#Intel i-g Issues

[techbloggingfool]

Intel i-9 CPU Issues: From Failures to Fixes

Where to start this months long saga? Initially, my i-9 and MSI MAG z790 Tomahawk WiFi motherboard seemed to be a big upgrade. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until some games and apps would completely crash my system to a powered off state. There was a fairly low occurrence rate when the issue started, but it happened more over time. I checked everything multiple times. I disassembled and rebuilt…

[kybercrystals94]

Eyes Wide Open

Read on Ao3 here!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Comfort Zone

Rated: G | Words: 2109

Summary:

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

A prank does not go as planned.

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

Echo huffs, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s part of his enhancement,” Crosshair says.

The sniper is lounging against the wall with the port Echo is scomped into, idly gnawing on a toothpick with his helmet tucked under his arm, rifle hanging uselessly in his other hand. Echo casts him a vexed glance. “Shouldn’t you be covering my six?

“I am.”

“With your helmet on? And your weapon ready?” 

“It’s an abandoned outpost,” Crosshair scoffs. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Well, then, can you at least stop distracting me? I’m trying to concentrate.” 

Crosshair snorts. “I’m giving you vital information about our squad’s dynamics.” 

“Sure you are,” Echo grumbles. 

“If you don’t believe me, ask Tech. He’ll tell you.” 

“Or maybe I’ll ask Wrecker.” 

“Sure.” 

Echo twists to look up at Crosshair. “You’re being serious? Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?” 

“It’s unsettling, but it’s true,” Crosshair says, shrugging. “But whatever you do, don’t tell Hunter you know. He’s very self conscious about it.” 

Echo narrows his eyes, watching for any twitch of a tell in Crosshair’s features. Crosshair stares back, unflinching, which means nothing. Of the Batch, he seems to be the most apt at lying. Turning back to his task, Echo says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Fine by me,” Crosshair says with a shrug. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Echo told me something interesting,” Crosshair says, trailing after Hunter as they leave their meeting with command. 

Hunter isn’t paying attention, reading over their new mission parameters before Tech gets ahold of them. “Yeah?” he asks, absently. 

“He said he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

“Uh, huh.” 

“That’s it? Did you even hear what I said?” 

The ire in Crosshair’s tone makes Hunter look back at him. “What?”

Crosshair sighs. “I said, Echo told me something interesting.”

Hunter quirks an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“He said that he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

Hunter laughs. “What does that mean?” 

“It means he literally sleeps with his eyes open. Something to do with his cybernetics.” 

“He’s pulling your leg, Cross.” 

“I’ve seen it.” 

Now Hunter stops, turning to look at Crosshair dubiously. “You’ve seen Echo sleep with his eyes open.” 

“Several times.”  

Hunter considers this a moment, then regards Crosshair with a disconcerted expression. “You know, it’s kinda creepy that you watch Echo while he sleeps.” 

“I don’t watch him sleep,” Crosshair sputters. 

“That’s kind of what you just said.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes and walks away, missing Hunter’s grin of triumph. It isn’t hard to annoy the sniper…but embarrassing him was a special kind of achievement. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Echo almost asks Tech about Hunter, then he almost asks Wrecker. The issue is that if he caves to the surmounting curiosity, and it turns out this is some sort of prank…everyone will know he fell for it and he’ll look like a gullible dolt. Then again, Crosshair had seemed genuine. It would be a weird thing to lie about. What would he gain from it? (Besides the obvious prize of making Echo appear idiotic.) In the end, Echo decides that he’ll just have to verify the intel for himself, do some recon. How hard can it be to catch Hunter asleep and just…investigate.

Apparently, absolutely kriffing impossible. 

For whatever reason (further piquing Echo’s interest), Hunter always sleeps with his back to the room. To investigate would mean to lean precariously over the hyper sensitive clone. Like that’s gonna happen with Echo’s prosthetics and cybernetics whirring and screaming his location at all times. 

