#what matters first and foremost for us is allowing room for life! so we're a pretty write-on-your-own-basis group.

[runeyseason]

Welcome to Runey Season, a casual, forum-based RP group dedicated to all seven (soon to be eight) games in the Rune Factory series! We're looking for a fun, chill time with no pressures regarding activity -- and whether you're looking for a sillier or a more serious RP experience, we've got room for both!

Lately, we've been taking a break from writing to prioritise life, but with Guardians of Azuma on the horizons we'd like to get back in the swing of things & would be happy to welcome new members into the Kingdom of Norad alongside us as we return to form!

Interested? Have any questions? Want to know who's available? Or how we operate? Check out our:

ABOUT PAGE • RULES • MASTERLIST • ASK BOX

And, of course, if you want to take a look at how things are set up, check out the FORUM itself!

If you're interested in the community aspect of roleplaying, we also have an (entirely optional) Discord as well for chatting with other members -- about the games, about writing, about just about anything, really! We've even got a channel dedicated to discussing & sharing Azuma content pre-release for anyone who's interested in following along. (Members-only, so no link.) But it's entirely optional; no need to join if you're just interested in writing!

Whether you're looking for something fun or something serious, a place to write or a place to interact with other Rune Factory fans... We hope we can offer you whatever you're looking for!

We hope to see you with us in the Kingdom of Norad!

[thefrathousesystem]

Lycanthropy

In this world, nothing mythical exists. Sometimes you'll find the occasional nutjob screaming that there's a werewolf running around here and there, but that bunch of people are called nutjobs for a reason. However this time around, there's something strange happening in a quiet little town that's well known for it's small-town beauty, Rachel Hargreeves. She's a lovely singer and actress, but she is mostly seen at the cabaret club and never out in public. Some people believe she's a ghost or only exists whenever the club is full, but she leads her own life of secrecy to keep herself safe. During a mission taking place in this small town, the 141 main group gather at the cabaret club to recon as the town's been taken over by hostiles from a foreign country, meeting the one and only Rachel who peeked out of the backstage, having hid there when the first fight broke out. Let's begin. + + + Chapter 1: An Unexpected Meeting + + + The last thing I heard before the silence was gunfire and shooting, but when the front door opened quietly and slowly with heavy footsteps walking inside, I can hear soft muttering among the many men. I've been hiding in here since the first fight that started all of this mess, which is roughly 3 weeks now. I can hear them mutter softly about the other townsfolk who hid and stayed alive, discussing matters of what to do next. Are they friend or foe? I can only find out if I stop hiding, so as I take a deep breath, I slowly open my door and step quietly through the backstage area before pulling back the red curtain of the main stage. The first set of eyes I lock onto belong to an older gentleman with an astonishing beard and a bucket hat, smoking a cigar. For a second we stare at each other before I grab a rifle I've kept near the curtain and hold it at the ready as I walk through the curtain slowly and hesitantly. The room goes silent after I cock the rifle, all eyes on me as I stare at the group. However before things went quieter, I speak up. " Are any of you friend or foe? " I ask a bit coldly, I'd rather not deal with another break-in and deal with the body disposal. The man with the cigar slowly raises his hand and approaches the stage, approaching me with his hands shown. " Easy miss, we're the 141. We're regaining control of the situation as my men go through the town to get tie up loose ends. " We stare at each other for a moment before I un-cock the rifle and sigh in relief as I put it backstage again. " That's a relief. I've had to kill a few more than I'd like to admit, but they've called reinforces half an hour ago before you guys got here. " One of the other men speaks up, a fine chap with a baseball cap on. " How do you know? " " I stole one of their radios to keep tabs on the situation, here. " I unhook the radio from my waist and flick it on, tossing it to the man with the cap. There's audio of a few enemies being taken out but the reinforcements are soon to arrive. " You guys are free to use this place as a refuge or base of operations, despite there being a lot of chaos outside, there's still functioning electricity and wifi. " As I turn to go backstage, I'm grabbed by the wrist by a man in a skeleton mask, quickly looking at him. " Who are you first and foremost, lass? " God that's a lovely accent. " I'm Rachel Hargreeves, you must've seen my poster out on the front door before you came in. Welcome to my cabaret club, it's also my home. " He lets go after we both stare at each other, sighing. The man with the cigar approaches me again as I step through the curtains, gaining my attention by grabbing my shoulder. " I'm John Price, but you're free to call me Price. Thank you very much for allowing us to stay here, and if there's anything you need help with, let me or the others know. They all seem mean but they're loyal and kind. " He smiles at me as I smile back, grabbing his hand and shaking it. " Thank you, I just need to repair the lights as it's getting darker outside. "

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XI — masterlist

concept: a collection of happenings. the slowest of slow burns. there will be many more parts. an interview is misinterpreted, leading to some awkwardness.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1,8k

warnings: angst

author's note: i used the name "lily" in slight reference to lily james (no hate to her) but if you, as the reader, is named lily, feel free to use any other name as hers.

