia. As we meet each of the gym leaders in turn, I generally liked them, as well. They did a good job adding little bits of personality to each of them. And yes, I even liked Leon, the over-the-top and bizarrely-dressed Champion. He was hammy and I think it worked well for him.

The Sport of Pokemon & Dynamaxing

Something else I found myself really enjoying was how much the game was emphasizing the sport aspect to Pokemon battling in the Galar region. This is something the game has always had to a certain extent, but never to the degree it has here. Pokemon battling was a huge spectacle here in Galar, done in massive statiums to huge, roaring crowds. This is a world of difference when compared to the solemn, trial-like, solitary experience of the Elite Four. It just brings and entirely different energy to the experience. And I found I really liked that. During the first few gym battles, I wasn’t entirely into it at first, largely because the first few gym fights were incredibly easy. But after they got a little harder, I started to get into the feel of things.

Naturally, the whole huge emphasis on the electric thrill of competition and of huge, bombastic spectacle was tied into the gimmick of this particular game: Dynamaxing. And as lukewarm as I was about Dynamaxing when I first heard it announced (I’m pretty tired of these gimmicks– Z-Moves, Mega Evolutions and the likes), I have to give credit where credit’s due: it was at least tied very thoroughly into the plot and into the fabric of the game. It didn’t feel tacked on, and I wasn’t resentful about actually using Dynamaxing. It may have been a silly gimmick, but it was still enjoyable to use, because it made sense to help entertain the crowds with oversized spectacle, and because there was a certain amount of enjoyment in the added strategy it required. I’m glad I was able to get into it.

I think the highest point for me about the gym challenge experience was when I was facing off Raihan. Here’s the chap they’ve been hyping for a while about facing up against, because he’s the last gym leader standing before you move onto the Semi Finals and the Finals. When you walk through the dark corridor out into the pitch, you can feel the electric atmosphere; you can hear people cheering your name as their new favorite trainer hopeful; and then, Raihan, the man who always acted so casual and smooth and cool, suddenly shows his intense side on the field of battle. He flings out two pokeballs and brags about mixing things up for you with a doubles format and with the weather, and dares you to step up for the challenge.

My two front pokemon come out– Snowdrop, my Frosmoth, and Bazz, my Grapploct. After all that weather bragging, I decide to show him, and have my Frosmoth flip his sandstorm weather over to Hail. Surprised, my opponent acknowledges that was a pretty nice move on my part. I then Blizzard and Superpower his first pair of pokemon out of the picture.

I’m feeling pretty good, and then he sends out his second pair of pokemon. I have no idea what the heck the Duraludon is supposed to be. Then he Dynamaxes it, which takes me a little off guard, as I had expected it later, but of course this is doubles so there is no later. I stall for a little bit, trying to decide what to hit the Duraludon with, and my first few pokemon go down, and the sandstorm kicks back in.

I decide to send out my Corviknight out for Dynamaxing. But I’m still floundering over the best tactic for this unfamiliar pokemon. I try Max Airstream to see how much it does, but it’s not a very impressive chunk. Then his Sandaconda gets a Glare off on my Corviknight, which is a pain. I waste one of my Dynamax turns getting paralyzed. I’ve fainted several other pokemon in the process of things. I start to think I’m toast and I’ll need to replay the match. Then I realize this stupid-looking Duraludon is, of course, a Steel type. I’d just recently put Body Press onto my Corviknight for some move variety. On my final Dynamax turn, I use it. It utterly destroys the Duraludon, which had just lost its Dynamax.

My own Corviknight falls back down into its normal state. There’s only one pokemon left on either one of our teams; his damned Sandaconda and my half-health Corviknight. The sand is still up, but my Corviknight didn’t mind that at all. It did, however, mind the paralysis and the Fire Fang the snake kept using. Fortunately, Corviknight is still a tanky beast, and I blasted away with Drill Pecks. It was tense, really down to the wire. Would Corviknight tank enough hits to make it? Would he get paralyzed at an inopportune moment?

Fortunately, he makes it, finishing off Sandaconda and taking the match. As I cheer at the victory, my pokemon cheers too, amongst all the swirling sand. The crowd roars, and I feel a genuine respect for my opponent’s skill. It was a good fight. Afterwards, when I returned to the lobby, people were congratulating me on my victory, and it felt truly nice.

Moments like these are not common in pokemon games. At least, they aren’t for me. I had felt everything during that match– the magnificent spectacle of the dynamaxing, the tricks my opponent pulled, his keen desire to win, the crowd’s thirst for a good match, my desire to pull through somehow. As it turned out, after that, I didn’t have battle quite as good. The Semi-Finals and the Finals were a cakewalk for me. Even the Raihan rematch was ridiculously easy. He changed up his team and made it much worse, so that he had different weather-setters for each poke, lacking any team synergey at all. It was a shame. Perhaps the only reason that match was so close was because I had been briefly intimidated over the doubles format and confused over the  Duraludon, but I do wish those magical experiences happened more often.

Indeed, even my final battle with the Champion was a woeful disappointment. I got off one Dragon Dance with Dragapult and swept the whole team cleanly. That brings up another point, though: the difficulty level of this game. It is … well, not very high. It’s a shame. I realize it’s a tricky balance, since this game is aimed at a variety of age levels, and they don’t want it too difficult for the younger audience. Still, it would be nice for Pokemon to implement a ‘hard mode’ to help deal with this issue. Perhaps if they did, we could have more magical moments like the one I had with Raihan.

Character Development & Plot

The low difficulty wasn’t the only thing about Pokemon Sword/Shield that sometimes brought disappointment. At the end of the game, I also found the plot sort of ended up in a no-man’s land. Almost all of the plotlines felt unfinished. Marnie looked like a really cool character full of potential, but then nothing ever really happened with her character. Team Yell ended up being very different from all the other ‘teams’ of the pokemon universe, in that they were just very vocal and sometimes excessively involved fans of Marnie. I actually liked the idea of the ‘team’ not being a group of organized villians up to no good, but Team Yell’s plot ultimately petered out into nothing. The same could be said for other characters. Sonia was a cool-looking character design and again seemed to have a lot of potential as a character, but I never quite understood the point of her plot. She was … uninterested in research, maybe, but became interested? Or was overwhelemed with the work? Or … what, exactly? When she “earned” the lab coat, it didn’t feel like an accomplishment. There was no weight or clarity to her character arc in the slightest. She didn’t even ultimately contribute all that much, because she failed to even be the one to discover the Sword and Shield artifacts.

Again, we find this trend with others, such as Hop’s development. Hop is a cocky, confidant young lad who idolizes his older brother. Eventually he runs into a trainer who throws off his groove, gets into his head with some comments, claiming that he’s dragging his older brother’s name through the mud by being shite at pokemon battling. Then he starts to doubt and second-guess himself, reshuffle his team and his strategies endlessly, and so forth. Eventually, he seems to ‘get over it’ and gets his groove back, but we never are given a really firm reason as to why he gets his groove back. What brought about this change? We need to see why he’s learned and grown. And really, even when he does pull his shit together again, has he really learned much from the experience? I assumed his ultimate lesson would be to see his brother more as an equal, not as someone to idolize; as a human who can self-doubt and make mistakes just like him. But the writers passed up the opportunity to go that way with the plot. They just sort of … gave up halfway.

The most of a glimpse we get from that is something given to us from the animation itself, not the writers. Out on the pitch, during the final battle against Leon, when he’s just about to toss his pokemon out, there’s a moment when he pauses and taps both hands against his face. It’s a subtle little gesture, as if he’s trying to shake off any gnawing self-doubts and get his head into the game, and it echoes his younger brother, who we’ve seen do the same thing. It’s such a lovely little touch, such a human moment, and to me shows that both brothers have been vulnerable to self-doubt despite their swagger, but in the end can overcome it. I only wish the idea were explored further in the actual plot.

The ‘evil plot’ of this particular game also feels only half-baked and incomplete. The motivation behind Rose’s actions feels entirely absent to me, as does any logic whatsoever. What’s worse, the game leaves behind so many lingering questions. OK, so this slumbering Eternatus is the source of all Dynamax power, and he’s discovered the energy will run out in a thousand years or so. How is waking up Eternatus by feeding it Wishing Stars (which, as Magnolia later reports, are bits of Eternatus itself– so, what, feeding  Eternatus pieces of itself?) going to help with that? Will it produce more energy once awake? So he planned on capturing it and … sending it out whenever they needed more energy? Or just keeping it around as a power-giving pet of some sort? But at the end of the game, the player keeps Eternatus for themselves, so doesn’t that mean Galar is sort of screwed now? How can the power plant continue to function (and Dynamaxing) if the source of that power is now inside my pokeball? Also, how exactly did Rose wake up Eternatus to begin with/bring about the Darkest Day? Just release all the energy he had at once? There’s so much that’s confusing and unclear. Basically, the plotline felt very half-baked. I had the sense the writing for this game was frankly very rushed.

It doesn’t stop there. Oleana, the whole thing with Bede, and other characters are left with tons of lingering questions and unfinished plotthreads as well. I suspect the devs simply ran out of time. It’s a huge shame, because I enjoyed all of these characters and felt there was so much potential there, but that potential was never really realized.

Pokemon

This generation has a relatively low number of new pokemon, and you do feel that a little bit as you’re going along. The older pokemon that are mixed in were chosen well, in that they blend naturally with the environments they were placed in, and they’re spaced out nicely, so you encounter a mix of new and old at a nice clip, so they have that going for themselves. But even still, yes, you do start to wish there were a few more surprising faces. Still, there’s definitely fun to be had with new pokemon, especially for some of the cooler Galar regional variants. (I fully support regional variants and am happy they made a comeback in this generation.)

As you’ve no doubt heard by now, there’s also only a very limited set of old pokemon this game has access to. Any species not listed in the Galar dex simply cannot be transferred over. This has upset many people, but when I played the game, it did not feel lacking for that reason. The sheer number of pokemon in the overall franchise is now staggering. It makes complete sense to not include every species in every game now. They intend to include old pokemon on rotation in future games, and that seems like a fair compromise to me. Am I bummed that my favorite Parasect can’t be transferred to Galar? Of course. But I’m not too worked up over the fact. He’ll see another region someday.

To finish this section off, I’m going to do a rapid-fire list of my top 5 and bottom 5 of the new pokemon.

Top 5

Corviknight: An absolutely gorgeous design and easily the MPV of my team.

Wooloo/Dubwool: It’s an adorable ball sheep/ram. You simply can’t go wrong with that. One of the first to be revealed of the new pokes, but I can never get bored with it.

Dragapult: A very creative, lizardy Dragon/Ghost creature that adorably shoots its own babies as ammo. I love it.

Grappaloct: So beautiful. Love its design, its stance, the way one tentacle is a belt, love its colors and pattern, its eyes, its cry, everything. Such a badass and I love octopi in general, so a real winner. This is the octopus we’ve needed for a while.

Snom/Frosmoth: I mean, in some ways its design isn’t revolutionary, since we already have many moth pokemon. However, Snom is still adorable and Frosmoth is still beautiful, something you cannot deny. And it’s been long overdue to get an Ice/Bug. What’s more, Snom is based off real caterpillars (jewel caterpillars), which is wonderful.

Bottom 5

Inteleon: A very distinctive design style that doesn’t look like it belongs anywhere near a Pokemon game. Just feels very mismatched to me.

Alcremie: I hate sentient food. A massive pet peeve of mine.

Applin: See above.

Duraludon: Sorry, but I still think its design is ugly. I can’t get used to it.

Mr. Mime (Galar Variant): No. Mr. Mime is always horrible. Stay away from me. Keep your creepy variant, too.

The Wilds Area

Of course, a review of the game would be incomplete if I didn’t mention the Wild Area. This section of the game was really very lovely. I enjoyed exploring what was essentially Breath of the Wild: Pokemon, and I think it’s a wonderful direction for the game to take. Wandering around, finding goodies, rare pokemon, Dynamax dens and all the rest is very entertaining and it’s just beautiful. Really makes you feel like you’re out in nature exploring, and really encountering pokemon in their natural environment. I’ve read people predicting that Game Freak is using the Wild Area in this game as a test, and something they will probably expand upon in later games. If that’s what they are indeed doing, then I welcome the change. I can’t say I am super interested in fighting wild Dynamax pokemon with my friends, but I did enjoy everything else.

Summary

So, would I recommend this game to others? It would depend on who you are. If you’re a big pokemon fan, then yes, of course. You’ll enjoy the beautiful locations to explore, the new pokemon, and the excitement of the Galar sports arenas, as well as some colorful characters. However, you are going to find some flaws. The plot and character arcs are going to eventually end up a little lacking, and you’ll find there’s not as much new content as you’d have preferred. While some aspects of this game are very well polished and complete, others feel rushed. Overall, it’s going to be a mixed experience, but I think that if you like pokemon, you will still enjoy it.

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 1, 2020.

[khrsecretvalentine]

sunset reset (for lighteningdancer)

from: @trilies to: @lighteningdancer / Ginger Pairing: Byakuran/Shoichi

Note: Hey there, Ginger! You’re quite the familiar name to me at this point, so I got really excited when I pulled your name. Then you gave me so much freedom and so many liberties that I sort of short-circuited on what to write at first, lmao! However, per your advice, I did go with something that I don’t really write a lot of, both re: characters and, like… tone? Subject matter? I was apparently in A Mood (tw) when I began writing. I do hope that this end result is something that you find any sort of enjoyment in at all. If not, just let me know, because there’s plenty of other stuff that I’d love to make for you. Relatedly, let me know if you have an AO3, because I’d love to put it on this on there properly gifted to you! Unless you don’t want your name attached, which is also valid. 

Content Warnings: Time Travel Fuckery, Alternate Universe Fuckery, Character Death that debatably counts, Suicide, a short Sex Scene, attempts at Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, non-detailed Torture, general Abuse, the intense and vaguely defined set of mental issues that come when your brain just gets overloaded with being Yourself but hundreds of times with hundreds of slightly-to-extremely different memories in slightly-to-different worlds aka “byakuran’s mental state must be a fucking trip" 

——

Once a human tastes food for the first time, they always end up hungering for more, whatever "more” might mean for that particular individual. Maybe they look to be sated, content and full and warm. Maybe they look for a taste that can’t be beat, by their estimate. Maybe they simple look for something new, something interesting- a change in palate. On some level… He thinks Shoichi Irie is like that for him.  Byakuran doesn't need him. Of course he doesn’t. But if he’s being completely and utterly technical, he doesn’t need a lot of the things that he takes for himself, because none of it actually matters in the end. It’s all just a game, something he does because it's interesting. That would be easy enough for anyone to understand, right? Sometimes you turn on a game counsel and feel the need to get all the achievements, and other times you do it because you want to see how far you can strain the system until it shatters completely. It really all depends, and sometimes, they’re both the same thing. One day, in one universe, he’ll complete the Tri-Ni-Sette, and that will be that. In terms of gaming, he supposes that would be the end all for the main objective. Very fittingly, he comes to learn that it is the most difficult task, no matter how much he prepares and plans. Well, it would be a boring game otherwise.  It comes as quite a surprise that what would be a simple side quest any other game is almost just as difficult.

