#(...kind of)

[ksficrec]

Run with the Hares (Hunt with the Hounds)

By: @brighteuphony

Link: Ao3

Words: 9k | E | tw: -- | Ongoing

--

ANBU masks are passed down. Some are so notorious they never see the light of day, and some are better off staying buried. Kakashi finds himself faced with the past when the Hound is assigned to his guard detail.

🌸 I am so excited abt this fic!!! Brand spanking new, I am beta for it, and it's going to be so much fun!! tysm to brighteuphony for writing this and indulging with me hehehe, join us on this journey

[tricking-and-ghosting]

can you promote a phantom detective to inspectre

[left-side-up]

Mars

One hour, thirty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds left.

Martyn wipes the blood from his face, still panting heavily. He won. As the red haze fades from his mind, so does the ecstasy of victory.

He's the last one standing. It's over. So why is his clock still ticking?

For the first time since becoming red, he's... numb. His eyes land on Scott's body.

"Come on," he whispers, as if breaking the silence would wake his teammate, as if anything could wake Scott now. "Time to go home."

One hour, six minutes, and ten seconds left.

It takes Martyn a while to carry Scott's body back to the Coral Isles and begin digging. He furrows his brow as he pushes the shovel into the earth, hoping the minimal enchantments will save him some time. He has to get this done. Has to make up for what he did, even if it's just a small gesture like this.

(Has to keep his mind off of the memories that have been slipping into his head since he killed Impulse. Soulmates, spyglasses, snow. Things that were stolen from him long ago.)

He groans as the shovel hits stone, then pulls out his pickaxe. This is going to take longer than he'd hoped.

Thirty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds left.

Martyn almost sheds a tear of relief when the grave is finally deep enough. Instead, he spends those precious seconds setting down the shovel and going to pick up Scott.

He's badly burned from the lava, and the stab wound has left his shirt covered in blood. He'd hate that Martyn is leaving him in such a filthy set of clothes, but he'd also hate the idea of Martyn swapping his shirt out for him. It probably doesn't matter all that much- he's going to be covered in dirt either way.

"Alright, Smajor," Martyn tells him. "Time to rest."

He lowers his teammate into the grave.

(A fellow soldier of Dogwarts. A canary. And now, his Mean Gill. Though he didn't know it when he began digging, he's done this before.)

Once Scott is settled, Martyn picks the shovel back up. His work isn't finished yet.

Eleven minutes and fifty-one seconds left.

At last, Scott is put to rest, and Martyn is free to lie down and breathe.

The ocean breeze pushes his hair out of his face. He's acutely aware of the dried blood and sweat on his skin, but he can't be bothered with it. He's not spending his last ten minutes alive taking a bath.

Besides, he knows the feeling won't go away no matter how hard he scrubs at the grime.

With nothing to keep him busy, the swarm of memories attacks him with renewed fervor. A lonely bastion. A group of towers. A castle, drained of its warmth. A resentful soulbound, a traitorous group of four, a unified army. Everything bleeds together and pulls him in every direction he's ever been in. Each path leads to one thing.

Guilt.

Guilt for leaving the one person who was supposed to be by his side until the end. For letting each and every one of his friends die before him. For failing to protect his king.

And now, for killing his only friend in the world.

He lets himself drown in it.

One minute and forty-seven seconds left.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The grave doesn't respond. Graves don't tend to respond to apologies.

"I think I'm only capable of being truly loyal to one person. And he's found his way out of this hell, so... yeah."

The waves crash against the beach. The sand in the hourglass trickles down.

One minute and nineteen seconds left.

"I didn't know that I was going to betray you. If this happens again- if this cursed game keeps going, I need you to find better allies, yeah? Don't trust me. I don't want to backstab you again."

He opens his eyes to find the sky clear and blue for the first time in a while. It's been filled with smoke and ash for the past few days, but it seems to have finally cleared up.

Thirty-six seconds left.

Martyn grabs the banner from his belt. He didn't know what it meant when he made it. He just knew that it felt right.

Now, he stares at the red flag of Dogwarts again, and he misses someone.