There was something to be said about LAX. Status was practically inconsequential in airports. Everyone was either jetlagged or trying to make their flight in time, and everyone had to wait in neatly organized lines. Sure, some moved faster than others, but it was nice to see that everyone was built the same when it came to airports.

You stood, patiently waiting in the collection area of the arrivals. As patiently as you could, practically bouncing on your heels in anticipation. You didn't know why you were there, really.

Well, you knew. You were there to surprise him.

They had wrapped filming the day before, and he had shot you a quick be home soon :) text last night. But you had never picked him up before, instead opting to stay in the comfort of the apartment with Dodger curled up beside you and a batch of "welcome home" cupcakes cooling, waiting to be iced. He'd find his way back by himself just fine every time, so why the sudden change?

Maybe it was the interview you had caught the night before.

It wasn't as if you'd actively sought it – your friend had sent you a link to it in the early morning hours, followed by a barrage of messages that had your nightstand practically quaking from the vibrations of your phone. Knowing she wouldn't let you be until you checked it out, you squinted to see the bright screen before lowering the brightness enough to let your eyes adjust. Cursing the persistence of your friend, you huffed out a sigh and tapped on the link she had highlighted in numerous exclamation points and a slew of unintelligible yet highly suggestive emojis.

It was him. Chris. The flutter your heart gave at the sight of him was a natural occurence at this point, so it was easy to ignore.

Dodger, whose head was resting heavily on your feet, immediately perked up at the sound of Chris' voice the second the YouTube clip began to play.

It was a snippet from a Jimmy interview – Fallon or Kimmel, your brain was too sluggish to comprehend – uploaded fairly recently. If two months was recent in the grand scheme of things.

"Great to be here again, Jimmy," you heard Chris say as you rubbed the bleariness from your eyes.

"Always a pleasure." Fallon. It was Fallon.

Dodger came crawling up to you, nose sniffing the air, trying to console the sound of Chris' voice without the scent of Chris himself. His wet nose pressed into your cheek and you whined in slight annoyance, giving him a slight nudge. "Down, Dodge. It's just an interview. See?"

You turned the phone to show him, and his ears deflated in understanding. You hid a chuckle, pulling him to you for a cuddle, and he dejectedly flopped down onto your shoulder, curling up beside you. "Don't worry, Dodge," you mumbled, placing a small kiss to the top of the boxer's head. "He'll be home tomorrow."

Chris had been gone longer and longer in recent months. You had returned from Vegas in silence, before, once again, everything was back to false normality. What Anthony had said to you still stuck: he was in the profession of pretense. So you allowed him his pretense, even if it pained you at the prospect of having hurt him.

He had disappeared for a few weeks after Vegas, doing PR – this clip must've been from that junket. He returned for a day, before he had left to shoot his new film for the longest time yet: two months, and counting. Dodger was inconsolable, misery evident in the droop of his ears.

It was strange... Even while filming, Chris had never left Dodger for so long. But you supposed you'd been hired for a reason, and filming must've taken some form of toll on him. Enough to not visit his bud.

You turned your attention back to the interview that had been playing throughout your interaction with the pup and willed yourself to focus.

"–anybody you've had your eye on? Anyone new in your life?"

Chris chuckled, looking down and shuffling in his seat. The question was centered around any romance happening in his life, and by the blush that threatened to creep from his already reddening ears to across his cheeks, you knew that he had been caught.

Caught for what, exactly... The interview now had your full attention, exhaustion exiting your body to be replaced by butterflies that felt as though they were travelling through your very bloodstream.

"Oh, man," he smiled lopsidedly. "Where do I even begin?"

He was trying to avoid the question really, and honestly, you understood why. The rumours that would be spread, you could already see the tabloid headlines the next day. You had to remind yourself that this was an old interview.