The very first time- if anything can even be called a ‘first’ at all when it’s all happening together, at the same time ,and yet completely separate- he decides to lay a claim to Shoichi Irie simply because it feels as though it’s what he should do. Another thing to check off the list. Besides, there’s a little fondness to it, he supposes. That’s not too surprising. Everyone always has that brief bit of fondness to the first character in a RPG that is kind to them, or makes the first move. He can remember playing a game with a female PC, and being charmed despite himself when a male knight almost immediately gave him a gift. Nothing special, nothing exciting or edgy, but amusing enough.  Shoichi Irie isn’t a knight in any meaning of the word. Byakuran’s impression of him at his young ten-years-younger self is that of a typical awkward nerd, although he has to admit that one’s first impression probably isn’t reliable when it involves time travel panic. Yet that doesn’t change the most important part of their meeting, and it’s that he owes everything to that young flustered teenager who had run into him in the street. He hadn’t given him a rose or sweet words, but rather something so much more valuable.  There are numerous jokes to be made about the tropes and cliches which are so prevalent in otome games, but Byakuran has found they aren’t exactly wrong in some cases. The Shoichi Irie he finds in this timeline fits so neatly in so many little boxes when he meets him for a second impression, watching him play at a seedy bar in a grubby dark side of town. Gone is the frantic nervousness, wore down into something much more exhausted that weighs down underneath his eyes and leaves just a little too much room underneath his shirt. Just a passing glance is enough to tell that the bassist is down on his luck, probably not helped by the fact that he’s not really fantastic at his instrument of choice. Judging by the way his bandmates are either in no better position or spit quiet words out at him with narrowed eyes, Byakuran can tell that they no doubt owe a lot of money from having all their nice equipment. For types like that, just like in all of the little romances he’s played through a screen, it doesn’t take much but a little bit of attention and kindness to draw Shoichi in. He doesn’t even need to do it that often, to his amusement, able to spend plenty of time building up this iteration of the Millefiore while attending to Shoici on the side.  He’s successful with his Millefiore. Of course he is. Having cheatcodes to the universe makes it so very easy. Bit by bit, he lavishes care onto his little side quest, first bringing him in with compliments and indepth conversations even Byakuran is pleasantly surprised to find he enjoys. Then come the casual outtings, treating him to coffee or lunch, the two of them so absorbed that it reminds Byakuran of how fun these minor little things can be as a detour. He makes sure Shoichi never has to pay, the ill-gained money in his pockets always being more than enough. Sometimes it’s a fight to make it happen, of course. Despite his situation, Shoichi always seems to want to be self sufficient, and there’s a fire in his eyes that tugs at the interest of Byakuran’s heart. So down on his luck, and yet he still tries to struggle like this. How cute. Still, Byakuran manages to convince him one way or the other.  Yet the game can’t merely stop at pampering a “love interest”…  He makes the offer at the backstage of one of the many trash bars Shoichi plays at, his back against the wall while his arms have wound lazily about Shoichi’s body. A year of pampering has lead him to looking better than he did before, and a few minutes of Byakuran grinding his thigh inbetween his legs has lead him looking even better. Forget the nervous teenager that awoke him to all of this, forget the dead eyed man he’d seen on stage once. There’s that brilliant flickering fire behind Shoichi’s contacts, brow stubbornly crumpled, skin flushed so vividly it looks as though it should hurt, and his lips slick from every heavy breath that rushes out of him as he digs his fingers into Byakuran’s shoulders to weather the ride. Even when his entire body shudders, nails digging in past cotton, he still tries to press a bruising kiss to the side of Byakuran’s neck. Of course he can’t let Byakuran control the whole situation that easily.  (His first clue, and one he ignores for longer than he would admit.)  “You’re so cute, Sho-chan,” he murmurs into his ear, dragging his fingers down along his spine. Against his leg, he can feel Shoichi’s arousal straining painfully in tight denim and, almost better, the way he shivers when the warmth of his voice rushes through his ear.  He can barely speak, so wound up in lust as he is, but Shoichi pushes through. “Who’s ever heard of a bassist being cute?” he rasps. There’s a ragtag sort of afterparty happening in the bar proper, drowning out the sounds of their rutting, so he does his best in keeping quiet. All that does is make his voice low and husky, drawing Byauran’s eyelids halfway down. That’s more than good enough, he thinks, and he eases up on the pressure. Shoichi blinks up at him, dazed and aroused, unable to stop Byakuran as he adjusts himself until he’s sliding down the wall and inbetween Shoichi’s legs. Understanding hits him quick enough, and he braces one arm against the wall. It doesn’t escape Byakuran how his breathing only gets all the harder.  “I want to keep you,” he says, his own voice low, possessive, and he can almost see the way it drops right through Shoichi’s gut. His fingers make quick work of popping open the button to his jeans. “Will you let me, Sho-chan?” Using the very tip of his tongue, he flicks up the zipper and takes it between his teeth, eyes staying locked on his precious interest’s own gaze the whole time as he drags it down slowly.  “That’s…” The words are choked in his throat, and he tosses his head back as Byakuran slides his aroused cock out into the open air. “You’ve given me so much… and now you’re asking me that?” “But I want to hear it, Sho-chan.” Grinning slyly, he drags his tongue up from the very base of Shoichi’s cock and flicks tip against tip. Satisfaction pools in his stomach at how the hips in his hands jerk. “Let me keep you, or else I won’t let you come even a little bit.” He nuzzles his way back down, hot breath ghosting along sensitive skin, until he can wrap his lips around his balls. It’s harder to watch Shoichi like this now, buried into his hips, but he can still hear the way his hand slaps across his mouth, muffling the harsh gasp he makes. In contrast to the quiet his interest is desperately trying to maintain, Byakuran lives to shatter that. Underneath the yells and laughter and pounding music of the bar, he sloppily licks and sucks along the aching arousal that’s right at his face, every sound an obscene prayer. He knows it works up Shoichi, too. It’s hard not to pick up on it, feeling how his legs shake and his hips tremble from the effort of holding back.  There’s not even any reason to edge him for long. Soon enough, Shoichi is gasping and keening over his head, squirming desperately into Byakuran’s mouth. “Dammit- dammit, Byakuran- take me! I want you…. Nn-” He glances up at that, pleased at what he sees: Shoichi looking down at him, teeth digging into a finger from where his hand isn’t quite covering his mouth, arousal twisting his expression so desperately. “I want you… to take me. Keep me. Please-!"  At the end, when Shoichi is slumped against him and drifting down the tides of post-orgasm, Byakuran indulgently curls his fingers into his hair to keep his face pressed into his shoulder. "No takebacks,” he purrs, ignoring the soreness along his back. “I’ll keep you forever now, Sho-chan. Even across universes.” Blissfully unaware of threat and lie alike, Shoichi laughs breathlessly against his shirt. “Romantic.” When Byakuran says it, he says it as a lie. But what do you call a lie that becomes a truth when you never meant for it to be? Never one satisfied with leaving a side quest partially forgotten or abandoned the first time through, Byakuran pushes all the way. He helps pay off his debt, convinces him out of a band he’s clearly miserable in. With the money he’s so quickly managed to accumulate, there’s no question of how easy it is to get Shoichi to live with him. Free of any real obligation, Byakuran watches in faint interest but mostly amusement as his interest begins to relax. He’s really, truly, unbelievably still nothing impressive with a bass, but at least he seems more content as he fiddles with it and all the other songs he tries to write. What’s more relevant to Byakuran is how Shoichi gets back into what he dismissively calls his “old hobby”. Byakuran had always wondered how a bassist’s teenage self could end up time traveling… and the answer, he realizes with every idle computer program and toy Shoichi makes, is because Shoichi Irie is in fact incredibly intelligent. So intelligent that it seems a waste that he ever became a musician, a fact that he makes sure to pass along to his many other selves. This intelligence comes back to bite him when he returns to his high rise apartment after a nice long trip dealing with a minor emergency. It was nothing serious, just some minor complications one Federico Ferrino left behind in his death. Truly the Vongola had a lot of resources, to be such a bother even in death. Yet he finds them to be less of a bother than the sight that greets him once he steps into his apartment. Shoichi is curled up in an armchair that’s been forcibly turned so that it’s facing in the direction of the front door, knees digging against his chest. He jolts a little at the sound of the door, eyes going to Byakuran faster than a gunshot.  Now now, what could have happened, he wonders? Byakuran rolls the question in his mind even as he carelessly drops his bags to the side, already making his way over to his interest like a good boyfriend would. “Stomach again?” he asks, reaching out to sweep his fingers up into Shoichi’s bangs. It’s been a while since the bassist has had to deal with his infamous stomach aches, brought out whenever he’s too tense, too nervous, too stressed. “Sho-chan, I didn’t realize you would miss me that much!” His hand is grabbed before he can fully pull it away, musically calloused fingers folded almost delicately around his own. Byakuran blinks, eyebrows raising, before he looks properly into Shoichi’s face. All the expressions which would normally be there- sulking aggravation, taut anxiety, restless worry- are completely absent. Instead, his brow is wound tight together, and there’s something… new to his eyes. Dark green is focused fully on him, steeled in a way he can’t quite recall ever viewing before. “Byakuran,” he says, desert grave quiet, “what do you do for a living?” Everyone makes mistakes on their first blind run, of course. Byakuran has made a couple, despite his various connections that are all to himself, and he generally doesn’t worry about it. This particular mistake is that he’s left Shoichi alone, guarded for but not watched, for far too long. With all the things Byakuran is getting up to, well, he doesn’t have full and complete of the world yet. News anchors will talk, radio personalities will gossip, and the internet churns so quickly with facts and facts that are twisted and facts which only have the name but not the definition. Shoichi has been busy. He’s been paying attention. It’s all he’s been able to do.  Lying doesn’t really have a point here, not with how much Shoichi has pulled together. Besides, Byakuran has never really lied to him, has he? Shoichi doesn’t react well to that statement, but it’s true. He’s only been vague, never giving the whole story , only bits and pieces. Maybe he could do damage control, if he really tried. Byakuran doesn’t. It’s so much more fascinating to watch his interest yell and demand and accuse, arm sweeping out in scythe sweep of a gesture.  Shoichi has never burned so bright, not in this universe, and Byakuran is enraptured by this glitch he’s made happen.  They sleep in separate rooms for a while after that- Byakuran taking the lavish and comfortable master bedroom, Shoichi self-exiling himself to a sterile guest room that’s never once been touched. It only takes a couple of days before he breaks the barrier he’s erected, settling himself gingerly onto the couch besides Byakuran one evening. None of the lights are on yet, with only the setting sun illuminating Shoichi’s back from where he sits, eyes on him. “I’m sorry,” he tells him. “It was a lot to take in,” he says. “Can you just promise me that you’ll be honest with me from now on?” “Of course, Sho-chan,” Byakuran tells him, while promising no such thing. This, too, is a lie.  Shoichi must know it as well. He promises nothing either, and he writes I’m sorry once again on a letter he leaves on the counter in their darkened home when Byakuran returns again one day. A surprising amount of his things are left behind, with only the most sensible of clothing that’s been taken, along with all the basic necessities of a healthy human such as toiletries. When Byakuran checks one of his bank accounts, he’s not surprised to find a lot of money withdrawn. While he could pursue his interest, he doesn’t. Instead, he carries out the end of this particular life, his particular run, all the while quite aware of how the patches of rebel forces which never cease to defy him are granted a sudden boost in knowledge. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. This reality is a bust, and he toys with the different ways to end it.  Somewhere, out in the rebel hideouts that he systematically quashes, he’s certain Shoichi Irie dies… but he dies far away from Byakuran, out of his sight.  It’s a “Bad End” if your love interest betrays you and dies. Byakuran passes along the message to Byakuran of everything he’s gone through. It would be embarrassing if this was the side quest that he missed, after all.  Probably the problem Byakuran ran into, Byakuran muses to himself as he thinks over this particular set of alternate memories, is that Shoichi was a civilian kept in the dark for so long. Sure, he had been running around in all sorts of seedy bars in that universe, but being in the same vicinity as some two-bit thugs isn’t anything like dating a powerful mafia don who had blood soaked up to his knees. If he intervenes a little earlier… That sounds right. A slightly earlier intervention, nudging those morals a little further in the right direction, and Byakuran thinks that might finally help complete this little sub-plot. He just needs to get a little creative in when they meet. How they meet.  When he meets Shoichi Irie, he’s not the flustered teenager that gave him this opportunity and he’s not yet the boneworn bassist who played in side alley bars. Instead, he’s seventeen and clearly frustrated with the world, or perhaps merely his place in it. Byakuran only needs a day to see how people take advantage of him. It's  nothing so crass as outright bullying, not most of the time. Instead, they merely pile on expectations and requests onto him, disregarding his interests, disregarding anything else he might have on his plate. In a different way to that time in the bar, it’s easier than anything to slide his way into a friendship with him. Nudging him along towards what Byakuran wants for him… It’s a little more difficult to get the subtleties of that exactly right, and he spends a couple of lives dealing with that. It’s not a complete waste; he’ll need such skills for other people who aren’t Shoichi.  The best way, he finds, is simply phrasing things as harmless pranks in high school, things to tease those who frustrate him so much, things he can build upon so steadily. Shoplifting is a little harder, not something that his Sho-chan really has the hand dexterity for, but it’s easier when he can frame their targets as absolute bastards who deserve it… or detach them so neatly from his life that they don’t really matter.  What his real interest is, however, would be what he told himself from dating that tired and beaming bassist. It’s a waste to keep him as a petty thief, even if there is a kind of casual amusement in throwing stolen candy into Shoichi’s hair while he does his best to scowl instead of laugh. The good news is that he has dozens, hundreds, thousands of other selves knowledge at hand. It’s child play to talk tech with Shoichi, to convince him to stretch his intelligence right past the digital defenses of so many organizations and countries. From high school, to college, to them with degrees spilling out the secrets of the richest and most influential or sometimes holding it over their heads. It hardly takes anything at all to convince Shoichi to join his Gesso, this slowly budding and blossoming Millefiore. This should be it, he thinks. It took a try or four, but he’s finally got this route down.  He thinks that all the way to the day he triumphantly comes back from his meeting with that little Giglio Nero heiress, satisfied from the box he has in his hands. “Ta daaaaa!” he sings as he enters the office where Shoichi is waiting. His interest looks pretty good in mafia black, he has to say, even when he’s clearly fiddled his tie right out of place and jumps what seems like a solid foot into the air. “The meeting went great, Sho-chan.” “I feel like you’d say that no matter what actually happened…” Still, he moves out of the way, letting Byakuran flop loosely into his chair. Shoichi slides his hands into his pockets, trying to seem calm, before he moves them out again to rub his palms against his legs. “Were you able to resolve things mostly peacefully?” Gamma’s fingers broke, one by one, feeling surprisingly like nothing for how long they’d clutched to his pool stick. Genkishi had to be skewered to the wall, bloody dripping from his mouth, simply to keep him out of the way. When Aria had finally conceded, she’d closed her eyes for a brief moment with a box keeping their hands joined together, and a smile had crept onto her face. “Oh, the things that will happen,” she’d said, eyes too blue, too strange. For a second, she’d almost looked human.  “Mhm,” Byakuran says, because that’s the easy answer, and they have the Giglio Nero- what remains- on close watch. He won’t make a rookie mistake again, making it easy for Shoichi to stumble onto such a dark little thing. Setting the box down onto his desk, he flicks open the latch. The second Shoichi turns his back, Byakuran plans on getting nothing less than the absolute best replicas that he possibly can for the Mare Rings… but for now, there’s no harm in keeping them right in front of him. He has no idea when these were last touched, even by their mistresses, but the Mare Ring have a crystal clear shine to them that’s so smooth that not even water would stick. He’d slipped the Sky Ring back into its place after reveling in its quickly comfortable warmth, and it almost seems to glow again at his presence. In fact, it even seems to glow all the brighter than before. His eyelids dip just a little lower. “Amazing, right…?” He can feel Shoichi’s arm brush against his chair, nudging it a little bit. “All that worry, for some rings…” His voice isn’t into the disregarding tone it tries for, however. It’s even… dazed. Byakuran’s first thought is that he’s coming down from his anxiety high. That impression lasts for all of a single second before Shoichi’s hand reaches over from the side, drawn to the box, and Byakuran realizes that the Mare Sky Ring wasn’t glowing any brighter than it did when he first saw it.  Yellow blends into orange so well. Shoichi burns bright yet again.  The knowledge hits him like a bullet train, a feeling that he passes along the second he has the time to spare for it, and he almost doesn’t care that, in this world too, Shoichi once again slowly turns again, once again pokes his nose into something he shouldn’t have. It’s fine to lose that particular sidequest this time around, because he’s gotten a key bit of information that can potentially help in all the others. At the same time, it only makes what was once a silly little romance route gain so much more prominence to the main story that Byakuran can’t help but marvel as the flow of it.  The Mare Rings can’t speak, can’t communicate, and yet Byakuran can’t help but feel as though they’re the most people-like things he’s dealt with ever since Before. Their preferences in wielders tend to be specific, although they can be flexible if no better choice presents itself. The Rain Ring tends to lean towards bright and malicious, people who can demonstrate a sense of mocking humor before they clean away the filth of the battlefield. In contrast, those with any sort of commendable patience draw in the Cloud Ring, and the Storm favors anyone with a shimmering energy beneath an otherwise… passive facade.  The Sky Ring is his forever, in every single iteration of the universe that can possibly exist.  The Sun longs for Shoichi. Every time. Without fail.  Byakuran can understand why. Anyone would understand, he’s fairly sure, if they’d ever seen the way his eyes steel in resolution or the energy that burns from his body or the sheer brilliant gold of his flame. In worlds where he forgets, or where he slips up,  or where there’s merely a spot of bad luck, the Arcobaleno Curse seeks  out Shoichi for the intensity of his Flame.  That happens rarely.  Byakuran laid claim upon him first, after all.  In one life, Byakuran decides to go for a change of pace. Not every romance route can be won through simple kindness. Sometimes, you have to get a little bit creative, or you have to push for a certain event to go off. Sometimes, a Good End is reprehensible in the cruelty it takes to get there. At least, for normal people.  He draws the Gesso up as soon as he’s able, throws all of himself into making them a strong Family as quick as possible. Quick enough to have someone watching over Shoichi, make sure that he doesn’t drift too far from where Byakuran can see him. He goes through a fairly standard dull life, the few times Byakuran takes the time to check in on him- a brief flirt with paying a bass, graduating top of his class. Nothing to pay attention to. It’s after Shoichi’s first year of college that he instructs some of his people to kidnap him one night, when he’s on his way home from a concert of a band he likes and not expecting for a car to stop right besides him. It’s quick, silent, and completely professional. More than a few of his own must be wondering what Byakuran is doing… but that’s the case in every life he lives.  All they have to do is listen to him as he plays a game so long and expansive that they can’t even begin to imagine it.  There’s no reason to go straight into the harshest form of cruelty, not right away, not in this life. There are a lot of ways to twist a will, to shatter it and pull it together in some other shape entirely. Byakuran starts off with the kind of lodgings that would be perfect, if one were merely willing to ignore all the ways in which it’s a cage: sinfully soft furniture, nice lighting that can go from comfortably dim to softly warm, a bathroom large enough to be another bedroom, no windows, one entrance and exit, hidden cameras in more places than the obvious. Byakuran follows the advice of another life, and makes sure that there isn’t a kitchen or access to the outside world via electronics.  Shoichi Irie, in every bit of his incarnations that Byakuran can remember, is always devilishly clever, after all. Even when he had been a bassist who’d skipped college, trapped in a cycle of debt and unfulfilling gigs.  He’s also incredibly attractive, even now, disheveled in last night’s clothes, hair falling in a mess around his face, glasses askew on his face. One hand is curled against his stomach, a warning of the stomach aches that are to come, and his expression is twisted in such alarm that it stirs a heat inside of Byakuran’s chest. This isn’t one he’s indulged in yet. Not for the first time, he appreciates the ability to play with such a purposefully destructive game. “What do you want with me!?” Shoichi asks, sharp, panicked, and yet going right to the point. He doesn’t ask who Byakuran is, which is almost a shame. There are some amusing answers he could give there. And yet, he supposes this question is more important. At least, for someone in Shoichi’s position.  “Now now!” He laughs, draping himself in one of the armchairs that are around. He practically sinks into it. Really, he hopes Shoichi comes to appreciate that much in the time that he keeps him here. “I’m not going to torture you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Not in this timeline, at any rate. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Byakuran Gesso, and it’s nice to meet you properly here. I’d like you to work for me.” Shoichi draws one leg up cautiously, foot digging into the mattress. What he’s prepared to do is anyone’s guess, only that he feels the need to be a little… steadier, perhaps, in case he needs to do something. The hand not clutching his stomach does similar. “This isn’t… exactly the normal way to get someone to work for you,” he says stiffly, and Byakuran’s heart flutters. There’s that Sun brilliance, hardening his eyes and burning him up from the inside out. He hardly had to push at all for it to appear, even in a situation like this. “What do you want me to work on, exactly?” “Oh, nothing that you aren’t already going to college for, Sho-chan.” The nickname makes him twitch a little bit, unaware as he is of how intimate they are long before he was born and long after he dies and even here in the present. They’re completely and utterly bound. He simply doesn’t know it. He will probably never know it, at least in most lives. “I’d like to pick your mind for the treasure trove of ideas I’m sure you have in there when it comes to technology. If you simply go along with it, you’ll find your time here to be quite nice!” Byakuran tilts his head to the side. “And if you cooperate, Sho-chan, then you’ll be out of here in no time at all. I’m positive we can work something out, don’t you agree?” The wary pull of his eyebrows downwards says Shoichi doesn’t believe him, which he shouldn’t. “I’m getting the impression that I don’t have a particular choice,” he says, still not easing up even the slightest. “Do I at least get the dignity of asking some questions…?” Byakuran crosses his legs and let his hands flow to the side in gesture. “All you like, Sho-chan!” He doesn’t promise he’ll tell the truth.  “Then… Why me? I haven’t even- I don’t have a degree of any sort. I’m not even close to graduating.” The hand at his stomach moves upwards, digging into his chest. “Why kidnap a college student who’s probably not even knowledgeable enough for the kinds of things you might ask for? Aren’t there smarter technicians and engineers who could do what you want?” There aren’t. Byakuran knows this for a fact, knows that he would have stumbled upon them a long time ago if anyone had that ability. Yet no one had done what Shoichi had. No one had gone through time, no one had broken it so thoroughly as he had. Byakuran can’t even claim that honor yet, as much as it would amuse him to. No, he merely flows across the many timelines, the many universes where he exists.  Shoichi is the one who reached out where he shouldn’t have, and Byakuran knows for a fact, after listening to him speak in the kinder timelines, that he can break even more if he really tries.  The trick is to get him to really try.  “I have utter faith in your potential,” is the answer Byakuran gives, grinning and flashing a wink to Shoichi. “But you don’t have to worry. Ask for anything, and I’ll make sure to provide it for you. Just knock, okay, Sho-chan?” He’s kept for a while longer, listening to question after question that Shoichi fumbles to pull out from his mind, and he’s not surprised when he almost immediately calls through on that 'knocking’ thing to start pulling in book after book to his room.  Despite it being a simple non-answer, the line about 'potential’ is also fairly true. Byakuran passes along all sorts of little tasks for Shoichi to do, starting subtle at first with computer programs on an isolated channel that Shoichi never gets to keep. Then, various little quizzes, seeing if he can outdo what they already are using in the Gesso and Millefiore. Byakuran rarely delivers them himself. Why would he? That’s something for those far lower on the ladder who have nothing better to do, or at least nothing more important than Byakuran’s pursuit of this sidequest. Instead, Byakuran likes to visit Shoichi in the middle of his time. Sometimes it’s while he’s working through the latest task he’s been given, papers sprawled out all over the floor and a pile working up on the desk Shoichi does his best to remember to use. It’s a nice change of pace from the repetitive motions of running a mafia empire. Shoichi doesn’t take to it well at first. “Of- what? Of course I’m not,” Shoichi says, honesty stuttering out before he can stop himself the first time Byakuran outright asks. “I know your name and literally nothing else, and you’re just- is this a test?” His mouth screws up, eyes narrowed over them. “To check if I’m… I don’t know, cheating or something as I work on this?” When Byakuran bursts out laughing at him, a lobster of a blush spreads over his face in a heartbeat.  “I told you before, didn’t I?” Byakuran says when he’s calmed down, sprawled out in an armchair. His head lolls to the side, lazy smile still in place. “I have full confidence in your abilities and potential, Sho-chan.” “Shoichi,” he mutters quietly, not really stopping the nickname.  “The only reason I’m here is because I’m bored. Besides, you haven’t asked for a rubber duck yet. I thought it might help to bounce your stress off something~.” “Rubber ducks should be a little cuter,” Shoichi mumbles into his shirt, already ducking back down into his work while still a little bit red. It takes a little while for him to eventually start reciprocating Byakuran’s attempts at conversation, but what are a few visits in comparison to the eternity that Byakuran has? The multiple visions of eternity, in fact. So it doesn’t feel long at all before Shoichi begins to speak back to him, gesturing to a paper here and there as he spills out his train of thought or his frustrations on a certain aspect of his latest project. When he finally does that, the other visits Byakuran takes begin to go a little more smoothly as well instead of Shoichi sitting awkwardly in a chair as far away from Byakuran as possible while Byakuran does all the talking. He knows it’s not only his imagination when Shoichi begins to show a little more warmth in response to his visits.  There aren’t many other options for him down in this windowless room, where time doesn’t feel real, where he can’t even sense time, and Byakuran is his only constant person. There’s a certain thrill in indulging in such a thing, at least for this life. One day, Shoichi doesn’t fight against the way Byakuran presses up behind him while he’s reading, white-clad arms lazily winding around him. He only glances up at him from the corner of his eyes, thumb worrying at the page in the book he’s been working through. “I don’t exactly have to point my room is bugged, right?” he says stiffly, a little bit of red burning at his ears. “Is there any shame at all that your- everything is being recorded while you’re doing this?” “When you’re the kind of person I am, you end up being watched all the time anyway, Sho-chan,” he laughs, directly into Shoichi’s ear as to watch him shudder. He’s not the only person in the world who has such a reaction, and yet Byakuran can’t help feeling more satisfied when Shoichi does it. That’s the thrill of having a favorite character, he supposes. Everything he does, Byakuran can’t help but hyperfocus on. “Now, what kind of things are you thinking of that would get you so worked up about being watched? And in relation to me as well?” The tone of his voice says everything that doesn’t get a word ascribed to it. The blush spreads from his ears to the rest of his face quicker than the heartbeat it takes to provide that much blood. Byakuran never stops the cameras from recording… He only goes back once he’s done indulging in Shoichi’s body to cut those particular parts out and save them for his own records.  More interested in this indulgence than the rest of the videos, and relaxed in what has to be his victory this time, Byakuran misses the little things that will give Shoichi away in other universes. The way he begins to sleep more reliably in his bed instead of falling asleep by accident anywhere else. How his hands duck underneath his pillows, still so “absentminded” as to be holding his glasses inbetween his fingers. Byakuran learns later how the sound of his apparent snoring hid the sharpening of his glasses frames against metal frames. Byakuran had made sure they were metal, so that Shoichi couldn’t use the wood chips of such a frame for whatever his brilliant mind could come up with. A pity that ingenuity works with everything at its disposal no matter the material.  In one universe, he punctures his own throat, slides the needle inbetween the rows of his own lungs, and chokes on his blood before medical services can pull him back from the brink. In one universe, he breaks through the system keeping the door shut and makes a break for it. He succeeds, or he fails, or he does both in the end, but it’s a loss on Byakuran either way. “All you have to do is give yourself to me,” he says one day, one universe, popping open a bag of gummy bears. It wasn’t his first choice, but the little gas station he’d stopped at before getting here hadn’t had any marshmallow treats, and, well, as long as it’s sweet, maybe he doesn’t care as much as some might think. The same could be said for how Shoichi has been forcefully tied to a plain metal chair, handcuffs biting into his wrists and rope binding his legs. To keep him from doing anything reckless, a gag keeps his mouth pried open. Tears and spit alike drip down his face, splatter against his pants…  His eyes are still so very stubbornly burning. A sort of fondness warms his veins, and Byakuran pops one gummy bear into his mouth before he reaches downwards. Fingernails catch along knots in Shoichi’s hair, curls always so thick when he’s first woken up in the morning and hasn’t had a chance to compose himself yet. Byakuran is intimately familiar with all the little quirks like that which make up Shoichi Irie. It’s a consequence of playing the same route, over and over and over again. For all the bad ends he’s steadily accumulating, Byakuran doesn’t regret it.  “Although I am curious,” he continues, drifting his hand downwards until he can curl his fingers around the back of Shoichi’s head and guide his gaze up to him. “What made you change your mind like this, Sho-chan? What made you so desperate that you’d want to risk killing yourself, or run away from here? I like to think I’ve been taking care of you so well that there can’t possibly be a problem. You can have just about everything you’d ever ask for.” It’s only the two of them in the room, all guards dismissed without a second thought. They’d only protest if they saw Byakuran reach down and undo the gag keeping Shoichi so quiet. Free of the obstruction, Shoichi takes a quick second to cough and catch his breath. Trapped in this place, at the end of the rope, he’s clearly lost some of that quaint politeness which he’d grown up with, because he turns his head slightly to the side and spits to clear his mouth. Byakuran supposes he should marvel that it wasn’t directed right at him. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says, voice a little raspy, unused. “You brought me here in the first place because… I’m so smart, right? That’s what you told me. And… did you think I wouldn’t put everything together? Realize what all my work was adding up to, even if you never showed me the final product, or the result?” He gives a hard swallow, head bumping against Byakuran’s palm once again. “It’s not like I want to believe it…. but what else am I supposed to think, when you keep me trapped in here?” Teeth grinding against each other, he grits out, “I don’t even know if my own family is alive!” They aren’t. That thought idly occurs to Byakuran right as Shoichi says it, because he vaguely remembers glancing at a report he’d gotten of a little bit of a scuffle against Hibari-Kai over in Japan which had taken out a good dozen of lives or more, and he’d seen the Irie family listed among the deceased. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was anything important. It still isn’t, he supposes. What’s the point of saying it here and now? Idly, he scrapes his nails along the back of Shoichi’s scalp and watches him go utterly still. “And would you return if you got a brief chance outside, Sho-chan?” he asks, amused. Shoichi’s silence is an answer all its own, and Byakuran moves on without really giving him a moment to spare for a potential lie. “You really need to go with the flow, ha. I think you’d find you would have a much easier time of things if you did."  Shoichi swallows again, throat bobbing. His stare doesn’t waver. "Your flow."  Byakuran tilts his head to the side and smiles. "It’s the same thing in the end.” “If I refuse?” “Then I’ll just have to persuade you otherwise.” Persuasion, in this instance and a few others, meaning that he spends some of his time breaking Shoichi where he can. Sometimes physical. Sometimes mental. He already has a good deal of factors on his side for it all, really, from the oppressive atmosphere of never even knowing what time it is and having not known for a great deal of time, to the nice little case of Stockholm Syndrome he’s nestled right into Shoichi’s chest. That latter part he makes sure to especially cultivate. Every broken limb, he helps nurture back to full and proper health again. Every sickness Shoichi catches, whether purposefully encouraged or which comes along as a side effect of all the stress, he takes care of. Even when he threatens to drown Shoichi, serene moments where he holds him down by the throat and watches his mouth work helplessly with every bubble of hair that works upwards, he’s the same person who tends to him in the aftermath. He dries him off, checks that his lungs are still working right, work that a medical professional could be proud of. Pain and pleasure are two things that are so closely related. Fear and hatred and love and obsession, Byakuran thinks, are probably very much the same. If they are, then maybe he’ll be able to make this work as he’s been trying to across multiple lives.  It takes him around a year to look down into Shoichi’s dull eyes and realize that he’s broken him and, unlike so many other things in the world, there’s no possibility of pulling this back together into something whole again.  The Mare Sun Ring longs to be on Shoichi’s fingers. Byakuran thinks he can relate, wanting a thing that continues to not want you back.  Spoiled kindness isn’t working, and neither does abject cruelty. If that’s how it is, than Byakuran can’t possibly imagine what he’s doing wrong in this area. Still, in the end, it’s only a sidequest. A very important sidequest, but not a necessary one. The Mare Sun Ring might want Shoichi Irie out of every other pawn in the current world it exists in, but it knows how to settle for things, too. Shoichi might be its type, might have the most brilliantly burning Sun Flame anyone could imagine, but there are others who, while not the ideal personality, have a Flame that can satisfy the conditions of a Mare Ring.  He’s not giving up or anything. That would be embarrassing for someone who’s playing the game so determinedly like he is. Rather, he’s… merely taking a break.  Of course, it seems like even when he’s taking a break to focus on other aspects of the game, he still ends up paying attention to Shoichi whenever he ends up crossing his path. Even if the route is harder than expected, Byakuran can still enjoy some aspects of it, especially when it’s not so pressing on his overall run. Shoichi is still surprisingly pleasant to indulge, especially when he’s so early on in the stage of things that the criminal aspect of everything aren’t so obvious. It’s easiest to enjoy Shoichi then, trading food and sharing earbuds to the same music and talking about how fragile and sturdy the world is in equal measure. When it’s only theories, it’s easier to get Shoichi to play along with it. In a way that Byakuran is slowly starting to get used to across his many lives, he inevitably turns on him sooner or later.  Sometimes a country’s government- usually Japan, occasionally Italy, America when it’s not a trashfire- will rope him in as an agent to keep track of him. Byakuran has to admit those lives are a little bit amusing, and he can never help playing up the cliche of it all when he can. The powerful mafia boss playing cat and mouse games with the determined cop, or secret agent, or general law enforcement… While he takes some time to relax in how he’ll next properly approach the Shoichi situation, he doesn’t worry about the end result, and merely enjoys the journey. There’s something to be said for an approach like that, especially when Byakuran uses Shoichi’s own handcuffs against him to pin him against the wall, teasing him about the lengths they’ve gone through with each other, and the sexual tension is thick enough for a chainsaw.  Other mafia Families clue in to the sheer skill that Shoichi Irie actually possesses, once every few lives, especially when the world begins to advance technologically so quickly that they have to start paying attention to engineers and those who are up and coming. Those realities are sometimes a little bit disappointing, because the destruction of the rest of the Families, especially those who have connections to the Vongola, are always the first ones he crushes underneath his heel. It’s a pity that he doesn’t get more of a chance to to with Shoichi in those lives.  Oh well. He’ll always have other rounds, other lives, other realities. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter.  Then there are the timelines where Shoichi takes things into his own hands.  