"I hope you found your way out this game for good. Not because I don't miss you. I just... want you to be happy."

Twenty seconds left.

"I wish I'd had time to apologize to you too. I wish we'd met somewhere nicer."

Thirteen seconds left.

"But there's no point in wishing here, is there?"

Eight seconds left.

Martyn holds the banner to his chest. Looks at the grave beside him. Closes his eyes again.

Four seconds left.

"Goodbye, Scott. Bye, Ren."

Three.

Two.

One.

[botanicalbasilly]

Commission done for the totally-tubular @sparklehoard !! I was given free reign to do whatever I wanted to this fella, so what could I do but turn him into a seal-maid?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

...Hold your horses, what is this newfangled commission thing?

[fried-shrimp-tempura]

who up washing they worm rn

[thedragonlies]

im so sorry but this is all I can think of every time I draw his fine, silky hair... king cornthur pendragon

[sui-imi]

he saw my recent drawings

[ranfren-confessions]

I think if there was a crossover between the game identity x ranfren, I imagine this; Randal as an embalmer, Satoru as a seer, Luther as a composer, Nyen as a mercenary, Sebastian as an acrobat, (I didn't think about who Nyon could be, perhaps the doctor even though she is a woman, just as Robert and the ratmans could be the dream witch)

[dinofigureoftheday]

Dino figure of the day: IWAKO Parasaurolophus Puzzle Eraser

[lunian]

scariest thing in playing DA:Inquisition for me so far is now realizing that if my character was an elven woman I would def fall for fckin Solas' romance

[carousel-moth]

hey remember that barbecue fanchild

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

day 1015

a tale told in 4 parts

[thirdsonofeve]

conclave au where bellini wins the papacy with a 100% vote after drawing tedesco pregnant (still vaping) and lawrence adds copies of the picture to the dossiers on tremblay's simony

[galaxgay]

I cannot imagine what went through Crowley's head when he saw Aziraphale cry. Crowley essentially said "I don't love you- not that much" with that "No nightingales" line. A very offensively worded boundary.

I'm sure he expected some sort of heavenly-coded snarky retort because Aziraphale doesn't emote his own genuine emotions, he only repeats what he's been told, but no, Aziraphale simply shuts his mouth and cries. There is no heaven there, only Aziraphale's raw exposed greif. A rare thing- if its ever even happened before.

She didn't want to hurt him, he was just frustrated and desperate to set a boundary and make him see that it was heaven that was continually tearing them apart. So they snap, and kiss him- an apology, a plead, a "please open your eyes and meet me half way for once".

But damage has been dealt and in a moment of hurt, emotional self preservation, Aziraphale sputters out an "I forgive you." A wall has been redrawn. Heaven's influence has snapped back in place.

Aziraphale has "won". Crowley hit him with a devastating truth, and Aziraphale fired back with a tragic lie.

[fantastic-nonsense]

if you're still doing the WIP meme, 👀?

Sure! I'm actually going to share one that I'm determined to finish by the end of the year (even if it probably won't get posted by then). I'm manifesting.

She inhaled. Be brave, Inej. Show him your spine. She straightened her back, looked him in the eye, and took the knife, weighing it in her hands. Marina, the caravan’s trick artist, had taught her how to throw knives to hit targets when she was nine years old. But it had been years since then, and she’d never worked with a blade this large or heavy. She tried flicking it up into the air anyway, smiling in satisfaction and relief when it flipped twice and sailed smoothly back into her palm. Kaz’s eyebrows raised minutely, his analytical gaze assessing her.  “Circus tricks aren’t much use here,” he said, but she heard a note of satisfied approval in his voice. “I still expect you to learn how to use it properly.” She suddenly felt bold. Bold like two weeks ago when she called out to him in the Menagerie. Bold like five minutes ago when she angrily asked him what else her job would entail. Bold enough to be Inej Ghafa again and not Heleen's Lynx. “Maybe I’ll use it on you,” she said, flicking her eyes from the blade’s lethally sharp edge to Kaz’s equally sharp eyes. He sighed, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “If only you were that bloodthirsty.”

from the Sankt Petyr section of 'To Build a Legend'

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)