"Well, according to our producers, the female viewership on the show skyrockets by 48% everytime you're on, so you need to give me something here. Before they come at me with pitchforks," Fallon laughed.

"Well, there is one. We're close, practically living together, but... I don't know. I don't want to risk it, in case, you know... It ruins things. And that's what she's scared of, which I understand. I just hope she gives it a chance. Fingers crossed."

There was a collective "awww" from the audience and the interview very quickly moved on to publicity for his most recent film, but the blood that was suddenly rushing in your ears drowned it out.

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammered in your chest. Your cheeks ached from the smile that seemed to be stuck there, the moment he had told Fallon.

Some part of you scolded you for thinking that Chris was speaking of you, but it was just too coincidental. What he had said, it applied, right? It was applicable to your situation. Directly. There was room for error, but that was practically minuscule. Dodger shifted in his sleep, almost to punctuate your point.

All rational thought of your previous fears disintegrated with that near absolute admission of his feelings.

You tapped on the icon for messages, and typed out a quick response to your friend so she'd know you'd checked it out. It was a non-committal response, neither denying nor fully accepting what she was implying.

On a whim, you checked the text chain you had with Chris. It wasn't a particularly thrilling text chain, very short and quick replies from when he had a free moment on set, interlaced with heart meltingly adorable pics you managed to grab of Dodger. But upon a quick scroll back, one message caught your eye, dating back a week. One that you hadn't thought much of when you first received it, but that now held so much more meaning.

We wrap in a week, I have something to tell you when I get back

You had expected it to be another film role he'd been going for, or maybe a new Broadway show.

You'd let yourself dream, but never let yourself hope. There was too much at stake. First and foremost, he was your friend, and you'd do anything to not ruin it. Anything but kiss him.

But that night, you dreamed.

And that morning, you hoped.

Maybe that's what had you finding out his flight details from his agent, promising a non-life threatening surprise (he had heard about the incident with the baseball bat, and was more than relieved to hear that you were taking initiative in actively not breaking his client's face – as he reiterated a thousand times over "his face pays the rent! HIS FACE IS WORTH YOUR HOUSE!"), and maybe that's what had you stood there, stomach twisted in knots as you waited.

And then you saw him.

And you were simultaneously utterly calm yet filled with butterflies – a refreshing change from the dull ache you had come to grow accustomed to when looking at him.

What you did next surprised even you.

Breaking free from the rest of the eagerly waiting crowd, you sprinted to him and flung yourself into his arms. They wrapped around you, almost as if he was expecting it, expecting you. He lifted you up and spun you around, his laughter vibrating through his whole body and working its way into yours. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you clung to him, and he chuckled breathlessly in surprise.

"Hey, you," he smiled softly down at you when he'd set you on your feet.

"Hey yourself."

And then you noticed her. You had been so happy to see him, that you didn't see her at first. But now you did. You noticed the woman next to him – the one with her own suitcase, the one watching your display of affection with amusement, the one with a beautiful (in every sense of the word) smile etched on her perfect features.

"{Your name}, this is Lily." Chris slung an affectionate arm over Lily's shoulder, pulling her slightly closer to him. He was still smiling from your surprise greeting, but when he looked at her, the smile shifted into something else. Something more. Something that crushed the hope from your lungs. "My girlfriend."

He had said it himself, that night at Vulpecula: you can't compete where you don't compare, and the fact of the matter was, you simply could not begin to compare to a girlfriend. Particularly one such as Lily.

Pretending to be overwhelmingly happy came easy, if not a little forced, and maybe if they weren't so lovesick, they would have have noticed just how pathetic your attempt was. But they didn't notice, and so you threw your arms around Lily in an excited hug. We are in the profession of pretence, after all. "So lovely to meet you!"

You almost kicked yourself. It sounded nothing like you, your voice strained and pitched a little too high. Red flushed your cheeks, but they didn't notice.

"Lily, this is {your name}. My roommate."

Roommate. Ouch. Pretending it didn't hurt when he called you roommate, not even friend, came a little harder. Chris was the actor in your friendship, it was clear enough to see now.

"Welcome to our home," you managed to get out, voice still strangled. You quickly corrected yourself: "His home. His home that I live in when he's not home."

In an effort to busy yourself and extricate yourself from the growing one-sided awkwardness of the situation, you helped Lily with her bags, leading the couple to where the car was parked.