This world has already been broken, shattered, vast expanses of ruined cities beyond the walls of his little fortresses where he experiments with his little civilization games. Here, people either submit, or they risk the destruction beyond that doesn’t deal kindly to those trying to carve out a life there. So with that said, he really has to marvel at the underground labs which Shoichi has created for himself. In the places where his people haven’t stormed through, covering the floor in dirt and dust of debris coating the walls, it’s impeccably clean. One of the few, perhaps the only, places where the grimy destruction of the world hasn’t seeped in. Befitting of such a brilliant engineer and technician, a defiled treasure trove of equipment fills the sparse amount of rooms that make up the shelter, and one has already completely self destructed with its remains utterly destroyed beneath the rubble. If they can recover enough, Byakuran has no doubt that the impact on numerous worlds would be immense. “If”… being the key word in that sentence. Shoichi is a genius in any of the worlds that bear his beautiful existence. For all that he can create, he knows exactly how to destroy it again. Almost more than Byakuran, Shoichi Irie has the perfect ability to completely destroy things, and yet he so rarely does it, save in moments like these where it’s to deny him everything he possibly can. His men corner Shoichi in a room that could, in some cases, be arguably titled as a bedroom. Byakuran has a closet that’s bigger. The mattress on the floor barely offers any substantial protection between the body on top of it and the hard ground beneath. The body on top of it has pressed himself back up against the wall with guns pointed at his face giving him no real option, and his hands are held up with the knuckles bumping into plaster. This one looks a real mess, Byakuran marvels, and he takes his time slowly looking over the engineer who’s been tirelessly and fruitlessly attempting to undermine him from beneath his very nose. A life of living outside of civilization has clearly taken its toll on Shoichi. What clothes are out here are basically as good as trash, and that includes the denim jacket on him that’s at least two times too big with more holes in it than Shoichi’s hopes must have by now, and the loose black tank top beneath it is hardly any better. That his actual pants and boots manage to fit, for all their worn nature, is quite impressive. Figuring out glasses in the wastelands has apparently not been a priority for Shoichi, because he’s squinting hard towards the armed men who can very easily take his life. It’s an action that almost makes him look more defiant than tired, than worn down to the very bone. He’s even disregarded scissors, possibly the most hilarious thing, because a good portion of his hair (definitely not all of it) has been pulled into a very lopsided ponytail near the right side of his head.  Lazily, Byakuran raises up a hand to dismiss his men. “Go look over the technology here,” he orders them, voice deceptively airy. Maybe it’s because of that which has them hesitate. Byakuran doesn’t, not when he levels them with a cold gaze full of threat, and that gets them moving again a hurry. He waits patiently  for the sound of heavy bootsteps to be as much in the distance as they can get before he steps forward to take up the whole doorway. “Hey there, Sho-chan. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” With the absence of armed guards, Shoichi collapses back a little bit, although his hands stay right where they are. It would be a gesture of anyone else in the same situation. “Yeah,” he says, voice following the same slump of his spine. “Yeah, it has. Years.” It didn’t take much for this particular world to crumble apart, after all. And yet, still he struggles to preserve it. The defiance is in more than the glare, now, and Byakuran marvels at it.  Hands in his pockets, Byakuran inclines his head to his old friend. “The offer is still on the table,” he reminds him. “Don’t you think that would be so much more appealing, Sho-chan?” He even laughs a little bit. “You’d be able to have a shower and everything! Maybe see things more clearly, hm?” Shoichi is filthy, thinner than in most timelines, and clearly has worked so hard that he’s not had the chance to sleep often. Even with every bit of that weighing down on him, he still slumps his shoulders with an annoyed huff. “Was that… an actual joke about my eyeglasses? At a time like this…” Even when everything is going at it’s absolute worst, he can still get that kind of reaction out of him. Byakuran laughs once more. “Well, it’s the truth, too!” Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, Byakuran puts about the same amount of effort into the way his eyelids dip. “It’s all the truth,” he says, which is a lie. “The Sun Ring would be perfect on your finger,” he says, which is the truth. He’d left it back in the hands of the Sun Guardian he’d chosen for this world, once it had become clear that he would not accomplish his goal in this reality either. That meant, technically, there was no reason to make a claim on Shoichi in this world either. What purpose could he serve, besides potentially passing along more information to Byakuran in another world? And yet still he wants it. Wants Shoichi. Again and again, he’s courted and broken and threatened countless Shoichis, all for naught. Even if this world is useless…. He can only imagine the rush of satisfaction that would drown him if he managed to successfully capture one of the few individuals in all of his many existences who fascinates him so. Sometimes, in some places, he even almost ponders if Shoichi Irie is more his Player 2 than a love interest whose Good End he’s tirelessly chasing across numerous different realities.  Only a thought experiment in the end, that sort of thing. There’s a reason he ponders it more in the late night while some version of him drifts off to sleep, or turns over the idea while his body runs through the motions of a shower. If there is actually a Player 2 against his campaign in one of the many worlds, he’s yet to meet them, for one thing, and he’s fairly certain that there would be more of a fight than all of Shoichi’s desperate struggles.  Surely he must know it too, but all Shoichi does is let out a slow exhaled that scrapes up against lung and throat alike. Typical for someone who has dared to live out here in desolated wastelands. “I bet it would,” he says, a cough forcing a pause into existence. It’s too much for a body that’s become so thin and weak. “But my answer hasn’t changed, you know.” “So stubborn, Sho-chan.” It hardly takes a step before he’s within the room, and filling up a good portion of the space. A mattress can barely fit in here, so even with so little movement he’s already right between Shoichi’s legs. “It might be better for you over all if you just went along with it.” Smiling, he tilts his head to the side. He has no doubt that it’s as empty as he feels. “Everyone has a lot of questions for you back at my base that they’ll get out of you one way or another.” “Do threats actually ever help to convince anyone to do anything?” They don’t, and they never would with Shoichi. His lives have connected well enough that he is well aware of how Shoichi will stay true, even when he’s bleeding out, slow, alone. There’s always something beautiful about the way that fire burns right to the final ember of his existence. Byakuran thinks he could watch it for an eternity, if only he didn’t have the main story to get through first. Regardless, he leans down and forwards until he can pull Shoichi up effortlessly to his feet. Even with his clothing, he hardly weighs a thing, especially in comparison to Byakuran with immeasurable power behind him that could still grow so much bigger. “I thought you should at least know when you’re making a mistake,” he says, watching as Shoichi’s hands finally swing downwards. His fingers shake, quietly but violently. More from anxiety than ever any fear, Byakuran suspects, and always more exhaustion than anxiety. “We’re friends, Sho-chan, so, really, this is the least I could do!” This close, and Shoichi doesn’t really need to squint anymore to see Byakuran clearly. Weariness draws them a little further open, yet his gaze doesn’t shy away from Byakuran’s. In the world above them, in the world at large, so much has been dragged into ash and filth until brown and gray cover it as thick as any blanket. Even in places far away from civilization, the color seems to stick thicker than smog. Here, Shoichi’s eyes are still a deep green, so deep as to be untarnished jade, an oasis refusing impossible odds, poison that has burrowed past skin and flesh and blood and into Byakuran’s bones. “Friends, huh,” he says, voice a breath, an invitation.  “At the very least,” Byakuran murmurs before he accepts it, before he leans in and sweeps up those lips in a long slow kiss. Shoichi doesn’t push him away or, considering the atrophy of his body, make so much as an attempt. No struggle, no kick, no protest, not even so much as a bite. If anything, he actually leans in, palms pressing against the wall as if he’s chasing something, too. Only a centimeter keeps them separated when their lips finally part. Against all odds, the fire in Shoichi’s eyes seems to burn all the harder. Byakuran know the answer even before he wastes any breath on its opposite. “It’s still waiting for you."  He’s still waiting for him.  A kiss has hardly done anything for Shoichi’s chapped lips, the breath which rustles out from between them drying that brief wet respite. It’s hardly done anything for that look in his eyes, either. "Well, it’ll probably have to keep waiting.” Byakuran watches the muscles in his throat stick and bob, struggling for even a simple swallow. “There’s nothing else for me to do in this world. There’s no point.” On the technical aspect, he’s right, of course. The Tri-ni-sette cannot be completed in this world, even if he were to include Shoichi’s perfect brilliant flame to the Mare set. Everything Byakuran does in this particular world is only for his own amusement right now, even if that means dismantling society chunk by chunk, or seeing how far a group of people can be pushed before they shatter into pieces. Even Shoichi isn’t different from this. If he were to finally complete his route in this world, of all worlds, what would he do then? If this was Shoichi the bassist, he could have kept him sweet and separate from the dirty business of a world collapsing in on itself with his goading, could have ducked into their not-so-little apartment and played a more domestic game.  If this was Shoichi the student, he could fill his spare time molding him into something else, treat him customizable, put together all the pieces of a broken man until he wasn’t quite whole but certainly together.  If this was Shoichi the criminal… If he had stayed…  Well. There’s no world where Shoichi has ever stayed by Byakuran’s side as he’s reworked the world into something entirely different. It’s simply not a part of the route.  Byakuran accepts this easily, because he’s had to dozens of times before, in dozens of other incarnations. All he does is chuckle a little bit. “So pessimistic, Sho-chan!” “Optimistic, actually.” That’s certainly a surprise, and Byakuran has to pause, still smiling but with his eyebrows raised a little bit now. Shoichi grins at him, with just enough teeth to be a threat. He’s never felt threatened in all of his lives now, not since he was a kid in some life forgotten a long time ago, and yet that doesn’t take away the intent. “How long do you think you can keep this going, Byakuran-san? How many worlds do you think you can completely dominate?” “Ha. Well, Sho-chan, I think the answer should be fairly obvious, shouldn’t it?” He inclines his head back towards the door, hands preoccupied with Shoichi’s weight. “If I can do this much to this kind of world, then I doubt there are many others that will be as much of a challenge.” The real challenge is in completing everything, in putting together the exact right variables that will give him all of the Tri-Ni-Sette.  The real challenge is in completing everything, including finally keeping Shoichi Irie at his side.  Despite this fact, Shoichi doesn’t stop grinning, although some strength has drained from it. All his fire can’t give him the energy that his physical body lacks from little sleep and about as much food. “Well,” he says, “we’ll see about that. But nothing lasts forever, Byakuran-san. No one does.” And he grits his teeth together… and something cracks.  Later on, his doctors and researchers will marvel at the fake tooth layered over one of his real ones that had laid within Shoichi’s mouth. Such a thing would be delicate and tricky work even as a mere piece of art, yet Shoich had gone somewhere a little deeper. Literally, he’d gone deeper, apparently digging into old forgotten Estraneo strongholds and the secrets that had been abandoned a long time ago. An interesting invention- one of many, across many worlds, many mistakes- had been research into warping the body with the use of Sun flames via a set of specialized modified fangs. Creating a whole new jaw would have been impossible for even Shoich’s genius, at least with everything else he’d stacked up on top of his plate, and, considering the layout of the world, he’d probably never be able to get the necessary requirements for giving his body such base animalistic characteristics… But he didn’t need to.  All Shoichi Irie had needed was the base concept, the base technical aspects that could help active a Sun Flame within his body without the use of a Ring and change some internal trigger.  Sun Flames are activation. The Sun is energy. Too much energy, heart beating so fast as to burst, lungs quicker than the air they can absorb, mind falling apart from energy and crashing in on itself…  They’ll marvel at it all, the people he sends to investigate this, and a few will ponder if they can use this sort of technology to keep a tight rein on anyone beneath them, even if there will have to be obvious changes depending on the kind of Flame that one primarily has. Byakuran will let them ponder and experiment, because of course he will. In a world without any real goal, any real meaning to continue this particular save, he might as well, right? Yet he’ll never go on to use their findings, not in the way they intend, not even in other worlds. In the moment, in that underground bunker where Shoichi Irie lived out his last days frantically working on something that could never possibly have any meaning, Byakuran can only watch the way he jolts suddenly with an exhale so sharp that he breathes out blood… and then he goes limp.  Byakuran doesn’t smile. He can’t even act surprised. All he can really do, after a quiet moment of staring at a corpse, is lower it slowly back down onto the mattress he’s slept on for who knows how long.  Next time, then. If nothing else, he’ll always have next time.  “Byakuran-san, please, pay attention, I need you to have full understanding of the Merone Base, okay?” “I am paying attention,” he says, lips lilting up in a smile. It’s not wholly a lie. He’s always listened to Shoichi in multiple realities, even if he hasn’t listened to him on some occasions. So he’s intimately familiar with many ideas that Shoichi has brought up, some of them more solid in most realities than others.  The best realities for this sort of thing are the handful where Shoichi’s life has him meet someone born on an entirely different little island, separated from Japan by an entire continent. Byakuran doesn’t really mess with the workers on the lower end of things, which Spanner definitely qualifies as despite his own mechanical genius, but he keeps an eye on anything that is prone to influence Shoichi. In the universes where Shoichi Irie and the aptly dubbed “Spanner” meet, Shoichi almost always  comet collides into his talent with technology. Whether those are universes where Shoichi temporarily joins him… That’s a little more in the air. A coin flip, honestly, one of those things that is practically prayed to like the RNG in a gacha phone game.  That such existences are also the ones where Shoichi falls in love with another, where he burns so bright in a different direction, is something Byakuran is pretty sure he’s not jealous about. Why would he be? That happens in the occasional RPG, where your companions fall for each other if you never make a move towards them. Byakuran thinks of such occurrences, of such lives he’s lived with different lovers himself, and then stops thinking of them.  For this existence? This one in particular has Spanner working deep in the machinations of the Millefiore, not inclined to a leadership position that would take him away from the robotics that he loves so much. And Shoichi, in this one…  “Could you at least look at me when trying to feed me that lie?” Byakuran laughs again, shoulders shaking a little, before he rolls his head back along the couch to look at him upside-down. Shoichi the the Right Hand Man, the inevitable betrayer, stares right back at him before heaving out a sigh. Theoretically, he’s supposed to be clad in Millefiore lily white at all times, especially when dealing with official business here in Byakuran’s very own expansive office. Yet it’s a testament to the privilege Shoichi possesses that he can be half out of it already, revealing not a slick suit or combat ready tank top but one of his any ratty and worn band tees. If any of their subordinates caught sight of Shoichi in such a state, it would likely only further fuel the rumors Byakuran knows are out there, that Shoichi Irie slipped into his bed long before he slipped into one of the Millefiore uniforms. In some ways, they might almost be right, just never in the way they’d ever think to think.  If only Shoichi would want him enough to try and seduce him, and more than the simple fact that such a thing would be a hilarious experience. No matter the many different worlds, there’s always some… core to these characters. And it is a core part of Shoichi Irie that he’d never really be what one could call “seductive”.  “I’m looking,” he drawls, long and low, and something about all of it clearly has something to do with the way Shoichi jolts and his mouth twists. He doesn’t blush, apparently old enough to have restraint in some area even if not all of them, but Byakuran can recognize the little things like that. The Cheshire Cat smile on his face only widens. “What, Sho-chan?” “Byakuran-san, you’re…” A huff pops out of him and he strides over closer. “You know what, nevermind.” “Now now!” Byakuran laughs, reaching behind him to pull Shoichi closer once he’s in reach until his arms are folding over his shoulders and he can better see the schematics his supposed right hand is fiddling with. Still he keeps his fingers slipped through those reddish brown curls. They’re soft, comforting. A reminder that, at this stage in the game, he can still enjoy the little occurrences. Those are the kinds of things which help keep a person playing over and over again. “I encourage complete and total honesty in my subordinates, Sho-chan. It’s not good to bottle things up inside, either!” For all of Byakuran’s power- the physical where he’s become steadily good enough in close combat, the political and social where he could destroy a person’s life with a single message, the flames of his which burn through the barriers of separation and the barriers of flesh- For all of that, Shoichi in every iteration never seems to falter enough. He always manages to drum up a look of faint unimpressed exasperation, regardless of his situation. Byakuran likes the one Shoichi is wearing right now, the type where his fondness softens all of the harder edges until his affection bleeds through. If it ever becomes a dam, Byakuran suspects that will be one of the times when he’s won. “You only say those sorts of things,” Shoichi mutters, “because you find it funny when I get pissed off about things such as Glo Xinia and get petty.” “I don’t say it only because of that!” he says, even as he laughs. He laughs because it’s true, and he laughs at the ways it’s not, and because he’ll enjoy these moments where he can be with Shoichi with the Mare Sun Ring on his finger almost fake enough to make him think that this is a perfect run.  But he’s still waiting for that inevitable betrayal. There is always some core part, isn’t there?  Shoichi’s core has never made him take the final step into staying by Byakuran’s side.  Shoichi the Double Agent is a new one, although that only makes things a little more interesting. It also explains a lot, honestly, from how Shoichi had insisted on being able to take care of this younger Vongola with no reinforcements, to how he had kept their block against the Ten Year Bazooka’s effects so close at hand. Byakuran has to hand it to him- he could have been a world class actor in another world. Opposing him outright, or a heel turn at the last moment, those are the choices he’s used to. Yet he’d forgotten, in his apathy, that there was indeed a third option when it came to Shoichi Irie. There was nothing ever stopping him from going along with Byakuran’s plans while readying a knife for his back the whole while.  Faintly, he wonders if he would have bothered to stop any bit of Shoichi’s plot, at least in this world.  Probably not. All of his selves need to ignore at least one thing or go along with one plot if only to see how that might affect the timeline relevant to a completely different self.  It’s enlightening, too, listening to Shoichi explain the entire situation for the benefit of the younger Tsunayoshi Sawada’s group. While he likes to torment his many opponents with his supposed omniscience, Byakuran knows his abilities far better than anyone else. Certainly, he’s far closer to the very concept of omniscience than any other human would normally be… but he’s not quite there yet. If he knew everything, if he had the walkthrough guide to the game of his life, then he would have accomplished his main goal a thousand lifetimes ago instead of having it vex him so much. No, he only knows as much as any aspect of himself knows and shares with the rest of himself. He can’t be in multiple places at once, or, rather, he can, but they’re so detached as to something have no bearing on one another. Every life is its own, even as every life is him.  So, up until this point as he patiently takes in the meeting of his foes and Shoichi, he can’t ever have imagined that Shoichi the Underground Engineer had been thinking of this when he had questioned Byakuran’s ability to continue the game. It’s a brilliant play, a reality breaking move to match his own… and all he can do is smile, smile, smile. The inclusion of a love interest for the main character can really drag a game down, or raise it up to something so popular as to be overwhelming. A rushed and poorly thought out romance can dock a point or two from a review, while a truly heartbreaking or varied one can be the main reason why anyone even touches it.  Once upon a time, he had thought that Shoichi Irie had been just a minor side quest. Enjoyable enough on its own, sure, but no more than delving into a cave during a fantasy game for some quest or another. Entertaining in a mindless fashion. Yet even now, even without the Mare Sun’s quiet intense longing for a finger that won’t ever slip into it, he thinks that was foolish of himselves. Shoichi was never so simple as a minor side quest.  He was as vital a part of the main storyline as any party member, as any guiding NPC, as any fridged lover.  Byakuran wonders how he’ll die this time. Shoichi Irie doesn’t die.  Oh, he certainly does a lot of things that would logically lead to the death of most other people who attempted to do the same. He volunteers to be on the frontlines, despite lacking box and Ring both, staring Byakuran straight in the eyes as he says it. He helps control a moving tank of a headquarters to defend himself even when he’s being shot at. He removes himself from that tank, despite the metal being the best object of defense available to him, and forces exhausted legs to keep moving. He looks at the most powerful person in all of existence and makes demands of him despite the fact that he can’t even get up on his own two fee without assistance. All the while, he burns. Byakuran basks in it, even as he refuses to let this particular part of  the game go on any longer and denies all Shoichi would want for. This has always been a game between them, more than even the Vongola that so often seem to have a tendency of being his biggest obstacle in so many worlds. So, more than Tsunayoshi Sawada, more than the one of two remaining Arcobaleno in the world, more than anyone else, he savors the look of desperate frustrated outrage on Shoichi’s face. Out of his list of things he wants the most in the world, it’s not at his highest shelf, only perhaps in third place, and yet that’s more than good enough. Having that burning and sheering brightness focused on him alone will always place even when not in first.  Of course…. When first rolls around… When Yuni reveals herself, reveals that very puzzle Byakuran has been tearing over in so many places and times and lives, well, every gamer wants to get first place. Byakuran forgets him, save for the briefest flicker of a thought that he ought to thank him in one life or another for helping make this to be the run that finally succeeds. Loss is a new feeling, in more ways than one.  He’s lost his battle, and his war, fire stripping away flesh from bone, bone from existence. He’s lost the game.  He’s even, and especially, lost his sense of self as those flames do more than be rid of the physical. They sever him, completely, utterly, the changing of one blood red sky to something softer and quieter, and he’s never released how much was bearing down on his mind until it’s all been stripped away from him. In the last few seconds where he still exists- only himself, this self, this Byakuran Gesso who has lead this Millefiore family to where it is today in this very moment- there’s so much space to simply… think.  On a lot of things. On the very Player 2 that the Cervello once told him about, that Aria knew about with those amused deep eyes of hers, that a starving man in a lab cleaner than he was plotted so hard to bring into creation. On if perhaps this was perhaps a tester’s way of playing the game, but not how it was to be played. On if he had only been wistful when he’d seen a face twisted in quiet despair from beyond their little arena.  Next time. He wonders if there’ll be a next time.  “Just…. don’t? Alright? Can we please just, stop? I would appreciate it if you could stop. Just… stay in bed and don’t start a fight with the three other absurdly powerful people that are in this hospital.” Shoichi (the teenager, the young genius, thrice lived) tucks Byakuran into the hospital bed so securely like he thinks cotton will be enough to stop really anyone from doing anything. Byakuran lets him, and only partially because he’s surprisingly wore out. This, too, is a new experience, different from the many memories that still overwhelm him from other lives he knows but hasn’t lived. Then again, none of the lives that he’d lived had ever focused on anything but that one, singular goal. He’s never gotten to experience what it’s felt like to be shot at with full strength by one of the Arcobaleno, or seen just how much power the Vindice had been hiding beneath their dark coats for so long.  Not in many lives has he gotten to be so close to Shoichi like this, watching a face much younger than what he’s used to crumple up in an exhausted exasperation that apparently never aged a single bit since the day he was born.  It’s a brand new hospital room that he’s been moved to, now, and it’s completely empty save for the two of them. Everyone else who’d been present, those who would have been his Millefiore in another life, another future, have been looped into clean up efforts on account of the fact that none of them are so gravely injured like he is. Even Bluebell, although he’s fairly confident that she’ll do more playing than helping alongside the new friend she’d made as she’s been steadily absorbed into the Giglio Nero. That’s been slowly happening with all of them, he’s noticed quietly, and that’s probably for the better. He might not have the walkthrough guide for life- perhaps never had it- but he’s seen enough clips to know that they’d find nothing and neither would he if they stuck with him in the same path that he went down in one future that’s now ceased to exist for himself. The person at his bedside right now must know this as well, and yet.  “I don’t make any promises,” he tells Shoichi, smiling as the teenager slumps into a chair. He doesn’t look as bad as he could be, because Byakuran has seen him go through the full spectrum of destroyed and devastated and depressed…. but he does look dead tired, bags under his eyes better suited for the grave and his hair messy from lack of sleep or care. The frames of his glasses smack into his knuckles when he reaches up beneath them to rub at his eyes.  “I really wish you would.” Hands dropping down to his lap, he shifts awkwardly in his seat and glances back toward the closed door where armed guards are waiting just outside. For all his effect on the various aspects of reality, for the sheer potential of what he can do, Byakuran is always being watched. Yuni has accepted his assistance for this latest disaster, of course, but she’s surprisingly clever. That’s how she’d waited so patiently in another future, getting the Cervello into the perfect position to grant her access to the exact right place at the exact right time. Similarly, she’d agreed and complied with the Vongola when they’d requested surveillance on him. Byakuran doesn’t blame them. He’s not sure he’s still entirely attached to a lot in the world to do things like levy blame at anyone for just about any reason.  Shoichi is a direct contrast in that he doesn’t even remotely belong here, and everyone knows it. Everyone on Tsunayoshi Sawada’s side is a part of the Vongola officially now, with even the actual toddler being related to another mafia Family. The Varia, well, they don’t need any introduction to those who are a part of this life. The same can be said for Mukuro Rokudo’s lot, all criminals in their own right, and every single one of the Arcobaleno are wanted for their skills in both ways that can mean. Shoichi Irie is only a middle schooler at a good school whose family has been told that he was going to a tutor who could refer to him a good college while, the last some nights, he’s been involved in the life and death battles of overpowered criminal organizations and helping build a giant super robot that most college students could only dream of. If he wanted to wash his hands of everything, then he would have at least a 50% chance of success with how soft hearted the Vongola, Giglio Nero, and Cavallone could all be.  Yet here he is, one heel bobbing up and down through the air down to the floor while his hand remains loosely curled over his stomach. “I’ve killed you, you know,” Byakuran says casually, stretching his fingers along the too-clean sheets of his bed. From the corner of his eye, he can see Shoichi’s leg promptly freeze its jiggling. “In a lot of different timelines.” Even if it wasn’t directly, well, his hand was always buried deep in that particular pie.  It takes a long few seconds before Shoichi remembers to breathe. With his exhale, the invisible strings keeping his body upright seem to vanish and he slumps forwards. His hands curling into that curly hair are a sight Byakuran is intimately familiar with. “I know, Byakuran-san,” he says, polite even after all of this, across multiple realities. Polite even he sounds as though he would rather be having anything but this kind of conversation, preferably in a bed of his own somewhere.  Well, with how their first meeting in this particular universe had involved Shoichi yelling at everyone else about how he wasn’t to be trusted, it’s sort of a given that he knows. Regardless. “I thought you might need a reminder,” he replies, head falling back a little further into his pillow. Despite how long people can end up staying, hospital pillows really are garbage, he’s come to find. Even when the mafia is involved. And a little bit of the yakuza.  Shoichi’s fingers keep sliding further backwards, catching tangles and tugging free of them until he can rest them curved over the back of his neck. “Thanks for that,” he deadpans. As with many worlds, Byakuran seems to have a talent for getting rid of that patience, even in the times where Shoichi never holds it against him. With that, his head drops, glasses threatening to bounce right off of his face.  It occurs to him, then, that there might be something else responsible for the darkened skin under Shoichi’s eyes and the weight dragging his spine ever further down towards irreparable back pain. It’s something that he’s had to deal with for…. something that feels like years, but which he knows, by the way people quantify time, hasn’t actually happened. Yet that realization only makes Shoichi’s choice to be here over anywhere else in even this whole building alone a… puzzling mystery. His smile shifts a little bit, not as bright and careless, and he finally asks the question he’s been wondering for days and days now. “Why are you here, then, Sho-chan?” That gets Shoichi to looks up at him again, blinking a few times in pure befuddlement. “What?” “I’ve killed you a lot of times,” Byakuran answers patiently, still looking straight at him. This young, and his eyes seem a little darker than the brilliant green he has so many memories of. “I could kill you in this universe, too. So why are you still here taking care of me, Sho-chan? There are others you could get to do this.” Shoichi breathes in slowly again, and removes his hands from his neck with about the same speed. “I’ve been wondering that myself,” he admits. “But, Byakuran-san… You haven’t killed me yet.” …Huh. That actually wipes the smile from his face. When all Byakuran does is stare, head flopping to the side too quickly to be called a 'curious tilt’, Shoichi promptly flusters a nice red and jerks his shoulders up. “I know!” he snaps, which would be an overreaction if they didn’t know each other so well. Have known each other so well even without ever having met before in this lifetime before a little over a week ago, maybe. “I know the, the yet is kind of a, it’s a pressing point, there’s nothing guarantee that you won’t just…. do the same terrible horrible things all over again!” Every ounce of stillness is gone from him now. Free from their anchor along his own skin, Shoichi’s hands start to go flying everywhere as he gestures wildly. “I- I remember the kinds of things you can do, I know for a fact, and you’ve definitely proved that you can just… You’re not any weaker from that point in time, as far as I can tell! But I just-” He draws one hand back, raking it a lot more harshly through his hair than before. “I can remember you dying.” Brows drawn tight together, his eyes… They’re not burning, not in the way that Byakuran has become so accustomed to, and yet they’re an altogether different kind of intense that has him forgetting to even blink.  Shoichi says nothing more on that, says nothing on what was going through his mind as he watched even Byakuran’s very bones turn to ash on the wind. He doesn’t need to. In every lifetime of his that Byakuran has ever seen, his goal has always been to oppose him eventually, inevitably.  It’s simply never been a goal, he realizes then, that he’d ever reach with any element of personal happiness attached.  A single shuddering breath breaks the silence, and Shoichi continues with a trembling voice that’s only barely calmer than his frantic explanation from a second before. “But you haven’t killed me yet,” he repeats, like a spell. “Whatever will happen in the future, or any other futures, it just… It hasn’t happened yet. So I’m just going to deal with the now, with what we’ve actually done, before anything else.” That phrasing tips him off to what’s going on in that brain of his, and Byakuran eases back into his pillows a little bit more. “Hey, Sho-chan,” he says, making sure that he’s snapped out his own brain before continuing. When he’s sure he’s gotten his attention, Byakuran smiles. “You remember two different lives, hm?” His flinch says it all. Most of those who were tightly bound with that one particular future were, to his understanding and one way or the other, given some memories of the event. Byakuran’s knowledge of it is incomplete, admittedly, on account of that self being dead by that point, but he can extrapolate enough. The latest battle demonstrated well enough the combined abilities of the world’s greatest scientist, the unparalleled abilities of the Millefiore’s once-own professional Gola Mosca engineer, and everything that Shoichi Irie is. That sort of thing would have been easy enough for them to do, to the embarrassment of no doubt many other scientists in the world.  Yet there’s a problem with that. For all the others- the tenth generation of the Vongola, the reclusive and violent lot under Mukuro Rokudo, the Varia- they’d only remember the memories of that single time, perhaps an entire lifetime depending on what adjustments had been made for individuals such as Xanxus and Dino of the Cavallone. Yet even before he had died, Byakuran had learned enough to know that Shoichi Irie wasn’t anything like the rest of those who would remember that future, and in a way that had nothing to do with his favoritism for the other. Shoichi had been able to do what he’d done because a future version of himself had trapped a younger version of himself in his future long enough to suppress his memories of time travel, implant sleeper memories of that entire future along with plans to stop Byakuran, and then send him back into the past with the hopes that would stop something. Anything. By the time Captain Shoichi Irie of the Millefiore, double agent, had prepared his machine to let the Vongola’s tenth gen go back to their own time, he'd already been carrying the memories of an entirely different life and future around with him.  When Shoichi Irie the simple teenager had gotten those memories again, he’d remembered not just one other life, but two entirely separate ones, layered on top of the memories he has of his own life in this universe now.  Forcing himself to relax to what Byakuran finds to be mixed success, Shoichi leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands holding onto himself. “How… How do you deal with it?” he asks softly.  Byakuran jazz hands towards himself.  Shoichi squeezes his eyes shut in accompaniment to the scrunching of his mouth. “Alright, I- nevermind. I take back that question. It’s obvious how youdealt with it.” “Ha ha.” “Stop that.” Reaching up, he drags one hand down his face. “Please. Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick again…” “You’ve picked no better place for it, Sho-chan!"  "Please, just…. stop that too.” Sneakers scruffing against linoleum, he slumps backwards into his seat and delegates one hand to wrap around his stomach again. His other hand stays right where it is up against his face. “Okay, if you can’t… promise that you won’t get into a fight with the other super-powered forces of nature also being treated in this hospital, can you…” He falters, for a moment, no doubt remembering so many promises that Byakuran failed to keep. “…Just don’t do that again. Alright? Don’t… try any of those timelines again.” There’s a lot Byakuran could say about that, how he’s clearly lost so many rounds that he can at least gracefully step back from the controller, that he’s honestly become sort of tired after so many different livetimes where he worked so hard for something that he couldn’t get past…. But he doesn’t. That’s a conversation that can, maybe, come at a different time. For now, he only continues to smile slightly in Shoichi’s direction. “There are other things I want to do now, Sho-chan,” he answers, which isn’t really false in any way. It’s only simplified.  Shoichi takes what reassurance he can squeeze out of that response, nodding his head as if it’s made of lead. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “Okay. So I guess that’s… taken care of for now. I guess.” Even with armed guards, it’s good to see that even Shoichi is aware that Byakuran is only really contained when he wants to be. “Now all we have to do is just… focus on the present.” He whistles a breath out between his teeth. “Easier said than done.” While Byakuran’s own case far outdoes just about anyone else’s situation, well, that doesn’t change the fact that they’re both in the same boat of remembering more lives than 99.9% of the planet. How are they to move on so neatly, “live in the present”, when their minds are tied up in so many knot of other futures, other experiences, that they can barely stay put together? Byakuran nudges his hand a little closer to the metal railing of his bed, the failed purpose of which is to keep him in place. “Taking over the world is still an option, Sho-chan. And I’d still make you my Number 2, even.” The expression directed his way would be alarmed, if it wasn’t weighed down with so much exasperated annoyance instead. “Byakuran-san, what did I just say.” Prying his hand away from his face, Shoichi huffs. “Maybe Yuni-san would know… Even if I feel bad about bothering a little girl about this sort of thing. She wanted to talk with me anyway sometime this week…” Consider Byakuran’s interest stirred. “Oh, Yuni-chan wanted to talk with you? About what?” Rolling his head back, Shoichi is too exhausted to even look at him this time. “She wasn’t clear. Just that she wanted to talk with me and… Daisy-san…?” The sudden laughter that bursts forth from Byakuran’s mouth has Shoichi snap up in surprise. “What? What’s so funny!?” Grinning widely, Byakuran wipes away a tear of mirth from his eye with the heel of his hand. “Nothing big, Sho-chan,” he says, which is so transparent a lie that he doesn’t feel bad about it. Once again, he suspects he’s been outmaneuvered by a child, although the women of the Giglio Nero are so strange and otherwordly that perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. He has a suspicion of what exactly she aims to speak to Shoichi about.  Which leaves all the burden of effort on him now, doesn’t it? He allows his eyes to slide shut, comfortable exactly where he is. This entire time, perhaps he’s been playing the game all wrong, gotten the objectives all mixed up. Perhaps this isn’t even the game he thought it was. If that’s the case…  “I think I want to try things your way, Sho-chan.” And, for the first time in so many lifetimes, he feels a light touch at his own hand in return. 