A standard week later, Echo still doesn’t know if Hunter sleeps with his eyes open, but he is almost positive the man has eyes in the back of his head. 

A rare stint on Kamino finds Echo sitting at the table, facing Hunter’s bunk, waiting and hoping that the clone tucked inside turns over in his sleep and finally puts this rumor to rest…so to speak. 

Abruptly, Hunter rolls over and pins Echo with a bleary glare. “What are you doing?” he growls, voice rough with sleep. 

Echo stammers, holding up a dark data pad as frail evidence. “Reading?” An internal smack to the forehead as he wonders why he posed his answer as a question.  

“You’ve been watching me sleep. Why?” 

“I’m not,” Echo protests. 

“You are,” Hunter insists. 

Echo squirms under the scrutiny, face aflame with embarrassment. “Just something Crosshair said…I was trying to figure out if it was true.” 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Did he tell you I sleep with my eyes open?” 

Echo gapes. This can go one of two very different ways. Either Hunter admits that it’s true, or he tells Echo that he’s an idiot for believing a syllable out of the sniper’s mouth. Echo is not mentally prepared for either scenario. 

“Well, it’s not true,” Hunter deadpans. “Although, Cross told me that you told him that you sleep with your eyes open because of something to do with your cybernetics.”

Echo frowns. “Did you believe him?”

Hunter grins, flopping over onto his back and covering his eyes with the crook of one arm. “No, because I’m not an idiot.” 

“He said it had to do with your enhancement,” Echo defends himself, but that just makes Hunter laugh.  

“And you just believed him?” Hunter asks, still chuckling. 

Echo doesn’t want to dignify the obviously rhetorical question with a response, so he awakens his data pad with an irritable tap, and begins to sort through meaningless tabs hoping that Hunter will just drop it, and that he won’t tell Crosshair about any of it. 

“Ah, don’t feel bad, Echo,” Hunter says, still hiding half his face under his arm. “Cross messing with you means he likes you. You’re officially part of the squad. Getting harrassed by Crosshair is practically a right of passage.”

“Does it ever stop?” Echo mutters. 

Of course Hunter hears him. “No, but you get used to it.” 

Echo swears under his breath. “Goody.” 

A few minutes pass and Echo thinks that Hunter has fallen back asleep; however, the sergeant lifts his arm. “I have an idea to get him back…if you’re interested.”

Oh, Echo is very interested.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“You were right about Echo,” Hunter says, walking alongside Crosshair. 

Crosshair is pushing a cart of supplies from the armory. This is usually a task completed by Wrecker and Crosshair; however, Hunter had volunteered to go when Wrecker was occupied helping Tech with inventory counts…a task Hunter usually did with Tech. 

“What are you talking about?” Crosshair asks. 

Hunter glances around and lowers his voice. “About him sleeping with his eyes open.” 

Crosshair carefully keeps his expression from twitching into a look of surprise. “Of course I was right. Why would I lie about something like that?” 

“To make me a kriffing creeper like you,” Hunter says, bumping his shoulder into Crosshair. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes, remembering how this conversation went a few weeks ago. “I don’t watch him sleep!” 

“Fine, you don’t…but you were right! I couldn’t believe it. I asked Tech about it, and he said it is one of the side effects of his internal cybernetics. Sometimes Echo forgets to close his eyes if he falls asleep too fast.” 

That actually kind of made sense. Crosshair smirks. “You’re telling me this like I didn’t already know.” 

“I’m just saying, I’m sorry for doubting you,” Hunter says humbly. “It’s actually a good thing you told me. When I talked to Tech, he said that it is important that we close Echo’s eyes for him if he falls asleep with them open. They dry out and are painful once he wakes up.” 

Crosshair hums. He isn’t sure what he thinks of that. Maybe Echo should learn to fall asleep slower if drying his eyes out is that huge of a problem. 