They regaled you along the way with how they met – living together in the same hotel, meeting in the bar downstairs one night, the park dates they took.

When you asked when, the answer had your hands clenching half moons into your palms, a wave of nausea crashing over you like an icy ocean wave. Two months. Two months, and suddenly, that interview made sense.

The entire drive home, you thanked your lucky stars that you hadn't done something stupid.

Something so incredibly stupid, like hoped.

[trials-by-blood]

If you’re still taking writing asks: literally anything about Half Face and his love!

Well, I think before this prompt involving Half-Face and his mate, I need to address a few things.

First and foremost, Half-Face needs some of his backstory and another important relationship outlined because they matter and play a role in his position within his pack.

Second, doing a prompt about him and his mate will reveal WHO his mate is in the comic. I didn't want to make that reveal until the chapter I'd planned specifically for that, but I HAVE been wanting to go ahead and pull back the curtain of secrecy so I can be allowed to draw super indulgent couple things for the pair.

Half-Face's mate is- Drum roll please!... De'val-tu, leader of the three teachers.

A second grand announcement, Half-Face's real name is Luar-ke. Means Moon, I'm lazy, ripped it from the narrow list of known words because it felt right.

ENJOY THE PROMPT UNDER THE CUT!

"You're over-preparing," Cir'ide deadpanned his way into the room, dropping his ass into his usual spot to shirk his duties as second in command by hiding away in the armory with Luar-ke.

"So says the man who's not been claimed by anyone, and who refuses to even bother with the breeding season at all. What do you know of the preparations for greeting a mate from the previous season? Leave me to my work if you haven't any constructive wisdom to contribute." Spat Luar-ke.

"I don't want children, therefore I don't mate, and you know that whole business is irrelevant to this subject. De'val-tu will take you regardless of what you're wearing."

"Effort is still appreciated, and it matters to me."

"We're still months from the end of the season with another exploration excursion between us and the clan world, why are you already preening so much?"

Luar-ke snorted, "because he matters to me."

Cir'ide sighed, "I cannot argue with that. Do not misunderstand me, it pleases me to see you looking forward to going home for the first time in so long, but I sense danger."

Luar-ke's mood shifted so quickly even he didn't expect what would explode from him in retaliation. Who was Cir'ide to judge De'val-tu when his own youth was marred by violations of both the law and of nature itself?

"What danger exactly? You distrust De'val-tu? His record was expunged by the council of elders. This is not a topic of discussion for you or I!"

"No! Fool, I worry your idiot brain will be so entangled in a moment months away that you'll slip up in the present moment and get yourself killed pointlessly during our next hunt!" Cir'ide fired back as he stood, posturing with a stance of authority.

Luar-ke released his hands from the garments he'd been altering, flattening his palms against the work table. This mate business had been occupying a significant majority of his thoughts recently.

"That is... A valid concern. I've been distracted. The Captain sent you?"

"No, I sent me," Cir'ide huffed and avoided eye contact purposefully, "you're the only one on this ship whose company I don't dislike and... I'd prefer it if you outlived me."

This was, in essence, the highest spoken expression of affection between warriors which existed in their culture. To tell a fellow hunter that they'd rather not exist in a universe where your warmth is extinguished is to hold another in the greatest esteem. Luar'ke immediately softened his stance. The man before him was not one to express fondness for much of anything in this life, so, to hear that stone hearted Cir'ide had developed a fondness? That was to be taken seriously.

"That is... I will try to honor that declaration with care."

"And I will help you dress yourself if it comes to that when it is time for you to go to your mate." Cir'ide jabbed, then swiped his claw in mock disapproval at his comrade's work table full of half completed new kilts in another jest. A friendly shove on Luar-ke's part was enough to send him on his way.

"Go do your job so I can put this shit away and do mine,"

"Yes, yes, but do not dare to make orders at me in the future. I still outrank you." Cir'ide leveled a warning.

Another round of playful challenge stances and snarls were exchanged. This was their language of camaraderie.

-

It, the last exploratory hunt of the season, was a disaster. Six were dead, another eight wounded. Among the fallen was the leader and captain. Cir'ide was forced to take up the mantle of leadership. No one challenged his right to step into the role, they'd needed a leader and one proven on the same battlefield his predecessor was slaughtered upon was not to be questioned.