[hydrospanners]

Justw ondering what your writing process is like?

It’s me, ya girl, coming at you with an answer twenty years after you asked the question!!! Sorry for the delay; I’m actually really excited to answer this! And I’m excited to be excited to answer this!!!

I am a Perfectionist, Anon. It is not a good quality. For most of my life, I was so petrified by the possibility of someone seeing something I hadn’t polished within an inch of it’s life that I wouldn’t even acknowledge I had a process. I wouldn’t mention I was writing something until it was completely done out of fear that they might want to talk to me about it when I hadn’t finalized everything and I might not represent my very best possible creative work. Also I never really thought of myself as being enough of a writer to have a process. That seemed too good for the likes of me!

But here we are now, in the Year of Our Thor 2019, and I am psyched to tell you every detail of my process and show you a side by side of my first draft and final product!!! That is so much progress for me, Anon, and I didn’t even realize I’d made until you sent me this so thank you!!!

(This is going to be long--please hold your gasps of surprise--so I’m putting the rest under a cut. Seriously I just finished writing this post and it’s an absolute BEAST.)

So my process!! I’m actually trying to make some changes to it to be more supportive of my efforts to kick the Perfectionist habits, but right now it basically looks like this:

1. There is an idea. Often times it comes from a question, like “How would Rea deal with what I’m feeling right now?” or “Is this a problem in space?” or something like that. Other times it comes from a snippet of dialogue that occurs to me while I’m listening to a song or watching tv or driving or in the shower or something. Sometimes it’s as minor as a gesture or a mood. Sometimes I’m just trying to exercise a certain muscle as a writer. This fic sprang up out of me wanting to work on describing settings. Wherever it comes from, I have the idea. I open a new Google doc and I slap down as much of the idea as I have developed.The lines of dialogue or the question I want to answer or just a few sentences about what I want to show or what I’m trying to achieve.

2. Time passes. I might work on the fic in feverish fits and starts, obsessing over it for three days and then ignoring it completely for three weeks. I might not look at it at all. The fic sits fragmented in my WIP folder and marinates. Usually this happens for about 1-3 years after the fic’s initial conception. I’m not joking about this. I think my average time for completing a fic is 2 years. The reason for that is the aforementioned Perfectionism.

3. I get tired of looking at in my WIP folder and/or I commit to some kind of special event/holiday thing. Fictober rolls around and I go on a kick of completing and editing the stuff in my WIP folder or I just get annoyed with myself for not completing things or it’s suddenly Arbor Day again and I have that tree-related fic I started two years ago that I could finally finish! This is when I buckle down and Write The Damn Thing. Once it’s written, I do an immediate edit and then I try to sleep on it for at least one night before going back and editing again. After that I usually like to sleep on it at least one more night before hitting publish. Sometimes I don’t have the self-restraint for all of this or I’m doing an event where I’ve committed myself to publishing something every single day, so the timeline gets compressed to a few hours between edits instead of a full day.

As for my writing set up, I’ve really leaned in to writing wherever I am and whenever I can. That’s more or less why I only write fic in Google Docs even though I passionately love Scrivener. (All my original work, which is more involved, is done on Scrivener.) 