Hunter claps Crosshair’s shoulder soundly. “Thank you for looking out for our squadmate. I know it’s been an adjustment incorporating Echo into the squad, but when we all put in the effort, it will be an even more seamless transition.” 

“Sure,” Crosshair mutters, feeling uncomfortable under the glowing praise. Hunter isn’t usually so flowery, and Echo’s adapting to the dynamics of Clone Force 99 hasn’t been that difficult. A few missteps here and there, but overall, the reg seemed able to keep up. 

Crosshair shrugs off the awkwardness of the situation and hopes he is never the one who sees that Echo has fallen asleep with his eyes open.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

He isn’t so lucky. 

A standard week later, a mission forces them to travel twelve hours in hyperspace. Once the mission parameters have been established, the Batch disperse to do their own tasks. Echo announces that he is exhausted and is going to take a nap. He tells his new brothers that he does not want to be disturbed unless it is a matter of life or death. Then, he stretches out on the lower bunk, turns his back to the room, and is softly snoring a few minutes later. 

Crosshair is doing what he usually does on a long space journey: taking apart his entire rifle and putting it back together after polishing each individual piece. He is nearly done putting the rifle back together when Echo rolls over with a loud sigh. Crosshair glances up and freezes mid attaching one rifle piece to another. 

Echo is staring at him, unblinking. Well. Not at him, more like, through him. It’s terrifying. 

Crosshair glances at the cockpit where Tech, Hunter and Wrecker are. If he could get one of them to come back here, maybe they’d see Echo’s predicament and handle it themselves, Crosshair could claim not to have noticed. 

Another option is to wake Echo up. Crosshair isn’t scared of Echo, not even intimidated; however, putting an ARC on the warpath for disturbing his sleep seems like an unwise decision if Crosshair doesn’t want to face retaliation. 

The third option, the option Crosshair is loath to even consider, is to get up and close Echo’s eyes himself. Knowing there is no one around to hear him, Crosshair breathes out a whine, dropping his head back against the wall and sagging his shoulders. He really, really does not want to do this. 

Echo continues to stare. 

Unseeing. Unblinking. 

Just staring, staring right through Crosshair. 

With another hissed sound of disdain, Crosshair puts aside his rifle pieces and stands up. How does one even close someone’s eyes? You just prise their eyelids down? Won’t that wake them up? These questions plague Crosshair’s mind as he creeps forward, trying not to make eye contact with the sleeping ARC. It’s just so weird…

He stands in front of the bunk, sighs again, and kneels down, crouched on his heels. He reaches up slowly, hating every painful second of this. 

A hand catches his wrist and a voice says, low and cryptic, “Gotcha.” 

Crosshair does not scream. He will die on that hill. But the way his heart leaps into his throat and lodges there makes him fall backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. 

Echo is laughing hysterically, dropping Crosshair’s wrist as he sits up. A combination of the laughter and whatever thing made the unholy, panicked squawk draw the attention of the three persons in the cockpit. 

Hunter is grinning wide enough that Crosshair knows for an absolute fact that the idiot was in on the whole thing. 

“What were you doing, Cross?” Echo asks between gasps of laughter. 

Crosshair pushes himself to his feet and stands stiffly, arms crossed, wishing he had a toothpick to break between his teeth. “You know exactly what I was doing. It was a set up.” 

“What happened?” Wrecker asks, looking wounded at being left out of whatever Echo and Hunter found hilarious. 

“Echo fell asleep with his eyes open,” Hunter says, chuckling. 

Tech adjusts his goggles. “That is a condition known as nocturnal lagophthalmos. I was not aware Echo had it. Fascinating.” 

“He doesn’t have it,” Crosshair grouses. “Hunter lied to me.” 

Hunter looks shocked. “You’re the one who told me Echo had that.” 

“And you’re the one who told me that Hunter did,” Echo puts in, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Wrecker frowns. “Wait? So Hunter sleeps with his eyes open too?” 

“Neither of them do,” Crosshair growls. 