The world had held no intelligent life, at least not in the organic sense. Evidence of a prior civilization had been present in ruins, but occupied only by self replicating automatons which may have once served an extinct people. It seemed that the technological advancements of this civilization had outgrown their ability to control it. This was the very scenario which inspired the most fear within yautja political circles. Artificial life cannot be trusted and the yautja admonished anyone who so much as suggested creating a lowly tool with self awareness and autonomy.

Now, all that could be done was fill out reports to be sent to the homeworlds, cautionary tales more than anything, and tend the wounded.

The moment Cir'ide's duties to report the incident were completed he made his way through the ship, his ship, in order to check the condition of the wounded who could be treated. Luar-ke had sustained near fatal head and facial trauma, but had been stabilized. For him and the others, their code demanded that those treated be left in their beds to either heal or succumb.

No one spoke in the barracks today. There was only the agonized moaning of those who's pain had barely begun and quietly muttered prayers for those already dead. The healthy and capable dipped their heads with respect as Cir'ide passed them. It was something to get used to, but not something he found unpleasant.

Newly attained leadership was normally a time of swollen ego and heavy drinking. Not this time. Not when the new leader's closest companion was lying on his side, facing the wall, with his face bandaged so thickly that the dressing resembled a suckling's diaper.

"Luar'ke," Cir'ide called softly as he approached his friend's place of rest.

"Leave me," he rattled quietly.

"No."

"I said leave,"

"I am our leader now, I will not leave until it suits me." Cir'ide announced as he took the nearest unoccupied stool and sat by Luar-ke's bunk.

"I've dishonored you."

"I fail to see how, you fought well, were it not for your actions more lives would have been wasted pointlessly."

"I may have died of these injuries, you'd still have been effective in leading the counter assault had I not behaved so recklessly."

"You didn't die, and even if you had, it would have been an honorable death. Songs would have been sung for you."

"But you'd have been alone here, you said so yourself when you declared the- that thing you told me,"

"But you didn't die, and a leader is always alone, Luar-ke. That is what they say, but perhaps they're wrong..."

Luar-ke had no reply for him. As softly as Cir'ide could bear to, he placed a hand upon his friend's shoulder as he lay on what could still be his death bed. "I will need a second in command,"

-

"You're over-preparing," Cir'ide trilled, prodding at Luar'ke's side with a claw to remind him to stand still and at least look at the kilts and shin guards being offered for him to borrow, "You should wear this but don't wear anything above the waist except your neck-guard. The scarring there across your gut will impress."

They were, thankfully, somewhere private. Cir'ide's advancement to leadership had afforded him his own quarters and he could entertain whoever he wished within that space. It allowed them to speak freely, even of insecurities.

"...what about from the neck up?" Luar-ke questioned softly.

Cir'ide could only echo his uncertainty in a low rumble. Luar-ke had lost an eye and both mandibles on his right side. He looked different now and although Cir'ide thought of him no differently, it was jarring the first time he saw him without the bandaging. It was still healing, swollen in some areas, raw in others, a skin graft had failed in another spot and the scar tissue was coming in thick. It was an injury which came in a moment of bravery, though. It was a battle the others on the crew had already written songs about, and Luar-ke's name is always mentioned in them. Luar-ke who gave half his visage for the victory.

Luar-ke hadn't adjusted yet to the way he looked. He hadn't exactly been handsome before but he hadn't been ugly either. Now, he felt ugly. The worst of it was the eye socket. His upper eyelid had been preserved but the rest? Chemically burned when his helm had been crushed inward and the internal power source leaked fluid onto his opened flesh. He had a tendency to drool too, which did not feel attractive at all.

"It won't matter what you wear, he'll be proud to be your mate, Luar-ke,"

Luar-ke drew in a deep breath, then let it go. For now, he had no option but to trust his leader's prediction. Tomorrow they'd dock on the Clan World, and the day after that, De'val-tu's pack would make port.

-

Luar-ke had made the decision to wear a helm at the ceremony to receive the newly blooded warriors. There were many waiting mothers and their young children in attendance, and terrorizing small children into fits of hysterics at the sight of his mangled face wasn't on his agenda.

This was the soonest he could possibly see De'val-tu, at the precise moment he and his graduated students disembarked from their vessel onto the Clan World for the breeding season.

The great old beast of a ship landed softly, but kicked up dust with hot gusts created by the landing gear engaging.

The bay doors opened, the loading ramp extended to the stony floor of the landing pad, and down they came. The students came first in rows of three. This was the first and for some the only time they'd exit a pack ship first. They were the honored ones today. For De'val-tu, it was merely the end of a long hunting season watching over nearly a dozen people only a third his age.