I do a lot of writing in the quiet, early hours at work when I don’t have work to do. I do probably my most efficient writing when I hit a diner or coffee shop after work and settle in with my iPad and a snack. I can’t distract myself with doing chores or playing games like I do at home, and working on my iPad makes it annoying to switch tabs and apps and do other stuff while I write. Plus I’m eager to get home and take my pants off so that motivates me to let Perfectionism go and write something bad just to hit my goal so I can leave. At home, I’m usually on the couch with my iPad because I get too distracted at my desk on my PC with two enormous screens making it so easy to do other stuff instead of write while telling myself I’m doing other stuff at the same time as writing.

As you can see!!! I spend most of my “writing time” just trying to make myself at all!!!! It’s really daunting to overcome the fear of writing something bad and big parts of me would rather not write at all than endure the pain of failing at creating what I want to create so thanks Perfectionism!!!

I also have a really, really bad habit of editing while I write. I won’t say I’m the world’s worst editing-while-writing writer but I’m definitely top 100. (Bottom 100?) It’s a huge reason why I have those 1-3 year gaps between start and finish and why my first drafts come out so choppy. My inner editor has me rewriting before I’ve even finished writing and redirecting and it’s so disheartening I can only do it in fits and starts and you can clearly tell the places where I took a two month break before coming back to a fic.

But I’m working on this!!! Like I said, I try to go out and write as much as possible because the desire to be at home without pants on often overpowers my fear of Being Bad and makes it so much easier to give myself permission to write badly. That is the goal. Write Badly. I’m working on it and I’m making progress but I have a long way to go still. For now I have to rely heavily on supports like controlling my environment but one day I will be able to write absolute drivel on demand!! The dream!!!

And now, for your entertainment and to celebrate the fact that I am now somehow able to do this at all, I give you the first draft of the forsythias chapter from fill my lungs with sweetness, including the masterful original title:

??oil?????

Doc slips his hand from the inside of his jacket as he rounds the corner and walks straight into the steel-melting heat of Kira’s glare. Or maybe that’s just the extra sun. Hard to tell on Tatooine.

“Done shopping, Your Highness?” She asks, rolling her eyes at him before she’s even finished asking the question. “Think we can fit saving some lives into your busy schedule?”

Doc just laughs, patting the little bulge in his breast pocket. “People expect a dashing hero when they’re being saved, Junior. I’d hate to disappoint.”

“No one cares how waxy your mustache is when they’re bleeding out,” Kira says. “Ugh. Let’s just go.”

Vii is waiting for them by the speeder, having an improbably good-natured chat with a Gamorrean at least three times her size. They seem to be actually smiling at her, which is something he knows from medical school is technically possible but never expected to see. Kira’s inching her fingers toward her laser sword, always ready to leap headlong to the worst possible conclusion, but Doc waves her off.

He congratulates himself that, despite the withering look she gives him, Kira lets her hand fall. She trusts him at least as far as Vii’s well-being is concerned.

(He isn’t sure how he feels about how everyone seems to know just how deep his interest in her well-being goes.)

“Making friends?” He calls out, keeping his walk casual and slow and his hands clearly visible and clearly far from the blaster at his hip. The Gamorrean’s smile fades at his approach, replaced with the kind of slow-moving suspicion Doc is more used to seeing there.

Vii, however, does not stop smiling. Instead, she turns that smile on him. Brighter and more blinding than both of the suns combined.

“Gorzzak was just telling me about some problem spots in the canyons,” she says, her voice as light and tinkling and utterly sincere as ever. “Nice of them, isn’t it?”

And the thing that he still can’t believe, no matter how many times he sees it, is that it really is nice. Because he’s sure that Gorzzak really did point out all the spots he would normally use to lure unsuspecting travellers into ambushes. He’s sure that Gorzzak, even with only three neurons to rub together, has been absolutely dazzled by the obvious shine of Vii’s heart, just like everyone is.

Doc swallows, his throat starting to feel unbearably thick. Probably from all the sand.

“Very nice,” he agrees. “But I’ve got something even better.”

“How is your mustache wax a gift for—“ Kira stops as she catches sight of his eager grin, her face screwing up in an expression he’s starting to think she saves just for him. “Disgusting,” she mutters, her voice low enough that Vii won’t hear. It isn’t the best-kept secret, but Kira, for all her faults, loves Vii too much to shatter her illusion of secrecy like that. Not even to make a dig at Doc.

Vii watches as he reaches into his breast pocket, her expression openly anticipating the surprise, her glowing eye wide and perfectly prepared to be delighted with him. It’s such a refreshing change of pace, how eager she is to be happy with him. To like him. She never makes him work for it and honestly he doesn’t always know what to do with that.

But right now he does.

He produces the little flask of oil with a flourish and his signature self-satisfied grin. Kira would call it his sleazy smirk, but how can he be expected to think of Junior when he’s got Vii in front of him, beaming like this wretched planet’s third sun.

Doc doesn’t entirely understand everything that happens to him when she radiates like this. When she unleashes the full force of her joy on him and he feels thoroughly cooked from the inside out.

“It’s the good stuff,” he explains. “Imported from Corellia. I’ve only been once, but I remember everything was coated in a fine layer of oil so they probably know a thing or two about making it. Anyway, I know how the joints can lock up with all this sand around. Thought you could use some… lubrication.”

This last point is made for Kira’s benefit, and her revolted snort does not disappoint him.

“The doctor is on call, Gorgeous. Anytime you need oiled up, my hands are ready.”

[gamersonthego]

Chase Koeneke’s Top 10 Handheld Games of 2018

2018 could’ve been a bummer of a year. The game I was most excited about – Fire Emblem: Three Houses – got pushed to 2019. We were getting a new Pokemon game...but it was based on a mobile game and was fundamentally changing the formula I loved. And outside of Smash Bros., there was little left I was anticipating.

And yet, 2018 turned out to be a fantastic year in handheld gaming. I got a turn-based strategy game that’s up there with any Fire Emblem game I’ve ever played. That Pokemon game ended up being pretty great! And there were a bevy of unexpected indies that kept me entertained all year long. Here are my top 10 handheld games from 2018 (as well as a few honorable mentions).

Honorable Mentions: Mark of the Ninja Remastered, Gris, Kingdom Rush Vengeance, Donut County, West of Loathing

10. Minit (Switch, PS4, Xbox One, PC)

I like to take my time in games – fully exploring worlds, talking to NPCs, reading item descriptions. In that sense, Minit, a top-down Zelda-style game that only allows you to play in one-minute sessions should be my nightmare. But it’s not. In fact, I really liked it. Minit’s limitations freed me from my thinking and made me engage with the game on its level. In a world dominated by GPS and a games’ landscape dominated by easily accessible maps, there’s something refreshingly challenging having to commit the area to memory and make plans on not only what to do next, but how to make it there in time.

9. Golf Peaks (iOS, PC)

I’m bad at real golf, but golf video games, especially the ones that don’t try to meticulously recreate the sport, are my jam. Mario Golf on the Game Boy Color is one of my favorite games ever. Golf Story was one of my favorite games last year. And Golf Peaks takes that crown in 2018. Golf Peaks expertly mixes golf, card and puzzle mechanics to make for a uniquely pleasing combination. New obstacles are layered in world by world and get increasingly bizarre, until what you’re playing is barely recognizable as golf. Golf Peaks feels meticulously crafted, and it makes for a difficult, but rewarding experience. Unfortunately, because it’s so bespoke, it’s a finite experience, and once you’ve completed it, there’s little reason to revisit it. A new world has been added since the game’s release, but after completing it in less than an hour, I’m back to waiting for more.

8. Alto’s Odyssey (iOS, Android)

Alto’s Adventure was one of my favorite games of 2015, a gorgeous and fun take on the infinite runner genre. Alto’s Odyssey further refines the formula by adding in even more things to do. The silky-smooth jumps, grinds and backflips return, along with the sublime wingsuit power-up, but they are joined by Tony Hawk-style wall rides that add a new dimension to the game. With uniquely skilled characters to unlock and upgrades to literally and figuratively grind for, Odyssey will keep you busy for a long time. It’s one of those rare phone games that’s good for play sessions both long and short, and its action never gets old.

7. Final Fantasy XV: Pocket Edition (iOS, Android, Switch, PS4, Xbox One, PC)

I was intrigued by Final Fantasy XV on the PS4, but ultimately bounced off its combat and general milling about. Pocket Edition fixes both of those issues and lets me enjoy what I really like about the game: its story and its characters. The miniaturized version of FFXV has turned it into a linear game with simplified controls (touch controls if you’re playing the phone version). The way it retains quite a bit of the themes and depth (and voice acting) of the original game despite streamlining it never ceased to impress me. And weirdly, playing Pocket Edition has actually reawakened my desire to play the original game. I want to see this treatment given to other Final Fantasy games.

6. Florence (iOS, Android)

Florence is not a game I would traditionally play on a phone. It’s not an infinitely replayable, puzzling experience like Threes or Drop7 or even a Kingdom Rush. But it is an experience, and one I deeply appreciated. Florence made me feel more than any other game this year, and it did it in a game that takes only about a half hour. It tells a mundane, yet impactful story about relationships. It’s beautiful. It’s funny. It’s tragic. But most of all, it’s real, and it uses its touchscreen controls to great effect to make you feel like you are an active participant in the story. It’s somehow simultaneously abstract and extremely specific, and I think it’s something everyone should witness.

5. Pokemon Let’s Go Pikachu/Eevee (Switch)

This is the Metal Gear Solid 2 of Pokemon. Let me explain. In MGS2, you play as Raiden, and you learn that you are being put through a similar adversity to the original MGS’ Shadow Moses Island in the hopes of turning you into another legendary hero like Solid Snake.

In Pokemon Let’s Go, things start familiar enough to anyone who’s played the first generation of Pokemon games (particularly, Yellow). You get a starter, you battle your rival, you face Brock and Misty and the other gym leaders and you stumble into and interrupt a nefarious Team Rocket plot. It’s all there. Except then you run into Blue, who is the real rival from the first generation of Pokemon. Which means your rival isn’t your rival. And you aren’t you. It’s fascinating and I ended up loving it.

Mechanically, it’s a weird mix of adding from more recent games while also stripping away complexity. Mega Evolutions are in. Held items are out. HMs are out. Steel, dark and fairy types are in. And there are some brand-new mechanics like catch combos that are a fun and new way to engage with Pokemon. It’s not all rainbows (I’m still not sold on the GO-style catching system,) but I hope the next mainline Pokemon game takes a little inspiration from these games. And I hope they remake Gold and Silver in this style too.

4. Holedown (iOS/Android)

Holedown became my go-to phone game for most of 2018. While you can beat it in a manner of hours, the game is so addictively fun and replayable with its final, seemingly endless level that you’ll be happy to dive back in again and again to improve your score. Holedown is satisfying in every sense of the word. Endorphins rush when you see and hear massive streams of balls ping-ponging off walls. Hitting the perfect angle to keep the combo going higher and higher is intensely gratifying. It’s so easy to play and understand, and yet you’ll be learning new tricks after your hundredth attempt. Holedown rules. Play Holedown.

3. Super Robot Wars X (Vita, PS4)

OK, this one’s a bit of a stretch. Super Robot Wars is not available in the US last I checked (though it is available in English.) Also, I did not play its handheld Vita version. Instead I played it on the PS4. So, on one hand, this game doesn’t really belong on this list. On the other hand, I love Super Robot Wars X so much, so it’s staying.

This was my first dip into the series and immediately found it to be an incredibly dense and confusing experience. It’s a turn-based strategy game like Fire Emblem, which sounds right up my alley, but the number of things to account for is staggering. To list all its mechanics would be a daunting exercise. Slowly, but surely, I learned to engage with more and more systems until finally, I felt like I could see the code, that I had entered the Matrix. I suddenly knew strategy game kung-fu. The game would set up almost impossible odds and, sometimes after an insane amount of consideration, I’d find a solution. I could boost the range on one weapon for the one turn I need it. Or maybe that shield I’ve never used would actually come in handy here. Oh wait, this pilot has a special skill I could utilize. The solutions are always there, you just have to look for them. It’s a beast of a game, but one I became utterly mesmerized with.

2. Dead Cells (Switch, PS4, Xbox One, PC)

I jealously watched early access PC players make run after run on Dead Cells. I heard people extol the game’s virtues on countless podcasts, and then, finally, the game released on Switch and I too could experience its splendor. And boy, did it deliver. Dead Cells bends over backwards to tailor the game experience to you. It allows you to choose what and when to unlock new skills, letting you further customize your arsenal as you play. It accounts for novice players who need to take their time getting through its sprawling levels while also providing options for crafty veterans who are able to speed through its content. And yet, as much as it caters, you’ll inevitably get to a point in your run where the game says “OK, now we’re going to test you.” I have failed that test every time. I have not beaten Dead Cells. But I am damn sure ready to try again.

1. Into The Breach (Switch, PC)

Where Super Robot Wars X is a turn-based mech strategy game on a macro scale, with an inconceivable amount of systems and options to deal with for your double-digit army of robotic fighters, Into The Breach stuffs all the same intensity into a comparably tiny grid and only a trio of battlers. It maintains the perfect amount of complexity, making every unit, every weapon, every move and every choice matter. It’s the ultimate chess game. And just when you think you’ve wrapped your head around its mechanics, it hands you a new team of mechs that plays completely differently. Runs are short, but meaningful, and the optional challenges (that let you unlock more new teams) push you out of your comfort zone to learn new strategies. Not only is it my favorite game of the year by a country mile, it might be one of the best games of all time.

[webster70frazier-blog]

Carpet & Textile Cleaning And Restore Blogg

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[ndragoon]

It's difficult to be some stoic, emotionless statue when you talk about something that left you with a huge void of a wound in your life.

I was playing games with my buddy as we usually do at the end of the day, and he started talking about my ex, who was also a mutual friend of ours for a long while, and used to be as close as family with him.

And it's difficult, trying to act like it's nothing and you're past that and trying to keep some kind of situation defused that you know isn't for their sake.

He was a friend that I got in trouble for in the tail end of high school. We got caught playing games instead of actually working on our classwork a few times, but it was fun regardless. We stopped talking consistently for a few years, but got back in touch during college and talked daily after that.

I'm not talking about just a few things here and there. I mean, we talked so much that my father had to change our cell plan because we managed to pass our limit by HUNDREDS of texts. And this didn't count the times we'd be talking over Skype or Kik, which we'd be doing every day alongside the texts.

We'd have a whole repertoire of games we'd play. For a few months we had a small group who all played on a Minecraft server I set up and modded for all of us (that I still have what seems like almost a decade later). When that group scattered, we started playing Dawn of War and just having fun with building stuff and uncovering the map, because I knew how to exploit the AI into never actually doing anything - even though we sometimes left the AI on in a 2 v 1 scenario.

This next month is going to be difficult because one of the games we played a lot over a lot of years and accrued a lot of hours is Terraria. Every update, we'd make a new world and new characters and make a new base and go through everything to see what all jew stuff was added. And it stung, because the final update finally hit last March, because they hurried the PC patch so people could play during the pandemic. And it's finally hitting console in either July or August, so now I'm going to be departing on the Journeys End all by myself, despite having a companion for the first decade of our trip. With how everything has gone these past few years, it almost feels...fitting.

It was a good 9 years that we talked literally daily. Every morning started with a good morning message, and every night was a goodnight. And despite realizing how much of it ended up being gaslighting and all kinds of subtle abuse, I still look back on so much of it fondly.

It's just not easy to have someone who you adored and loved so deeply for so long just leave because you were no longer useful to them. Because you were no longer a convenience after they finally took every away from you that they could and you had nothing else to give but blood and tears.

I'm not even talking from an ex lover standpoint. He never even actually acted like a boyfriend the whole time we "officially" dated. For a while, it was clear that I was just a placeholder for someone else in his life that he actually wanted around. I had become a pest that he felt resentful of being forced to keep around.

But he was still the only friend I had that was that close, that I let in so much. He was more than just some best friend because he had become my Favorite Person. He was around for more than a third of my life, even three or four years after everything. You don't have someone that close for that long that takes everything from you and utterly destroys you before just walking away as if none of it ever actually meant anything and walk away unscathed.

There is still so much that we used to do together for so long that I still can't even literally simply think about doing without feeling like I'm breaking. Sometimes, I want to force myself to just push through it...but I can't. I can't even look at the games in my library without feeling the extreme distress, without every emotional and mental detail of the whole ordeal rushing through my head in some kind of godforsaken speedrun, without feeling every single ounce of pain and every single good moment with the realization that I'll never find someone like that again, every single time.

I'm sorry for the huge thing yet again. Anyone who reads this probably knows the story from memory by now. But it's one of those times where all my problems are making me feel awful, and people keep dredging stuff up that makes me feel worse, and then stuff like this gets dredged up and amplifies not only itself, but everything else as well.

[aion-rsa]

Cyberpunk 2077 Review Roundup

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Cyberpunk 2077 is arguably the most highly-anticipated game of 2020, and after several delays and other controversies, it’s finally here. Fans will be able to get their hands on CD Projekt Red’s new RPG on Dec. 10 (unless you pre-ordered from Best Buy). Ahead of the global launch, here’s what critics are saying about the game so far:

Andrew Reiner, Game Informer:

“Cyberpunk 2077 is a work of awe-inspiring ambition, dazzling with its massive scale and creative vision. The world of Night City is a metropolis of futuristic art, stealing your eye with stunning neon-lit architecture and streets filled with citizens made of flesh and metal. Night City is an open world that immediately pulls you in and keeps you engaged with its dark narrative, meaningful player choice, and overwhelming amount of side content.”

Score: 9/10

Kallie Plagge, Gamespot:

“It also bears a mention: Cyberpunk 2077 is phenomenally buggy. I played a pre-release build that was updated during the review period, and there’s a day-one patch planned as well, but the scale of technical issues is too large to reasonably expect immediate fixes. I encountered some kind of bug on every mission I went on, from more common, funnier ones like characters randomly T-posing to several complete crashes. I didn’t notice much of an improvement after the update, either. In a very late-game, very important fight, the game froze on me–twice. I ended up taking a break out of frustration before attempting, and finally succeeding, the third time.

These bugs, more than any game I’ve played in years, took me out of the experience often. Non-interactable items like cardboard boxes will explode when you interact with something next to them; UI elements will stay on-screen long after they’re meant to, which is only solved by reloading a save; characters will interrupt themselves during proper dialogue sequences by repeating a throwaway line they’d say in the overworld, seriously disrupting key moments; I died once and, upon reloading my last save, found my hacking ability no longer worked, forcing me to roll back to an autosave 10 minutes prior. The list is extensive.

Score: 7/10

James Davenport, PC Gamer:

“I found it moving and life-affirming in the final moments, even in the face of near certain death and a relentless onslaught of bugs. I suppose it’s an appropriate thematic throughline though: Cyberpunk 2077 is a game about V coming apart at the seams, in a city coming apart at the seams, in a game coming apart at the seams. Play it in a few months.”

Score: 78/100

Tom Marks, IGN:

“Cyberpunk 2077 kicks you into its beautiful and dazzlingly dense cityscape with few restrictions. It offers a staggering amount of choice in how to build your character, approach quests, and confront enemies, and your decisions can have a tangible and natural-feeling impact on both the world around you and the stories of the people who inhabit it. Those stories can be emotional, funny, dark, exciting, and sometimes all of those things at once. The main quest may be shorter than expected when taken on its own and it’s not always clear what you need to do to make meaningful changes to its finale, but the multitude of side quests available almost from the start can have a surprisingly powerful effect on the options you have when you get there. It’s a shame that frustratingly frequent bugs can occasionally kill an otherwise well-set mood, but Cyberpunk 2077’s impressively flexible design makes it a truly remarkable RPG.”

Score: 9/10

James Billcliffe, VG24/7:

“In the midst of such intense anticipation and scrutiny, it’s easy to get carried away with what Cyberpunk 2077 could have been. The final experience might be more familiar than many predicted, with plenty of elements that aren’t perfect, but it’s dripping with detail and engaging stories. With so much to see and do, Cyberpunk 2077 is the kind of RPG where you blink and hours go by, which is just what we need to finish off 2020.”

Score: 5/5

Carolyn Petit, Polygon:

“One of my fears about Cyberpunk 2077 was that it was going to be so cynical and nihilistic that playing it would be like wallowing in grim hopelessness, that the cheapness of human life in the game’s world would be mirrored by the game itself. But that’s not the case. It’s easy to lose the human thread in the overwhelming glut of stuff Cyberpunk 2077 puts on your plate, with your map plastered with crimes you can violently “neutralize” for a reward from the police, and fixers constantly sending you text messages about underdeveloped one-off jobs you can take on to earn a bit of extra cash. But the humanity is there, if you look for it.

“And that humanity is the saving grace of this alluring yet uneven and deeply flawed game. I can’t deny that Night City wowed me with its scale, its verticality, and its sense of history. But I wish I could see people like me on its streets as something more than objects. I wish that the game’s politics were more radical. Yes, I know I shouldn’t look to a colossal game that was itself produced under exploitative labor conditions to lead the charge of anticapitalist liberation, but I wish the sparks of Johnny Silverhand’s ideological rage got to burn brighter, that Cyberpunk 2077 felt more interested in envisioning new futures than in reminiscing over bygone glories. Neither its gameplay nor its narrative can imagine the bold possibilities that I find so central to the best of cyberpunk. But what it does offer is visions of people trying to make do and get by in a world that’s trying to eat them alive, and sometimes those people get by with a little help from their friends. It’s not the revolution I hoped for, but it’s something.”