“Crosshair tried to trick Echo and I, so we got him back,” Hunter says, looking far too proud of himself. 

“So it was you that screamed like a prepubescent cadet?” Tech asks Crosshair with a grin. 

“I did not scream,” Crosshair says firmly. 

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Echo says. 

Wrecker is laughing now. “Wait, wait, tell me the whole story.”

Echo happily starts from the beginning. 

END

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[mixedupmojo]

borrowers of Gotham

Just something I've had in my WIP for a while now after I ended up falling down the rabbit hole of borrowers and g/t again and read a bunch of crossover stuff with the marvel and DC universe's. anyway it got me thinking about borrowers in Gotham. only this time with more of a feature on the villains side of things as I've noticed a lot of borrower crossover content seems to focus on the hero's which don't get me wrong I love it's just where are my villains at.

Being a borrower in Gotham city would be hard. It’s tough enough for regular Gothamites but for someone around 5 inches’ tall, tough wouldn't even begin to describe it. However, there are some advantages.

-The big one being pretty much invisible to the entire population of Gotham. Let me explain with everything that goes on in Gotham city. Gotham's residents are much too busy with their own lives and problems to ever really stop and take notice of the small inconsistences and missing items cause by the presence of a borrower. and even if a borrower does get spotted most gothamites will just brush it off as a trick of the eye or contribute it to sleep deprivation. after all saying that you just saw a little person no bigger than a child's doll steal your paperclips is crazy talk and no one wants to get branded with that label.

-Another good thing is resources. Borrowing is never an issue as there always something around. I think that this would be the case for borrowers in most city's overall not just exclusive to Gotham, However where Gotham differs is that it has the advantage of there being a lot more rare and unique items that just seem to gravitate towards the city. Not to mention the technology, Gotham is the forefront of a lot of scientific and technological projects which borrower can gain easy access to. Using what they have learnt or gathered to help them survive and improve their borrowing skills. In short there are always good pickings in Gotham

The majority of borrowers in Gotham are nomadic in nature as while there are a few good places to set up a permanent residence. Unfortunately there is no guarantee that it will last long due to Gotham city being the way it is.

Water is never an issue. as while the average Gotham citizen has to deal with water shortages due to the city's water supply being poisoned on a semi regular bases, borrowers don't really have this issue. As the borrower community gets all their water from the rain.(the only time poisoning is an issue is when one of the villains has dispersed chemicals via aerial attack) with there even being specific rain collecting stations set up all over the city for any and all borrowers to use at their leisure. These station are the perfect place for different borrower groups to meet up and compare intel or just have a good gossip about the goings on in the city.

I also think that unlike in other places Gotham's borrowers are very adept medics, After all they have to deal with super villain attacks on a near day to day basis. Borrowers with a high amount of medical knowledge would live very cushy lives, to the point where they have no need to actually borrow anymore, as they are highly sought after for their skills, With other borrowers willing to trade almost anything to get the medical care they might need. There are also specific groups that are commissioned by borrower medics to borrow from the nearby hospital's and pharmacy's so that the medics always have the supplies they need. These groups are usually paid with whatever the medics receive from their clients. usually both groups will often end up splitting everything fifty/fifty. So yeah medics are basically top of the food chain in the borrower world.

another thing, with this in mind I think that Gotham's borrowers would be on some of the best survivalist. Next to the average borrower they are on a completely different level I mean Let's face it their day to day would probably be comparable to apocalypse survival with everything that gets thrown at them. their basically the Bear Grylls of the borrower world with other borrowers being In awe and fear of them.

I don't know why but I feel like Gotham's borrowers would have a serious strong sense of community and won't hesitate to help one another out. I mean sure there are probably a few bad apples here and there but for some reason I think that the majority would go out of their way to help one another out. After all It's no secret that borrowers have to fight tooth and nail for survival but in Gotham this would be amped up to eleven. 