Ah, he looked good. De'val-tu's tresses had grown longer. It seemed that he was now trying to emulate Ki'lte, the elder shaman at his side.

Luar-ke found himself lacking in confidence. As much as he'd tried not to think about it, he could never stop imagining how his mate might react to the change, the wreckage which was his mouth, the missing teeth, the yawning socket of what had once been his eye. He might be disgusted. De'val-tu might not be able to look at him directly anymore.

He was still lost in his cruel imaginings when it became clear that he had been seen. Proud man, De'val-tu, made his way over with his usual swagger of authority. The way he walked was a part of why Luar-ke had initially found him attractive. Thickly callused hands gripped either of his shoulders before he could say a word.

"Luar-ke, I've thought of no one else for weeks. I was notified of your rank advancement on the same night my students felt the sting of their first kill's thwei. Ki'lte and I shared a drink in your honor... Why do you hide your face? Take this off so that I may see the pride in your eyes myself."

De'val-tu's palm seemed to glide over skin and up Luar-ke's neck guard with a titillating air of familiarity, but when the claw of his forefinger threatened to slip under the edge of the helm near the left jaw line, the split-second reflex was to jerk himself backward to protect his face.

There was the fact that he didn't want to be seen, and perhaps rejected in a public space, but also the suction of the mask being removed was painful if he didn't do it himself. In another reflex move, Luar-ke's arm swung over De'val-tu's to break the contact.

De'val-tu tusks momentarily flared outward until he realized the move was not out of aggression. His upper tusks clicked together the way they always do when his mind was trying to puzzle out something that didn't seem of the norm.

"What's wrong?" De'val-tu demanded to know sternly.

It was his instructor voice, which was difficult for him to turn off, so Luar-ke tried not to let his temper be affected by it. People were watching them now, that didn't help the tension any.

"I-" Luar-ke shook his head slightly at his own foul fears and moved a step forward to drop a hand on his mate's left shoulder, "I want to discuss it privately,"

De'val-tu said no more, he only turned and smoothly fell into a calm stroll, meaning to be followed. He led Luar-ke into the ship he'd only just left. Ki'lte watched them with concern in his gaze but made no move to stall them or speak.

Luar-ke felt bile churning in his guts Uncertainty gnawed at his very spirit as he followed De'val-tu to his quarters.

Luar-ke had never been within this room before. He'd been to the space De'val-tu rented in the off season last year but not onboard this vessel. This room was more Intimate, even for a place where no intimacy had ever occurred.

There were trophies which didn't have a place in the pack's shared collection but must have meant something if they were kept, bedding that had not been made since a body last slept in it, an unfinished wooden carving about the size of a fist on the side table by the bed, and a waste bin with wood shavings sitting in the bottom.

De'val-tu grabbed at the hunk of wood and tossed it to the oval shaped mattress, folding it into the sheet as if Luar-ke hadn't been meant to see it.

"Now, tell me what is wrong, Luar-ke." he sighed the words almost gently. It took what little stoicism that was left in Luar-ke and crushed it.

To simply remove the mask without warning would be to set a trap for both himself and his lover. It was impossible not to have a gut reaction to an injury like that if you aren't prepared for it. He had to tell him the story of the failed hunt.

"Our leader led us into dha-viath. Artificial life gone rogue. He was killed fairly instantaneously because he was the one running point, some of our less experienced scouts were destroyed as well. There were no bodies left to recover. I do not wish to speak of the condition of what remains were found-"

De'val-tu closed the distance between them in two steps, moving as if to take the other's concealed face in his hands. Luar'ke must have leaned backward, unconscious of the move, because the hands of his mate only hovered for a moment before stroking once down his tresses and resting on his shoulders again. To Luar'ke, De'val-tu's expression appeared pained.

"I want to know what happened to you. I worried. You stopped sending video logs for me, there was no contact for weeks, and then the written correspondences came but you would not explain the sudden change of communication preference, and now?" De'val-tu dared to say no more, but stroked around the right eye lens of the helm in front of him with a thumb.

This action struck Luar-ke as if De'val-tu had somehow sensed where the ever present dull throb which tortured him was, but he couldn't possibly know. Not yet.