Riley MacLeod, Kotaku:

“I haven’t fallen in love with playing Cyberpunk 2077, but I haven’t loathed it either. Some moments have been exciting or moving, while others have just felt like stuff to do. I’m middle-of-the-road on it so far—having fun in spots, left wanting the game to be more like what made The Witcher 3 great in others. The game itself wants so badly for you to think it’s cool, that it’s the cutting edge of graphics and game design, that it talks about edgy topics like body modification, corporate power, and the internet. It tries too hard, stuffing itself with a tangle of complicated roleplaying game systems; with so many cyberpunk tropes, plots, and slang; with neon and holograms and so many in-game ads, most of them for sex; with car chases and hacking and corporate espionage and double-crossing powerful people; with a world where the human body is made obsolete with money and technology, while also chewed up and spat out for the sake of capital. There’s an admirable diversity of races, sexualities, genders, and body types, but they feel like a veneer. It’s not a politically progressive game: these identities are all in service of the game’s vision of the cyberpunk future, one that can feel implausible and alienating but also has hints of the world we live in today.

Chris Tapsell, Eurogamer:

“It’s still early on for me, I should say – after 30 hours I was still, no doubt to the horror of many with vanishing spare time, just finding my feet – but much of that focus is placed on Cyberpunk‘s central story, which has so far been a welcome surprise. Beneath the noise – and Cyberpunk is truly cacophonous – there is a lingering thread of tenderness to it. I’ve opted to play V as a woman, with a ‘Corpo’ background, and she’s been voiced impeccably by Cherami Leigh and written with some skill. There’s real tenderness here, real vulnerability – a lot of “this city’ll chew you up and spit you out” stuff, sure, but there’s a waver to the tough talk, and from more than just V. Cyberpunk‘s story so far is one of fear, the surface of it plated in chrome and angst and body horror gore, but still built on a core of humanity. It’s more than I expected, and more than we’ve been taught to expect, frankly, by the brashness of the marketing, the pitching of Night City as this great, submissive, ultra-hedonist playground. Night City is a vile swamp, in actual fact, and Cyberpunk‘s characters are drowning in it. It is, so far, more than just a synthwave skin on another puerile open world.”

Rob Zacny, VICE:

“Cyberpunk 2077 is a game of the past and its forgotten futures. Its setting is a pastiche that was overtaken by history and technology. It is a piece of software that is a throwback to PC gaming of the 1990s and early 2000s in every possible way, and its aesthetic and narrative sensibilities of a teenage boy’s bedroom in the 1980s. Yet its lavish and utterly sincere devotion to its influences recalls what has made these dated visions so alluring and enduring. Cyberpunk is too tacky and graceless to be cool, but it’s very big, and very loud, and sometimes that’s all it takes to be awesome.”

Brad Chacos, PCWorld:

“Even if the main narrative somehow stumbles at the finish line, it wouldn’t take away from that sublime core gameplay experience. After a dozen hours, I haven’t come close to exhausting the available activities in just the first of Night City’s six districts and surrounding Badlands. No matter what happens with V, I can’t wait to discover all of Night City’s secrets. I’m in love.”

Richard Scott Jones, PCGamesN:

“Retroactive trigger warning about ‘politics in games’ for whoever cares about such things, by the way, but if that’s you, then you’d best steer clear of Cyberpunk 2077 if you stand by your claimed convictions. This is one of the most explicitly politically charged games ever made – Mike Pondsmith designed the tabletop game upon which it’s based as a “cautionary tale,” and after the killing of George Floyd back in June, reiterated that his universe is “a warning, not an aspiration“. Anyone who insists it’s pure, meaningless escapism is hopelessly deluded.

“Even if such sentiments are uttered in sincere good faith, I think it’s a tragic diminishment of our medium to insist that it shouldn’t tackle politics. Cyberpunk 2077 might not push quite as many boundaries in game design as a landmark release could, but if it can convince more people that games can and should take a position on issues of substance rather than peddle mindless thrills, that’ll be a worthy legacy.”

Stay tuned for Den of Geek’s review of Cyberpunk 2077 next week!

The post Cyberpunk 2077 Review Roundup appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3lRMjRF

[asgardian--angels]

so I saw Thor: Ragnarok!

as always, spoilers under the cut as I give my initial thoughts.

SO

WOW

That was an awesome movie. I wouldn’t rank it my number one, but definitely in top 5 I think. Ok, where to start, where to start...

The cinematography. Good stuff. I like what Taika Waititi brought to the table aesthetically. A real crowning moment for me was Valkyrie’s flashback - that was absolutely stunning, the best shot of the whole film to me. All I could see in my mind was Asgårdsreien, Odin’s Hunt. Truly beautiful. An interesting thing that stuck out to me also, neither good nor bad per se but, the lack of extreme closeups. Were there any, actually? That showed just part of the face? I suppose the Hulk had a few, maybe one for Thor summoning his powers. But the lighting in the film would have looked phenomenal on like, some silhouettes of Loki or Hela. I want the closeups man, give them to me.

The Plot. Lot to say here. So obviously, this is not the Ragnarok of legend. At all. While some of the key players were there (Baldr?? Where art thou?) and some of the principles remained, they really took it in a different direction. I’m ambivalent on that. If they had stuck to the real apocalyptic Ragnarok, the comedy aspect they worked into the film would not have fit whatsoever. It would have been Winter Soldier, not Guardians of the Galaxy. Can’t really have both. Because the real Ragnarok would have been extremely dark and sad and serious, with all our favs dying bloody, the world being destroyed, and probably a lot of slow-mo shots of Jormungandr’s gaping maw and dripping fangs descending upon the Aesir, etc etc. It would have been awesome ngl. But utterly out of place with that comedy. They went for a more lighthearted, less dire version of events - while the in-universe situation was dire for Thor and kin, I... didn’t feel it emotionally. Not saying that’s good or bad. There were no moments in the movie I felt real suspense, or that I shed any tears. There was no Loki dying in Thor’s arms, or Frigga getting stabbed, no startling turn of event situations that tugged at your heartstrings apart from a few mild melancholy Thor and Loki brother interactions. I suppose if you went into the film expecting those scenes, you may be a bit disappointed. A lighthearted apocalypse seems like something of a contradiction, and yet they pulled it off fairly well, and I think worked better if you dropped the context of real Norse myth Ragnarok or any Marvel comic Ragnarok and just experienced the film for what it was. 

This whole atmosphere they went with is, I’m sure, a response to the success of films like GOTG (colorful space comedy) vs Civil War or Ultron (gritty uber-serious graytone manpain). But even GOTG had scenes that were far more serious and emotional - I cried a hell of a lot during GOTG2 - despite also having scenes that were further on the funny/raunchy spectrum. They struck a perfect, surprising balance with GOTG that made you feel almost every emotion possible in the span of two hours - this Thor film tried to be more muted on either end. They really downplayed the lasting enmity between Thor and Loki, the fear and sorrow associated with the literal end of their world (esp by the common folk), and Odin’s death. Like, seriously, Thor or Loki didn’t even mourn or cry at their father’s death? I would have liked to see some scenes of Thor trying to cope with that. Any scenes at all showing some emotional vulnerability or struggle, by any of the characters - Valkyrie was really the only one who got that. 

Now, seriously, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the film - I did!! I really liked that they added some comedy to Thor’s character, because the last two Thor films didn’t give him much character at all. This made him more charismatic and relatable. And I do love Loki in this. I am 1000% here for them being brothers and not focusing on them constantly at war with each other - what Thor said, about, at the end of the day, I’m me and you’re you, is I think really the heart of it. They’re brothers, but they’re fundamentally different, and that’s ok. Loki will always be a trickster, he’ll sometimes betray Thor, but that’s just his role, and Thor doesn’t have to hate him for it. So I’m glad they had that relationship in this film, and Loki got a lot of great scenes. But yes, again I’ll say there wasn’t much emotional turmoil by anyone in the film, likely because it was all focused on the big bad, the time for feelings is later, yadda yadda. But there is still a lot to work out, and I hope they eventually do. 

Other notes -

 Is the Grandmaster the brother of the Collector? I feel like he is. Having him in the film gave off such a GOTG vibe, gosh. 

SO THEY MADE HELA THEIR BROTHER INSTEAD OF LOKI’S DAUGHTER TO DODGE THAT BULLET LMAO

NO ROMANTIC SUBPLOTS, OH MY GOD, BLESS YOU

So much was changed from the trailers! Thor losing his eye was definitely not in the equivalent trailer scene from the Bifrost. 

Some of the green screen was... not great, I feel. It was really obvious at times. A little surprised by that. Knowing that they changed an entire scene with Hela (from the city to the cliffside in Norway) made me wonder what was going on in the editors room that they made so many major changes and possibly had to redo the greenscreen vfx at the last minute?

THEY KILLED OFF VOLSTAG, HOGUN, AND FANDRAL JUST LIKE THAT, WHAT

The fact that Thor knew it was Loki disguised as Odin and just let it go on for that long..? And so few people were startled by it?

Idk a few reactions I thought were just not as grave or extreme as they realistically should have been.

Bruce, COME BACK TO US

Surtur’s voice was weird tbh, they should have put some filter on it to make it sound like it was coming from a rock/fire being

I just want to say that I listened to Amon Amarth’s Surtur Rising before the film because how could I not

Hmmm that’s all I can think of right now. Thoughts? I’m assuming it was Thanos’s ship in the PCS there? 

I did like the film a lot. Despite my complaining. I’m just a perfectionist. I’m not really settled in my mind of how I think they should have treated that plotline. There’s a lot of potential with something as big as Ragnarok, and they downplayed it as much as possible. It worked in its own way, but man, it could have been huge. 

Overall? Maybe an A-?

[athmazz]

Rules for Marathon Training

Don't Race Too usually In the Bible, gluttony is delineated together of the seven deadly sins. In running circles, race gluttony carries a similar fate. Once the season starts, take care to not race too usually. Most races ought to need some kind of a taper and recovery amount, and might so infringe on your coaching volume.

As your coaching volume (average of the previous six weeks' total volume) begins to fall, race performances can decline, because of AN geologic process aerobic base and loss of sport-specific feel.

This is quite common in athletes World Health Organization ar chasing that elusive state capital qualifying time. If the primary try at qualifying isn't roaring, it's a really common reaction to undertake once more, too soon, while not setting up a correct cycle of coaching. this can usually cause another uncomprehensible qualification try. this may produce AN infinite loop of too frequent sport, lack of coaching, inadequate recovery and uncomprehensible opportunities. this is often combined mentally with discouragement because of sub-par performances.

Never Train Through Races There are many reasons that we tend to don't suggest coaching through races. First, and foremost, going into a race already washed-out sets the mental groundwork for excuses even before the gun sounds. after you do not perform as you'd have likable, it's a lot of too straightforward to mention "Well, I used to be coaching through this one." this is often a nasty mental cycle of excuses to induce into. you must be one hundred pc able to go every single time that you just toe a start.

It would not kill most runners to require a touch additional recovery. Runners are infamous over-trainers. once was the last time that you just took a real recovery week? every week of purposely lower volume, with a few of planned off days. Taking many days of recovery, leading into your races is maybe one thing that you just would like, anyhow. coaching through a race merely pushes that recovery to another time.

Lastly, if going into a race forces you to juggle your run volume, you're far better off setting up the additional hours following the race, as critical cramming it within the day before. this permits for correct rest leading into the race, then a really sensible quality run on race day. Going into a race with a completely recovered peripheral system permits for far better stimulation of your core system. this can provide you with a stronger chance to push your limiters. this is often a far higher proposition than 2 mediocre running days. sport is difficult enough. Why sabotage it along with your training?

Know That there's No Magic You can look all you would like, however you will not realize it. Nothing has ever with success replaced sensible, quaint exertions. you will have the best coaching set up the globe has ever seen. you continue to need to execute it.

Each of the on top of aspects may be applied to any coaching set up that you just use. Taken piecemeal, their worth remains inherent, however, it is proscribed. Together, they will utterly amendment your life as a runner. These are the non-negotiables that ar the distinction between coaching with purpose and simply going out for a run.

Never Bonk I am certain that we've all fully-fledged it, at just once or another: cold sweats; bleary-eyes; slowed pace despite a high perceived elbow grease. A "bonk" happens once your muscles become depleted of polysaccharide. In essence, it's an amount of low glucose.

The physiological impact of bonking is simply too nice to permit it to happen. within the absence of muscle polysaccharide, the body really activates itself breaking down muscle to form polysaccharide through alternative suggests that. we tend to ne'er need to examine the breakdown of lean muscle mass, which is one in every one of the items that help U.S.A. stop injury.

Bonking may be avoided by refueling yourself properly throughout coaching. ne'er go out the door while not a minimum of 2 gels (or one bar)—more than what you think is needed for your elbow grease. you must have a minimum of one-third of your weight in carbohydrates per hour.

Use a Recovery Drink A good recovery drink is usually unnoted, however, it will extremely act as a springboard towards obtaining the foremost from your coaching. higher recovery from one elbow grease can solely cause higher performances within the next.

There are no higher thanks to improving the physiological good thing about your elbow greases and improve your overall recovery than to refill muscle polysaccharide in real time following a workout. an honest recovery drink ought to be used following all workouts that are debilitating, like track repeats and long runs.

It is usually thought that an honest recovery drink is going to be high in supermolecule, so as to market muscle repair. whereas supermolecule may be an important element, it's really a lot of vital than the drink contain a high glycemic supermolecule like dextroglucose. If this high glycemic supermolecule maybe including AN simply eatable supermolecule, like whey, then you're extremely into one thing. the foremost effective recovery drinks can contain a 4:1 supermolecule to supermolecule quantitative relation. this can facilitate to refill muscle polysaccharide and start the muscle recovery method.

Lose the Loose Baggage If you were sporting a 10-pound backpack on the morning of your marathon, what would you be doing before the start? You'd take it off! a similar applies to excess weight. Of all the preparations you create, this can have the only largest impact on your race performance.

First, let Pine Tree State repeat the "excess" half as this solely applies to athletes carrying additional weight.

It will take years of consistent coaching to appreciate the enhancements that a 5-pound weight loss will turn out. the everyday aerobic improvement from year to year, presumptuous consistent coaching, is regarding seven seconds per mile. If you're carrying additional weight, every pound lost is value regarding 3 seconds per mile. Those additional 5 pounds that you just are carrying ar value regarding fifteen seconds/mile. Recognizing that sort of gain would commonly take over 2 years of coaching. So, lose nature's backpack and quick forward to your development.

Limit Intake of Grains and Refined Sugars Just because {you ar|you're} coaching for a marathon doesn't mean that you just are entitled to eat something that you just need. Grains and processed sugars ought to be avoided, unless you're ingestion them among AN hour of AN forthcoming elbow grease, throughout an elbow grease, or among a post-workout window that's equal length to the elbow grease itself.

This will facilitate to avoid gratuitous spikes in your glucose, which may cause the storage of body fat. additionally, this restricted intake of grains and sugars between workouts can leave many areas for a lot of nutrient-dense fruits, vegetables, and proteins.

Sleep a minimum of seven.5 Hours every Night This is most likely one in every of the foremost unnoted details by runners. Life is busy: Between work, family, friends, and coaching, something's gotta offer. however, it should not be sleep.

Think of sleep as AN integral a part of your coaching program. Physical coaching breaks you down. Rest and nutrition build you up. All of the coachings within the world are useless while not correct rest (and nutrition).

If the time that you just are devoting to running is routinely doing away with from your ability to induce seven.5 hours of sleep every night, and you're as time-efficient as attainable within the alternative areas of your life, then maybe you must devote less time to running. Sure, your volume is going to be lighter, however, your ability to soak up all aspects of your coaching is going to be that far better. A well-rested runner maybe a quick runner.

Race the gap that you just are prepared For Give yourself a comfortable time to coach for a marathon. If you are doing not have adequate coaching volume for your event, your performance can suffer considerably because of system failure. you furthermore may run the terribly robust risk of injury ANd/or an extreme quantity of needed recovery time following the race. Before sign language up, ensure your body is prepared to handle the mileage.

You should be able to hit a minimum of 2 thirds of your vital volume for your race distance. vital volume for a marathon is run within the 2 peak coaching weeks of your set up, which sometimes fall among six weeks of your race. For a marathon, vital volume ought to be around sixty miles. Therefore, you must be able to run sixty miles total, over the course of the period, at the height of your coaching. At a minimum, you must be able to run 2 thirds of this vital distance—which is forty miles—during the vital amount.

If you do not suppose you'll build this type of mileage between currently then, you must most likely opt for a distinct marathon, or check-in for a shorter race.

[melvinfellerstuff]

Melvin Feller Looks at How You can Create Million Dollar Business Ideas

Melvin Feller Looks at How You can Create Million Dollar Business Ideas

 Melvin Feller Business Ministries Group in Burkburnett and Dallas Texas and Lawton Oklahoma. Our mission is to call and equip a generation of Christian entrepreneurs to do business as ministry. We provide workshops and resources that help companies discover how to do business God’s way. When the heart of a business is service rather than self it can be transformed into a fruitful business ministry earning a profit and being of service to the community and their customers.  Melvin Feller is currently pursuing another graduate degree in business organizations.

  Big companies like Apple, super successful websites like Facebook, and bestselling books like The 4-Hour Workweek all have one thing in common:  They begin with a million dollar idea.

 The big question is how did their creators come up with these ideas?  Did they sit around waiting for an inspirational flash or a mystic spell of luck?

 The answer is spontaneity and luck had little to do with it.

In this discussion, we will take a brief look at several tried and true techniques that some of the brightest and most successful entrepreneurs have used to generate million dollar ideas. They then have go on to create jobs and incomes for several thousand people while helping to donate to various charities across the country.

Generate many ideas. – The more ideas you create, the more likely you are to create an idea worth a million bucks.

 Fail a lot. – All of the ideas that do not work are simply stepping-stones on your way to the one idea that does.  Sometimes you have to fail a thousand times to succeed.  No matter how many mistakes you make or how slow you progress, you are still way ahead of everyone who is not trying.

Consume information consciously. – Some of my friends think it is wasteful that I spend so much time reading books and blogs.  It is not.  It is what gives me an edge.  I feel engulfed with new ideas and information.  Moreover, I have actually used what I have learned to launch a few successful websites.  When you read things and interact with people, take off your consumer cap and put on your creator cap.  There are million dollar ideas (or at least some good ideas) all around you waiting for discovery.

 Focus on topics and ideas with large markets. – A million dollars is not a lot of money in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly is if you are trying to earn it in a small market with limited opportunities.  Even if you put Steve Jobs in the role of CEO for a new venture with a maximum market size of 100 people, he would not make more than a few cents.  ‘Big bucks’ result from high demand in a substantial market.

 Make sure there’s money in your market. – Bank robbers rob banks because that is where the money is.  Before you become emotionally attached to an idea, do a little market research.  Make sure the idea you are pursuing is where the money is.  Who are the clients and consumers?  How much disposable income do they have?  Etc.

Keep your eyes, ears and mind wide open. – Oftentimes one idea’s failure will open a door to a new idea.  Do not get so hung up on one failed attempt that you miss the opening for many more.

 Test variations of the same idea. – Think about the iPhone and the iPad for a second.  One is just a variation of the other.  Both are multi-million dollar ideas.

 Figure out what works well in one market and tailor it to another. – Find an idea that is already proven and think about how it could be applied in a different context.  Take a formula that works in one niche and apply it to a new niche.  Alternatively, take the best aspects of one product and combine it with another product.

Put the pieces together. – YouTube’s creators did not invent Flash.  They did not invent modern digital cameras that can record computer-ready mpeg video.  In addition, they did not invent broadband Internet connections, cheap web hosting, embedded website content, or one-click website uploading technologies either.  What they invented is a technology that takes all of these existing pieces and combines them into an online video sharing portal.

 Spin a new twist on a previous breakthrough. – A new twist on an old idea can still be a million dollar idea.  Take Facebook for instance, it wasn’t the first big social networking site, but Mark Zuckerberg and company added twists and features the others did not grasp.  How can you take an existing million-dollar idea, or even a common idea, and give it a new twist, a new direction and journey?

 Systematize a popular service into a reproducible product. – A service is productized when its ownership can be exchanged.  Think about Alienware  and Dell back in their infancy.  Both companies simply systematized the service of building IBM compatible PCs and then sold them as a packaged product.  If you can convert a high demand service into a scalable, systematized, efficient process and sell it as a packaged deal, the million appears.

Play with opposites. – When something becomes extremely popular, the opposite often also becomes popular as people turn away from mainstream.  When WordPress , Blogger and Movable Type exploded in popularity by giving anyone with an Internet connection the ability to share long, detailed blog posts with the world, Twitter and Tumblr came along and started the micro-blogging revolution – for people grasping to share extremely short content snippets.  There are hundreds of other examples.  Just remember, the opposite of a million dollar idea can paradoxically give birth to another million-dollar idea.

Look for problems and solve them. – There are many real problems in this world.  Like a business owner wondering why his profits are sinking.  Like a golfer worrying about his slice.  Like a young man who is growing bald at 26.  Like a mom whose child is suffering with allergies.  Like a new dog owner who is unsure what to do about her puppy barking all night.  Solving problems like these can make millions.

 Design new products that support other successful products. – How much money do you think iPod, iPhone and iPad case manufacturers are making Millions Billions?  What about companies that jumped into the market of manufacturing LCD and Plasma TV mounting brackets eight years ago?  You get the idea.

 Keep it simple. – Don’t over complicate a good idea.  Business marketing studies have shown that the more product choices offered the less products consumers typically buy.  After all, narrowing down the best product from a pool of three choices is certainly easier than narrowing down the best product from a pool of three hundred choices.  If the purchasing decision is tough to make, most people will just give up.  So if you are designing a product line, keep it simple.  

Exploit the resources and skills you already have. – It is not as much about having the right resources as it is about exploiting your resources right now.  Stevie Wonder could not see, so he exploited his sense of hearing into a passion for music, and he now has 25 Grammy Awards to prove it.  If you pursue a new venture that involves leveraging your resources and skills, you are ahead of the game.