Luar'ke's hands rose, slowly to avoid another physical misunderstanding, and he combed his claws through the long quills growing from either side of his mate's jaw. It was time to tell the truth. An apology would have no meaning now.

"I don't look the same. My leader tells me that my actions prevented unnecessary bloodshed and tipped the battle into our favor, but at a cost,"

De'val-tu's brows tightened together, but he did not pull away. "Show me,"

Luar'ke felt ill with shame, and his n'dui'se reeked of it, so there was no doubt De'val-tu could sense this.

Luar'ke moved carefully to remove his helm, too quickly and the sucking action which normally kept it in place would pull on the wounds where the mandibles had been amputated and they'd begin to bleed again. He could not look at his mate and did not wish to see how his expression would twist and cool at the sight. He kept his remaining eye closed as he was examined.

There were no words now, which was how most others had reacted the first time they saw him this way. What was there that could be respectability said about it? Nothing, that's what. Luar'ke only felt hands gripping him tighter. An approving purr? Finally, the scratch of De'val-tu's bristles of quills against the left, un-maimed side of his face.

Luar'ke let loose a deep rumble of relief in return. Blessed by the gods.

"You're insane if you think you are any less desirable." De'val-tu growled out with a tone of finality before pulling Luar'ke toward his bed.

FIN. For now?

[normal-thoughts-official]

No but like. This is particularly painful when you realize that up until then Sean always reacted like this

ID: Scene set in a high-tech research room. It says, "You turn and look around. The only door is the one you came in through... and it's sealed tight." Craig looks shocked and says, "No frickin' way... We're stuck in here?", with emphasis on stuck. Michelle, instead, is angry, and says, "Are you serious? No. No no no no." Zahra stays matter of fact as she says, "So that's it then. We're trapped here. No escape." And Sean, just as matter-of-factly, says, "Let's all just stay calm and not forget why we came here, okay? We're looking for a satellite uplink. Now, split up and look around. I'm sure we can find something." End ID

And like this

ID: Scene set inside the hotel lobby. Grace is sad as she says, "Everyone's thinking it. I know it's scary, and we want to keep telling ourselves that everything's okay, but we can't afford to do that anymore. So let's just say it out loud, okay?" she adds emphasis to complete, "time travel." Sean looks initially upset as he answers, "Okay, I mean, let's say sure. It's got something to do with time. I admit that's the only explanation that accounts for everything we've seen, but..." he quickly composes himself, "What matters is, what do we do about it? I think the Observatory proved one thing, and that's that no help is coming for us." End ID

Like... Sean is a problem-solver first and foremost, and I believe he needs to be always on the move to find solutions so the weight of everything that's going on won't catch up to him. When things go to shit, or get unbearably weird, he pulls himself together and keeps going. He doesn't really allow himself (or others, for that matter) to have feelings about it, because if he does, then things will only get worse for everyone involved.

And that added to his unbearable perfectionism that almost crosses over to omnipotence sometimes means that for something to bring Sean to his knees in despair is... Oof. I don't think Sean allowed himself to crumble like that even when he had his Ember of Hope scene. Like at this point you can just tell that Sean was genuinely hopeful and genuinely believed that all his hard work was going to bear fruits and this would come to an end, you know?

Especially because as they went to the marine, he was the only one who remained positive. Everyone else was discussing how terrible things are and Sean was the only one to say that everything that went down was still worth it. He said (I hit pic limit so I'll just have to transcribe this time rip):

I think [MC]'s right. Life's a test. You have to keep pushing yourself.

Which is already not exactly a. Healthy outlook on life but I mean it's consistent with his character, right? Never stop, never look back, never allow yourself to break, just keep pushing because people are counting on you. But this also implies that he believes in reward. And I think that he figure that after all this craziness, after almost dying in a volcano (and on the edge of a cliff), surely he had earned the right to go home and have some peace.

And then he didn't get that, he failed and his efforts were all for nothing, and his feelings about everything finally caught up to him when that didn't happen even when he almost died, and I just can't help but wonder exactly how much he had to endure psychologically until he finally got to the point of breaking down (in front of everyone, no less) and I just. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ID: Endless Summer scene set at the marina, where the boats are burning. The narrative says, "The inlet is lined with debris-strewn docks. Millions of dollars' worth of exquisite boats lie in ruin. Sean steps forward, his face slack. He falls to his knees." Sean says, devastated, "...How? ...Why?". End ID

I love PixelBerry's hit 2017 book, Endless Suffer