Surround yourself with other thinkers. – You are the sum of the people you spend the most time with.  If you hang with the wrong people, they will affect you negatively.  However, if you hang with the right people, you will be more capable and powerful than you ever could have been alone.  Find your tribe and collaborate to make a difference in all your lives.  Bounce ideas off each other, etc.

 Be enthusiastic about what you’re doing. – Enthusiasm is the lifeblood of creativity.  Big ideas blossom when you are passionate and enthusiastic about what you are doing.  It is nearly impossible to pioneer ground-breaking solutions in a domain where there is not passionate intensity.  However, when your mind is stimulated by a fundamental curiosity and interest in the subject matter, your creativity will run rampant and your motivation will skyrocket.

  Accept constructive criticism, but ignore naysayers. – When someone spews negativity about your idea or product, remember, it does not matter how many people do not get it, it matters how many do.  No matter how much progress you make there will always be the people who insist that whatever you are trying to do is impossible.  Alternatively, they may jealously suggest that the idea or concept as a whole is utterly ridiculous because nobody really cares.  When you come across these people, do not try to reason with them.  Instead, forget that they exist.  They will only waste your time and energy.

Actually, do something with your ideas! – A million-dollar idea is simply a good idea given the chance to grow.  On paper, Google and Facebook sprung from ordinary ideas: ‘a search engine that’s accurate’ and ‘a website where friends connect with each other.’  Remember, neither of these companies were the first ones in their market.  Their ideas were not groundbreaking at the time.  Many people had the same ideas even before Google and Facebook existed.  However, Google and Facebook’s creators did something with their ideas.  They worked hard and gained an advantage over the competition.  Their initial success was in their execution.  Remember, it is not the ideas themselves that count; it is what you do with them. With the right execution, a simple idea can evolve into a million dollar idea.

Melvin Feller Business Consultants Ministries Group in Texas and Oklahoma. Melvin Feller founded Melvin Feller Business Consultants Group Ministries in the 1970s to help individuals and organizations achieve their specific Victory. Victory as defined by the individual or organization are achieving strategic objectives, exceeding goals, getting results or desired outcomes. He has extensive experience assisting businesses achieve top and bottom line results. He has broad practical experience creating WINNERS in many organizations and industries. He has hands-on experience in executive leadership, operations, logistics, sales, program management, organizational development, training, and customer service. He has coached teams to achieve results in strategic planning, business development, organizational design, sales, and customer response and business process improvement. He has prepared and presented many workshops nationally and internationally.

[proxylynn]

Dreemurr Academy #5 (UnderSwap Papyrus)

Dreemurr Academy, a prestigious closed-off college for monsters and humans alike of all ages and worlds.

This includes myself, though I'm sort of a in-between.

I'm Lynsie, the human anomaly. I'm a human, but I can do magic like monsters. I'm an oddball.

That's the thing about making a school that is open to multiple alternate dimensions. Weird things are bound to show up. Even a bunch of the same person. From what I saw on orientation day, the same faces are scattered around all around.

To fix these type of issues, everyone that has a multiple or doppelganger is given a school name so there's no confusion.

Other than that, it's fairly normal. The hierarchy is the simple.

The Deans are made up of the same people, skeleton monsters that go by the name of Gaster. One is a teacher of the Sciences, goes by Wingding. He's a kind and understanding man, but is known to pull a prank or two. They all speak in a typeface sign language but use telepathy magic so others understand. It's been said no one has ever heard their real voices and those that have are no longer at the academy.

Another Gaster dean teaches Home Economics, he goes by Wingy. He's a bubbly sweet guy that loves his work. Nothing makes him smile more than seeing the joy on a student's face when they take pride in being able to do something they first thought they couldn't.

Another Gaster dean teaches the studies of Magic, he is called Fall. At times, he can be cynical, malicious, and sarcastic. He has a commanding presence that exuded gravitas, authority and control, able to keep a class quiet without effort. Yet there is a kindness to him, it's rarely seen, but not unheard of.

Another Gaster dean teaches History, his nickname is Dings. A cold, bitter, and sometimes childish man. He tends to hold grudges against troublesome students and is extremely spiteful toward those whom he dislikes. Yet those that can take his punishments are rewarded with his respect. He is a teacher that commands respect and who's grades are earned with doom hanging over your head.

The Professors are also skeleton monsters, but not all are the same person. The Psychology professor is a guy named Papyrus but goes by Stretch. He's the favorite among students because he's so laid back. He chews a tooth pick in class to suppress his urge to smoke, but we all know he does so when on break. He's really good at reading students and helps out when able. All in all, he's the cool teacher.

The Literature professor is a Papyrus that is called Fell. He is the one teacher everyone dreads. Very strict and old fashioned. He does not tolerate interruptions and will humiliate those he feel need to be taken down a notch. Such things take there toll on him and often squeezes a stress ball that he keeps in his desk. But he is a very passionate man when it comes to his work and takes his subject seriously, even though this makes him into a bit of a grammar nazi which is why many students get low grades.

The Biology professor is a skeleton called Sans that sometimes goes by Classic, whatever that means. He is very cheesy and comes off as lazy, making puns that have people cringe yet secretly love them. He is very protective of his students and will go out of his way to help them. He does not tolerate bulling of any kind and can be quite scary. He's the second favorite among the students.

The Physical Education professor is also a Sans that goes by Pain. He is also a stern and old school type of teacher, only he tends to be more cruel in humiliation of students that are unprepared. While his scope is all around, he prefers the darker side of the study. Using borderline violence to weed out the weak that think taking his class is a easy A. There is mercy in his dojo, but it must be earned with blood, sweat, and tears.

The Students are broken into four groups based on which part of the four years they are currently in. The first years are called freshmen. Second years are sophomores. Third years are juniors. And fourth years are seniors. There are some variations on this topic, but this hierarchy of college students is still readily recognizable by everyone.

Me? This isn't my first rodeo but not my last. I'm a sophomore and have gotten the gist of who's who and what's what. I get along with students and teachers. I've always been a middle ground type of girl.

I didn't come looking for friends, but they just seemed to find me. Funny enough, my buddies are the brothers of the professors. Stretch's brother is a freshman, his name is Sans but goes by Rascal. Fell's brother, also a Sans, is a sophomore like me and goes by Edgy. Classic's brother is a Papyrus, a freshman that goes by Papy. And Pain's brother is a sophomore Papyrus by the name of Slim.

I've always been a tomboy. I prefer the guys company. They're different and fun, even if they can be a bit odd sometimes.

Rascal, as the nickname implies, is the school clown/prankster. He likes to test his limits and challenge authority, even dishevels his uniform to assert his individuality. He comes off as a slacker, but secretly very deep, clever, and loyal to a fault. He likes taking his brother's class so he can improve his skills with messing with people, mostly his brother as he disrupts his teachings when he sees a chance.

Edgy is shy around new people and slow to open up, enjoying a laugh with friends when able. Though he appears weak or even nerdy because of his glasses, he is far more tougher than he leads on. He doesn't take crap from anyone. When alone, he's angsty and borders on straight up angry. Getting a pissy attitude when annoyed. Like his brother, he is very passionate about literature and does his best to impress his brother, going so far as to become the teacher's pet.

Papy is easily the most loveable guy in the whole school. Very cheerful and optimistic, he tries his best no matter what. He doesn't like conflict and tries to keep his brother out of trouble when the teacher pulls a prank. I find it sweet of him to take his brother's class even though he doesn't particularly enjoy it, just so he can stay close to him. Like I said, this guy is a loveable soul.

Slim is easy going. He doesn't take things too seriously and never breaks a sweat over hard exams. The only thing that breaks his cool is his smoking, he really gets tense if he goes too long without his fix. He's incredibly smart and instinctual, good traits to have when dealing with his brother. While he does attend his brother's class, he merely does so as a request of his brother who likes to make sure he doesn't slack off due to not being challenged enough.

All of them are oddly related to each other in some form. Gaster's, Papyrus's, and Sans's are brothers. Yet I see them all as different people. I value them. They're helping me even if they don't know it. I am not so confident in myself. I tend to isolate myself, go at things lone wolf style. It's how I've always been. Then I met them and slowly my world began to expand bit by bit. I'm still not comfortable with others. But with them, I can step out from behind my mask for a bit, and really be myself around them.

Today is a typical day. Classes have so far been good. Again, knowing how to get by and being ready for them helps big time. This being one of those classes. Psychology is crazy complex yet once you get the hang of it, it becomes easy to understand, though there are so many different aspects to learn in it.

In all there is Health Psychology, Psychology of Interpersonal Relations, Mind and Behavior, Social and Personality Development, Psychology of Learning, Visual Perception and Cognition, The Aging Mind and Brain, Cognition and the Brain, Language Development, Psychology of Workplace Behaviors, Psychology of Relationship Violence, Animal Cognition, Behavioral Neuroscience, Psychopharmacology, Motivation-Addiction-and the Brain, Neuroscience of Learning and Memory, Neurobiology of Stress, Introduction to Health Biopsychology, Abnormal Psychology, Childhood Psychopathology, Behavior Modification, Psychotherapies, Cognitive Development of Children, Infant Development, Personality, Attitude Change, Psychology of Gender, Social Cognition, Judgment and Decision Making, Stigma and Prejudice, Psychology of Negotiation, Human Memory, Psychology of Thinking, Human Information Processing, and lastly Language Processes.

All of these help to further understand ourselves and each other. For to know the workings of the world's mind, one must come to know one's self. And if such a journey you wish to make, then look no further than to have Professor Stretch be your guide to the wide and weird world of the mind's many endless roads. The guy is utterly amazing.

"it's about honor. do you have it? how do you define honor? honor is day by day, minute by minute. if you have it, you live it, without question. honor is not doing what is easy if it hurts a single soul. do your daily actions reflect good values? are you honest with everyone, even yourself? are you kind and helpful? do you show respect to everyone? for example, do you clean up after yourself in the lunchroom? and my friends...they all have a couple of things in common: none of them are whiners. all of them are funny. none of them are pc; and all of them, every last one, owns their mistakes. they own their lives. they own their actions. that is honor. do you really own your mistakes and your lives?"

God he's mesmerizing to listen to. His voice is so smooth despite his smoking habit. Even his body's movements flow with grace and adds emphasis to his words. You can really tell he means what he says.

"our society does not simply look at the 'hey stupid, the coffee is hot' signs that are located on any lid of coffee that you buy or the supersize me case 'my kids are fat because of mcdonalds'. try to do good. try to love the world even when it does not love you. the question is how will you react when you have done bad things? ...will you stand up and say, i'm a man and i own this mess?"

I nod to myself and a note is slid my way. I look to my side, Rascal, Stretch's little brother and my good buddy. I wonder what it says.

[DO YOU NEED A TOWEL?]

I write back "Why?" and pass it back. Then he slides it back to me.

[TO WIPE UP ALL THE DROOL YOU'RE MAKING OVER MY BRO.]

I roll my eyes at him and give him back the slip after writing "Ha-ha, you're so funny. You should do stand-up.".

"there's only two things the world can't take from you. your friendship and your honor. anything worthwhile must be protected and nurtured. these two things you have...honor and friends...are, believe it or not, all you need. they are everything. don’t make excuses, make optimism. i would like you to take some time and really reflect on that for a moment."

I slowly shut my eyes in thought, contemplating his words and letting my mind wander with ideas. Rascal, using this break to his advantage, decides to have some fun. While Stretch is distracted looking for his pack of candy cigarettes or his trusty toothpick in his messy desk, Rascal leans over and starts whispering in my ear.

"YOU KNOW, YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND A LOT LATELY."

"What are you talking about, Rascal?"

"RASCAL? NO...IT'S ME, PROFESSOR STRETCH."

"I take it this is your game for the day."

"YOU LOOK REALLY CUTE TODAY? *sniff* IS THAT VANILLA I SMELL?"

"Okay, you're starting to border on the creepy line there."

"YOU KNOW, VANILLA IS CONSIDERED A NATURAL APHRODISIAC. AND SINCE KNOWING YOU, YOU'VE NEVER WORE THAT SCENT BEFORE. NOW FOR WHAT REASON WOULD YOU WEAR THAT SCENT? UNLESS...YOU WERE TRYING TO CAPTIVATE SOMEONE'S ATTENTION WITH SWEET ALLURE."

To that I crack an eye open and look at him.

"Can I not try a new shampoo without being thought of as a tempting succubus?"

He merely smirks.

"A RATHER INTERESTING CHOICE OF WORDS. BUT YES. I DARE SAY YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO WOO SOMEONE. AND I THINK IT'S ME."

"As cute as you are, I see you as my friend Rascal."

He blushes but pouts.

"I TOLD YOU, I'M NOT RASCAL. I'M STRETCH."

"I know you study this subject so you can be better at manipulating others for your amusement. So if your intention is to prank me by having me 'confess' my 'feelings' for your brother, well...That's just cruel."

"*sighs* LOOK, I'M NOT TRYING TO BE MEAN. I'M JUST TRYING TO..."

Stretch clears his throat, toothpick in his teeth, and signals that the thinking break is now over.

"as i was saying...it is about honor. do you have it? honor is not the late mother theresa in calcutta. that’s beyond honor; that’s sainthood. honor is not an impossible ideal, something beyond your grasp. honor is day to day, minute by minute. if you have it, you live it, without question. honor is not doing what’s easy if it hurts a single soul."

So very true. I could listen to him for hours. He speaks with experience, like this all knowing sage, yet doesn't come off as condescending or entitled. He only wants to share what he knows so that others can do better. His faith in others is inspiring.

"honor has no room in its house for cynicism. skepticism, yes. always. but cynicism? no. it has no room in its house for greed, for the mindless pursuit of money or hollow success. honor is the affirmative answer to one simple question you ask of yourself every day: did i behave with dignity and respect toward all living things? that is the measure of honor and the measure of men. if you are cynical, you will say, i wasn’t honorable today because the world was dishonorable toward me and i just had to fight back. sorry, charlie. wrong answer. the measure of a man lies not in what the world does to him, but rather in how he comports himself within the world. when someone says, oh-so cynically, oh-so-jaded: the world is thus, you must reply: no. thus, have we made the world."

Another note from Rascal is slid my way and I sigh inwardly at the thought of reading it.

[I'M SORRY. BUT I'M NOT TRYING TO BE A JERK. I'M JUST TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING THAT IS HARD FOR ME TO SAY.]

I write back "What? You know you can tell me anything. It's what friends are for." and pass it back. He takes a moment before writing, a look on his face that I can only guess is uncertainty as I've never seen him like that, then he slowly slides it to me and I'm nervous to read it.

[HE LIKES YOU TOO.]

I'm not sure how to respond to this. Either he's being honest or being bull. I can't find words to write.

"i gave you the bad news first so you can create the good news for yourselves. well, i’ve got friends. if wealth is measured by friends, then i’m richer than bill gates. and, as i said at the outset, two of my closest friends in the world i met right here, freshman year. and my friends, a wide-ranging army of people from all walks of life, some human, some monster, some conservative, some liberal, some wealthy, some not, some black, some white, some catholic, some jewish, some presbyterian, some gay, some straight, some downright out of their minds, and some with questionable fashion sense. my friends are a very varied lot. but they all have a couple of things in common: none of them are whiners, because i can't handle hanging out with whiners; all of them are funny, because life’s too short not to be able to tell good jokes; none of them are pc; and all of them, every last one, owns their mistakes. they own their lives. they don’t place blame for their actions at any place but on their own doorsteps. they own their actions."

I try to focus on Stretch's words but Rascal keeps giving me notes.

[HE MUTTERS YOUR NAME A LOT WHEN IN DEEP THOUGHT OR SLEEP.]

I write back "So what?" and pass it back. He passes another one.

[HE THINKS OF YOU IN THE SHOWER TOO. VERY AWKWARD.]

This makes my eyes twitch and I write back "This isn't funny anymore." then slide it back.

"that is honor. own yours. go out into that messed-up world and try to make it better for your sons and daughters. yes. make money if you can. pursue your own happiness. yes, yes. but try, too, please try to do good. to empathize with and help those people who weren’t lucky enough to go to a private prep school, have caring parents, come from homes with food on the table and plenty of oil in the furnace. try to love the world even when it doesn't love you. realize that you will fail, you will make mistakes, you will feel pain and you will cause pain and you will do bad things. the question isn’t whether you will do bad things, the question is how will you react once you’ve done those bad things? will you leave the mess for someone else to clean up; will you place blame? or will you stand up and say, i’m a man. i own this mess. i will not hide behind lawyers. or press agents. or lies. i do not need lies. i do not need an image. i do not need false crap. i need my friends. i need my honor. because there’s only two things the world can’t take from you. your friendships and your honor. those you’ve got to give away...and those, i will bet you good money, you have right now."

Another note slips by me.

[PLEASE TALK TO HIM. I KNOW THIS IS WEIRD. BUT IT'S WEIRDER LIVING WITH HIM WHEN I HEAR AND SEE HIM WANTING YOU.]

I write back "Stop it. Just stop." and pass it back.

"the honor you hold right inside of yourself, because you’re young, and you haven’t had too many chances to screw up yet or sell out. and you have friends. some of your best may be sitting right beside you, right now. some may have just finished teaching you for four years. some, believe it or not, may be your parents, your sisters, your brothers. some you haven’t met yet, but you will, you will. anything worthwhile must be protected and nurtured. these two things you have...honor and friends...are, believe it or not, all you need. they’re everything. they’re sacred. and, like anything sacred, the world will go after them and try to separate you from them. you cannot let it take them. because when they’re gone, they don’t come back. like your tenth birthday or first love. once it’s gone, it’s gone. try not to regret it if you can."

That last line makes me feel really weird. Even more so when I notice the eye contact coming from Stretch, making me blush and Rascal nudges me with a 'Do you see it now' look. I am so confused.

"look around at your friends, at your family. right now. and then look inside, as only you can, at your honor. your soul. it is what makes you an individual. it is what makes you, in essence, you. the one thing that separates you from anyone else. are you going to give that up? go with honor into this world, my students. don’t make excuses, make optimism. don’t make a day a little worse for your having been here, make it a little better. protect your dignity and your grace and your honor and your friends and your family the way lesser men protect their money and their image and their crumbling structures."

There's that experience again, it makes me curious as to what happened to him. But why? Why am I so pulled to him? Why do I care? Damn it Rascal! What mind trickery have you done to me?! I care!

"i truly hope all of you will get what you want. i hope you live up to the measure of your dreams. i wish you great health and financial independence and a jacuzzi. sure, why not? heheheh...but if you don't get those things, you are not poor, you are not a failure, you are not a lesser person. as long as you have you’re honor, your souls, your friends."

The bell rings.

"*sigh* well that's my time. go enjoy one of the great days of your life."

Everyone starts to leave, but I can't make myself move from my seat. Rascal touches my shoulder.

"PROMISE ME...YOU'LL THINK ABOUT IT. PLEASE?"

All I can do is nod before dropping my head to the table and leaving it there.

"GREAT. THANKS LYNSIE. AND DON'T WORRY, I BELIEVE IN YOU!"

I groan as he leaves and stay put, hoping I'll fade away so I can forget everything I've come to learned.

"uh...the bell rang, lynsie. it means school ended for the day."

"*muffled* I know."

"okay...um...you okay?"

"*muffled* I don't know anymore."

I hear approaching footsteps.

"alright lynsie, what's up? everything at home okay?"

"*muffled* Yeah."

"personal life doing fine?"

"*muffled* Yeah."

"you sick?"

"*muffled* No."

"bad romance?"

"*muffled* Good song, but no. My love life is about as real as bigfoot."

"cute...then what's the matter? 'cause i can't think of anything else. actually, scratch that, i can. did my bro do something to you?"

"*muffled* Which one?"

"sans. did sans mess with you?"

I say nothing and he leans beside me.

"come on. what did he do this time?"

Again I say nothing.

"let me guess. he glued you to your seat?"

"*muffled* No."

"did he pass your phone number around school?"

"*muffled* No."

"did he take up-skirt pics of you...again?"

I sigh and sit up.

"No. He hasn't done that in while now. But that's why I don't really care for the uniforms. I hate skirts."

"then what has he done?"

I look away.

"lynsie, you know you're going to tell me eventually. i'm the psych proff. i know countless ways to get you to talk."

"And you've taught us countless ways to counter said things."

He smirks.

"do i sense a challenge?"

"If you want to play, teach, than bring your A-game. Because these lips are sealed."

"okay, game on."

It's funny how he gets excited like this, he doesn't do it often, but it is cute. Damn it, stop that, I need to focus!

"let me just put this out there before we start...you don't really have to tell me. this is all for fun."

Wow, is he really setting up for reverse psychology? That's the most simple and basic thing. Maybe he thinks I won't see it coming because it's so basic. Or maybe that's what he wants me to think. Best see how this goes and set up to counter when needed.

"Fine."

"so...sans did or said something to you, but you don't want to say what it was...probably wasn't anything to do with something personal. i mean, why would that mess with you? you got friends and one of the best grade point average in school. things gotta be coming up roses for you there."

Got to keep calm and display no emotion. Facial signs and emotions can give away too much information.

"Life has been kind as of late. I study hard. Having random insomnia helps in that department. But what about you? How has the ball been rolling in your court this year?"

A reversal of reverse psychology is simple. Just do reverse psychology to the one trying to do it to you, but do it better. He just smiles.

"been alright. a little slow sometimes."

"How so?"

"eh, just in general really. been thinking i should try to put myself out there. *plays with his toothpick* i haven't been on a date in years."

"Years huh? I can top that. I've never had one."

He looks at me surprised.

"for real?"

"Yep."

"i call bull."

"Hand to god. Never been out on a date."

"why?"

"No one's ever asked. Kinda hard to date someone when they aren't real, you know?"

"not even your imaginary friends?"

"*chuckles* Very funny Stretch."

I get up and hop over the table, sitting on it. He follows suit and sits beside me.

"But yeah. I could fill a book with a list of 'never done' stuff I never did. Things most people my age have done long ago, I can not say I did."

"so...you've never been kissed?"

"Heh, jumping right to it huh?"

"just curious. by the way...*sniff* you smell nice."

"Heh...thanks. Rascal noticed too. *blush* But I kissed a boy once when I was really young. But it was a kid kiss. No real feelings in it, even though he did like me. I think I just liked that he liked me and felt I had to kiss him because it was expected."

"social pressure?"

"Nope. Just what I thought I had to do."

"what made you think that?"

"Fuck if I know. I just did. Kinda like how I knew what death was even though no one ever told me. Saw my kitten unmoving, not breathing, it was just...so very still. Yet I remember going to my grandma and crying that the kitten was dead. I was five. How the hell did I know it was dead?!"

"instinct maybe. from watching you, you seem to grasp things fairly easily. i can almost see the gears turn in your head when i look in your eyes."

"Why would you need to look in my eyes that deeply?"

His relaxed posture faintly stiffens and I inwardly smirk, I caught him.

"making eye contact with others is a sign of confidence, respect, and social communication. studies also suggest that eye contact has a positive impact on the retention and recall of information and may promote more efficient learning."

Well played, trying to avoid seemingly noticeable awkwardness with facts. My turn.

"True, but only half true. It all depends on the person. Some might be fine with it, while others could take it as insulting. Eye contact can also be a significant factor in interactions between human and non-human animals, even monsters. Many species often perceive eye contact as a threat. But on the other hand...Eye contact can also be seen as intimate and sexual."

That causes some light color to dust his cheekbones.

"heh...this has kinda gotten off on a weird track."

"Not really. We're still on the subject you've been trying to prob me for."

"i am not trying to prob you."

"Not without your spaceship you aren't."

He chuckles and I look at his toothpick. I kind of want it. Just to chew on for a bit. Not sure where this urge is coming from, but it's normal for me. I tend to chew on any stick food comes with, like lollipop or popsicle sticks. I don't know why, I just do.

"wait...we've been on a topic this whole time?"

"Want a clue?"

"maybe."

"I want something first."

"and what's that?"

I point to his toothpick and he blushes more.

"you want that?"

I nod.

"um...i-i guess that's fine."

I reach over as he leans in and I snicker much to his confusion before taking the toothpick.

"Well...I guess he was telling the truth after all."

I put the toothpick in my mouth and he is confused.

"uh...what just happened?"

"Just confirming what your brother told me."

"and what was that?"

"He wanted me to talk to you about you having feelings for me."

And just like that, his calm demeanor breaks.

"w-what? i don't have feelings for you. that would be crazy."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. But you give yourself away. And Rascal said some pretty interesting things that made him uncomfortable, so I doubt he'd make that type of stuff up just to mess with us."

"*sighs* what did he say?"

"You mutter my name in deep thought and sleep. Oh! And you think about me in the shower."

I blush a bit and he covers his face with his hands.

"for fuck's sake sans...*groan* fine...i admit it. i do have a thing for you."

And just like that, he breaks my emotionless cover.

"...C-can I ask why?"

He rubs the back of his skull.

"it's a little hard to explain. you...how do i put this? ...you just...okay. you know how magnets are drawn to each other? it's sorta like that."

I tilt my head confused.

"You feel pulled to me?"

"i know, this sounds totally weird and stupid. but i'm being honest here. aside from sans, i notice you before any other student. it's like there's this aura surrounding you and i can't keep from staring. and if i stare too long, i start feeling things."

"What kind of things? Like the make your pants feel tighter type of feelings?"

"you know you don't have to makes this harder than it already is."

"That's what she said."

He snickers and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not trying to make this more difficult for you. I'm just using comedy to circumvent my own awkwardness about this."

This has his attention.

"i take it you have your own feelings about this too?"

"That...That's the part I'm unsure of."

"...but you do feel something?"

I lean back on my hands and look up.

"I might."

To this he just stares at me and I try to avoid looking at him, I don't think I can with a straight face. I end up flinching when his hand touches mine.

"it's okay, just relax. i'm just testing the waters here..."

He holds my hand, his thumb rubbing tender circles on the back of my hand and wrist.

"i won't do anything to you that you aren't okay with."

I blush and slowly look back down to the floor, I still can't look at him yet.

"is this okay? you aren't uncomfortable, are you?"

"It's fine."

His hand moves up, rubbing my arm up and down.

"why won't you look at me?"

"Processing my feelings won't let me. Not yet."

"would it be alright if i...kept going?"

"Sure."

At this point he's reading my body language to judge things. His hand works it's way further up my arm to my shoulder, once there he rubs along my shoulder and neck, making me relax with a purr.

"that feel good?"

"Mmmhmmm."

He scoots closer, now using both hands to massage me. His hands are so skillful in their touches, I can't help but to lean into him and melt in content.

"You have such skilled hands."

"you feel warmer. you really must be enjoying this."

"So are you."

"true. but i'd have more fun if you were closer."

Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulls me to his chest and I look at him with a smile.

"you're looking at me."

"I am."

"and what do you see?"

"A set of adora-bones."

We both laugh and I decide to be a little bold. I turn around in his hold and nuzzle small kisses into his neck, earning some surprised shudders from him.

"mmmmmm...that's nice...*purrs* you can uh...press a little harder, if you want. i-i promise i won't break, haha."

He blushes lightly and I smile kindly.

"Only if you do something for me."

"oh? and what would that be?"

"Well...Could you maybe...keep touching me?"

There's a look of shock that comes with a deeper blush and slowly morphs into a cool and relaxed chill.

"well if you really want me to. heh...how can i refuse~?"

Placing his hands on my waist, he kneads into my sides with a attentive touch and it has me cooing. This pleasant sensation has me trailing tender kisses along his neck and up his jawline, making him shiver with growing heat. He cups my face in one hand and leans in. Thinking of a kiss, I close my eyes, only to open them in shock as his tongue licks my lips and steals the toothpick away with a grin.

"Why do that?"

"heh...it was in the way."

He slips it into his pants pocket before pulling me into a light kiss, just a test, then it becomes much stronger and heated. His hands hold me close as mine begin to explore him, getting a feel for the bones hidden underneath his clothes.

"mmmm...getting a little bold don't you think?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"no...go lower."

"Like this~?"

I feel along his hip and his breathing hitches.

"yeah...just like that."

"Want more~?"

"yeah~."

I slip my fingers to feel the bare bone under his pants hemline and his grip tightens with a hard shudder.

"wait, wait, stop! just stop for a second."

I freeze up all nervous.

"What's wrong?"

"i need to know...are we really doing this?"

"I'm not a hologram and you're not a dream if that's what you mean."

"no, i mean...*deep breath* would you really...be with me...in a...you know what i mean sorta way."

"Oh. Oh! *nervous laugh* Um...I'd be lying if I didn't say the idea came to me a few times."

"r-really?"

"*flustered* D-don't make it sound like that, mister shower fantasy guy."

"heh...yeah...about those fantasies..."

He has me sit back as he undoes his pants, a large honey orange magic member pops out and I burn with a vibrant red blush.

"maybe this can help us both with our oral fixation."

I snicker and test touch him. Lightly tracing my fingers on it, watching his face contort as the sensation of pleasure begins hitting him. Cautiously he puts a hand behind my head and gently pulls me down to his length, stopping with my lips mere inches from the tip. I look up at him and then at the glowing erection then back at him again before slowly letting my tongue touch him, getting a taste...like honey. I begin to lick him like a popsicle and he leans back on one arm while the other hand is petting me.

"ooooh...yeah...mmmm...that feels good...now try your mouth..."

"Getting eager just bit huh?"

"you have no idea how long i've wanted to have this happen."

"Awww...Then I'll be nice and grant your long waiting wish."

I drag my tongue from the base slowly up to his tip and swirl my tongue around the head before giving it a kiss, making him swoon with a low groan.

"lynsie...please...stop teasing me..."

"Sorry. Just...mentally preparing for this. Heh...I've never done this before. Any of this stuff."

"you mean you're a...*bites his tongue with a lustful grin* hmmm...so i-i'm your first?"

"Yep."

"*deep shudder* god i want you..."

"*snicker* Down boy. The fun has only just begun."

Giving his tip a kiss I slowly engulf his length in my mouth, making his jaw drop and a moan escape.

"ffffuck...mmmmmm...your mouth is so hot and moist..."

"*gasp* Sorry. My mouth waters when full."

"d-didn't say that was a bad thing. um...can you...?"

"Oh! My bad."

I return to pleasing him and he lulls his head back with a contented sigh.

"god...worth it...this was so worth the wait...ooooh...yeah...just like that..."

I can't help but snicker on him as I begin to bob my head up and down on him. The sounds that he makes, the fact I'm the cause of all of them, I can't deny that it's turning me on, and the more it does the more he can tell by the increased amount of attention I give him. And when I look up and meet his gaze he twitches hard in my mouth.

"oh shhhhit lynsie...you ca-aahh...you can't be real...this is too good to-oooooh...*breath hitches* to be true..."

I suppress the urge to smile as I hear an incredibly low moan sound from the depths of his throat, and a deeply-seated rumble sizzling through his bones as I hold on to his hips. His hands suddenly run through my hair, the smooth structure of his bones feels like bliss amongst the mess of hair follicles, and I pace a little faster alongside the heavy beat of his breathing heavily echoing in the classroom.

It acts as the perfect guide as I feel his shudders coarse against me and I know he's being pushed to the absolute edge of insanity as he's simply dissolved in pleasure. I attempt to go down on him as far as I can, feeling the head swell in my throat and his grip on my hair tightens hard. This incredibly raw feeling burns through me as I hear him garble a moan pass his shaken smile and he pulls me off him with a wet pop.

"*gasp* Stretch? You okay?"

"*dry swallow* i was close...nearly lost it...you would've been tasting more of me than you probably want."

"Oh. Heh...I was doing that good?"

"that would be a vast understatement. but i couldn't help but think to myself...i'm being a bit selfish."

He trails a hand to between my legs and with two fingers, he rubs into a now sensitive wet spot on my panties that has me almost curl on top of him which makes him smile.

"whoa, i got you. wow...you've been enjoying this more than i thought."

"Please don't mock me right now."

"oh i'm not. heh, i just didn't think you were the type to have a kink like this."

"W-what?"

"you have a teacher fetish~. either that or you like that i have a position of power over you."

I quiver and lean over him more.

"H-how about you?"

"hmmm?"

"You clearly...*shudder* have a student fetish. N-naughty naughty."

"says the girl getting off on it."

"Like you aren't? *coos*"

"true. but right now...this is about you."

He makes a fist and grinds his knuckles against me, making my jaw slack with a low groan. He does this for a bit, letting me ride his hand before he steps things up to the next level. Unclenching his fist, his fingers move over my skin as he edges towards the hem of my panties. Hooking his fingers over the material, and almost immediately, my voice is lost at the feel the blunt ends of his fingers touching me, tracing confidently and achingly slow over my sensitive lower lips.

Everything around me is intensely hot as I feel the shuddering spells of ecstasy rip through my form. I feel alive, as if connected to this world by the sensual rhythm of his fingers moving circles around my sex. And he can see it clearly in my eyes as they roll back in overwhelming pleasure. Every part of me comes to life as I shiver to his touch, and it's all the more fierce and powerful than I ever imagined it to be. I've given myself away to him entirely as I move my hips along to the gradual movements of his fingers.

"how does it feel? to have me do this to you? to have you melting in the literal palm of my hand and i haven't even really touched you yet?"

"Mmmmm...Stretch..."

"ah ah ah, you didn't say the magic word. use my real name. tell me what you want."

"Oooh...P-papyrus..."

"yes?"

"Please..."

"please what?"

"I need you!"

That came out more bluntly than intended, I'm embarrassed as hell and he's frozen on the spot with a deep honey blush. I open my mouth to apologize but he renders me speechless with a yank forward and a deeply heated kiss while moving my lower half into position over him. Once my brain puts two and two together, I feel the bump of his member's head at my entrance as he's lowered me down to him.

"say it again...tell me you want me."

"Papyrus..."

"yes?"

"Who is on top?"

"huh?"

"And who is in the power position?"

"uh..."

"I do want you...But I set the pace. After all, I'm the one that's gonna be ripped a new one by that behemoth."

"...fair enough, you sexy temptress."

I take a couple shaky breathes before pressing down on him and he pops inside. While his fingering of me helped some of the way to prepare me for this, I wince and take my time inching him in till we're connected fully to the hilt.

"Shhhit..."

"mmmmmm...just relax...there's no rush here...*soft purr* you feel amazing by the way."

"T-thanks. *giggles* That helps actually."

"in that case...let me help you some more."

He leans up into my neck, peppering me with kisses before giving my neck a lick, then nips, and then bites, each action gets to me. Such attention, such care, such sweetness, it's so good. A warmth begins building deep in my core and it cries out for attention, setting my skin on fire as my eyes widen in surprise at the subconscious instinct that has my hips moving on him. All pain from before is gone and my eyes flutter in delight.

"Oh...ohh...ohhhh..."

"yeah...that's my girl...oooooh...ride me...ride me like there's no tomorrow..."

"God...You sound so fucking hot right now..."

Every small thrust, every tiny jab he makes within me is met with a powerful response deep in my core. His hands grab a tight hold of my thighs and I stifle the urge to scream as the head of his member suddenly hits a bundle of nerves deep within me.

"O-Oh fuck...Papyrus..."

"yes, yes, oh fuck lynsie...don't stop..."

My thrusts gradually speed up, faster and faster, filling me more and more as I feel his length graze the sensitive nerves within my core. I've never experienced something as powerful as this and he's pushed near his edge, losing all sense of himself in me as his tongue hangs carelessly out his mouth.

"Pap...I'm close Papyrus..."

"aahh...cum with me, beautiful girl..."

I grasp a tight hold of him, my sharp gasps synchronize with his random harsh bucks, and in between the delicious rhythm of his movements, I try my best to make sense of any spiraling thoughts I have to be about him. We're almost completely gone. We can feel the climax coming, reaching to its absolute limits, and Stretch feels the pulsating urge to release himself.

Slowly, he cups my face in the palm of his hand as he forces me to look directly at him. In his sockets, there is unfathomable desire. In his eyes, there's a passion to love me as tenderly as possible. I can feel it in his affectionate hands, holding me like I were porcelain. And the feeling of being wanted by him finally tips me over the edge.

"Aaah...aaahh...Paah...Papyrus...!"

"ooooohh...lynsie! aaaahh...!"

He relentlessly fills me up as I feel our climax quivering tortuously over into each other. I feel like waves of the water is crashing against the both of us, but really what I feel is wetness between my legs, liquid warmth running down over his member and slowly melting paths down my thighs., until we both stiffen and give in to the intensive release of our orgasms.

"*shudders* W-whoa..."

"*panting* that...was intense..."

"THAT WAS FUCKING HOT!"

We freeze and look over at the classroom door, there Rascal stands with his phone out and grinning big time.

"s-sans?"

"How long have you...?"

"SINCE YOU TWO STARTED FEELING EACH OTHER UP. YOU KNOW, WHEN I SAID YOU BOTH NEEDED TO TALK, THIS WAS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT WOULD HAPPEN. BUT, I'M GLAD YOU BOTH FINALLY CAME OUT OF YOUR DENIAL CLOSETS. AND I'M HAPPY TO SAY I CAPTURED YOUR FIRST TIME ON VIDEO."

We just look at him, I know I want to slap the shit out of him and by the twitching in Stretch's eye he feels the same way. In the silence of that moment, we make a mental deal to get back at him, but for now we just take in the feels of the moment and look forward to what's to come from this new love life.

[dailybestiary]

Liminal Sprite

Okay, I’m warning you up top: This post is gonna go some weird places.  And it’s as pretentious and bloated as a Harvard admissions officer.  So if you keep reading, remember I gave you a chance to bail before I became utterly insufferable.  

We cool?  Okay, here goes…

Guys.  Guys.  GUYS.  You have no idea how excited I am for the liminal sprite.

My paper for my college’s famously hard Religion 101 midterm?  It was on liminality.  The reason I spend Labor Day and New Year’s playing board games?  I made a lifelong friend tutoring a frosh on her liminality paper.  My favorite school mascot?  The Liminal State Bobcats.

So yeah, this is my kind of monster.  Add to that the fact that it’s a fey with a killer backstory, great art, and a low CR, and this just all adds up to “Squeeeee!” territory for me.

Bestiary 5 gives us plenty to work with: These are sprites cursed to rest neither out in the open or inside any building.  This leaves them only liminal (that is, threshold) spaces in which to make their homes—in sheltered doorways; behind shutters; under eaves, porches, and outside stairs; and so on.  That’s an absolutely fantastic fluff detail that also suggests some nice encounter options. Need a witness to a burglary? Liminal sprite.  A guardian for a magical gate?  Liminal sprite.  Servant of your world’s version of Janus?  Liminal sprite.  

Liminal sprites also love comedy, so they might hang around actors and theaters, particularly outdoor stages.  The next time your PCs stop into town for supplies, a side quest involving a liminal sprite wielding a girdle of opposite gender could be a delightfully Shakespearean side trek. They’re also knowledgeable about local events and stealthy as hell (+17!).  And as familiars, their Repartee (Su) ability, which turns the +2 aid another bonus to +2d4, can help a chaotic sorcerer or bard really punch above their weight on Charisma checks.

But there’s another way to use liminal sprites.  If you remember your college reading of van Gennep and Turner—actually, I think my copy of The Ritual Process is still on my bookshelf somewhere—the original notion of liminality was meant to refer to certain threshold moments in time, not space.  These were transitional phases during rites of passage, or special times of the year, neither sacred nor profane, where the ordinary rules are suspended and society’s low and high temporarily occupy an equal footing. (The perfect example of this is the move between (profane) Ordinary Time in the Catholic liturgical calendar and the (sacred) Season of Lent.  What falls in between?  Mardi Gras, where we get ready for weeks of repentance by gorging on baked goods and showing our tits.  It doesn't get more liminal than that.  Communitas, bitchez!)

This is perfect for liminal sprites.  Like many outsiders and undead, the best fey not only exist in and of themselves, but also represent or embody a larger something…sometimes a thing (like a dryad’s oak), but sometimes a notion (like the fear of drowning or the joy of the hunt).  The very curse that hampers the liminal sprite ray also gives them a conceptual/spiritual reason for being.  It might even nourish them in some way—I can imagine scenarios where a liminal sprite gets a small bonus during times of ritualized upheaval (like Carnival), certain days of the calendar (like Leap Day), or specific astrological events (such as eclipses).

“But wait,” you remind me, “this is for a game. That’s a lot of conceptual bull$#!† to hang on a CR 2 sprite.” And honestly, you’re right.  

But when the party sorcerer’s liminal sprite familiar gets extra antsy or powerful or flat-out vanishes during your game world’s version of New Year’s Eve, you’ve just made that world a little more real.  And if your PCs are planning a Leap Day treasury heist and are agonizing over whether to wait an extra day to recover spells, or go today to take advantage of the ad hoc bonus you’ve announced having a liminal sprite along will confer…but only until midnight…well, suddenly all those ridiculously pretentious paragraphs above have at-the-table, tactical risk/reward consequences.  Not bad for a 3 Hit Dice, size Tiny fey, right?

Gnomish thieves are robbing the citizens of Westphal blind during the summer theater festival.  They pick the pockets of the distracted citizens during performances, then vanish under the stage, where an open manhole allows escape into the sewers. The gnomes have attracted the attention of a court of liminal sprites, but the faeries are only too happy to guard the portal for the gnomes, so long as they get their cut.  Last night, though, sewer-dwelling derros discovered the open manhole, and now a lot more than treasure is going to disappear into the darkness.

After a contentious year of peasant uprisings and arguments with Parliament, the queen declares a curfew during Winterfeast.  Among other things, this will prevent the midnight crowning of a Lord and Lady of Misrule—conveniently sparing the queen the need to surrender her authority, even if only symbolically, to a couple of upstarts during the week of parades and masked games.  The peasants are disgruntled, even angered, at the news…but the region’s liminal sprites, who delight in the festivities and are spiritually nourished by this time of upheaval, are outraged.  Until a Lord and Lady of Misrule are crowned, the sprites do not intend to let the city have a moment of peace.

In the Polish city of Kraków during King Casimir the Great’s reign, liminal sprites have been delighted to find companionship and shelter under the eaves of Jewish households.  The sprites enjoy eavesdropping on the debates of the rabbis, and they treat guarding the mezuzahs on their neighbors’ front doors as an honored nightly obligation. So when the day comes that every mezuzah in the Old Town has vanished, and not a liminal sprite is to be found, the concerned Jewish citizens of Kraków want answers.  Acceding to their demands, Kraków’s prezydent hires adventurers to look into the mystery.

—Pathfinder Bestiary 5 158

The Liminal State Bobcats are a creation of my college friend, Dorothy Gambrell.  (She lived one floor up and one suite over freshman year.) Webcomic fans will know her as the creator of Cat and Girl, one of the longest-running webcomics to date.  She actually has a Kickstarter going on right now with about 4 hours left, so this is an excellent time to show her some love.

If you’ll indulge me for a second: That tutoring session I mentioned above has become something of a story among a different set of my college friends.  The short version is that the frosh originally thought I was horrifying.  To her, I was a drunken weirdo.  (I maybe used to bring 40s to pep band rehearsals.  Whoops.)

But then came her brutal Religion 101 paper.  (To give you context, I didn't have to do any reading for the first three weeks of my 600-level grad school courses because of this same Religion 101 class.)  Turned out we’d both written about liminality; turned out I still remembered the course; turned out my advice on revising her paper helped earn her an A.  We’ve been friends ever since. But her roommate later told me she came back to her dorm saying, “The drunk guy from Band saved my paper and I have to lie down because the world doesn’t make sense any more.”

For any of my high school readers about to go to college, there’s an Alien-esque moral here: In a single room, no one can see you study. (And later on, you’ll really get to mess with people.)