I am a fan of the concept that borrowers have their own symbol system.(shout out @tohorseyneigh2002 and @tiny-james for this idea) as a way to communicate with one another and warn of any danger such as: if a house has pet’s or not. With this in mind I fully believe the borrowers of Gotham would have symbols specifically dedicated to batman and the rogue’s gallery. Some of these include:

-three diamond's symbolises Harley Quinn and if its accompanied by paw prints or is in the colours pink and green then that means bud and Luo are currently with her

-question mark is obviously for the Riddler

-a umbrella for penguin whether its open or closed signals whether he's currently active or not

-poison ivy is represented with flowers and to any outsiders visiting Gotham for the first time they think it’s just a bit of pretty art until it's too late that is

-the mad hatter has two symbols to represent him one being a top hat the other a tea cup and saucer

- a big red grin with teeth symbolises the joker these often seem to be drawn very Shakely or in a rush for pretty obvious reasons 

-Mr freeze symbol is a snowflake though the symbol isn't always needed as it's always bitingly cold whenever he's around

-a reptilian eye with a slit down the middle for killer croc this is usually found deep within Gotham's swear systems and is vital for informing travellers Waylon's current location. if the eye has been scuffed or crossed out it mean that he is no longer living in that area of the swear system and borrowers will often use this as a trail of bread crumbs to show them the best way to get about while advoiding him

-obviously a basic cat face symbol for catwoman however to distinguish it from the regular house pet symbol Selina's cat has a diamond shape in the centre of its forehead after all she is Gotham's best cat burglar

-scarecrows symbol is especially creepy as it is of a figure on a cross. any out of towners currently visiting Gotham get really freaked out when seeing it and if their wise will avoid that area completely which is for the best

-twoface's symbol is a coin and it is either depicted with or without the signature scratch marks

-a black skull for black mask

-for clayface he is represented by the mask of tragedy this is a call back to his time as an actor and a reference to what his life has become

-there aren’t really specific symbols for each mob/crime families such as the Falcones or the Maronis. as while they are threats there nowhere near the same level as the rogues gallery as such they have all kinda been grouped together with their symbol being a gun with different colours and marks on the handle to indicate the threat level. The major crime family's will have three stripes on the handle done in red while lesser crime groups may only have two or one and in the colours of either red, yellow or green (basically a different version of the traffic light system) that way borrowers have a better idea of just how exactly dangerous the group may be.

now it's not just the rouges gallery that has symbols like I mentioned before the batfam and even some of the GCPD have their own

-all of the batfamily share the same iconic bat symbol in some variant form but a few of them each have their own personal symbols as well

-not surprisingly batman's symbol is his own iconic symbol but with the addition of a yellow outline around the edge

-now onto the sidekicks for the longest time the symbol for robin (back when dick wore the mantel) was of a black circle with a yellow R in the middle but after dick became Nightwing and Jason took the title the symbol became the universal symbol for new robins. Until they eventually grow out of it and the borrowing community then has come up with a whole new symbol for that hero.(it doesn’t help the fact that batman can't seem to stop adopting new children)

-Nightwing's symbol is of a robin with its wing spread and a blue breast instead of the classic red. He also has the classic bat symbol but with a blue outline around the edge and a blue v shaped breast like his robin symbol

-red hood symbol is of his iconic red mask and his bat symbol also shares this with the head of the bat being red

-red robin similar to Nightwing's, Tim's symbol is also a robin only this time the robin has the traditional red breast. For the bat version of his symbol it’s the classic black bat with a yellow x mark running across the chest

-robin, for the longest time Damian's symbol was of the universal robin symbol but after a while it change to a robin with a red breast and green and yellow wings. He doesn’t have a bat symbol yet, as most are still just using the original robin symbol in reference to him

-bat girl when it was Barbra Gordon who held the title, the symbol was a purple and yellow version of the bat symbol in an oval but when she became oracle it changed to an eye with the bat symbol above it. and when Cassandra Cain adopted the mantel the symbol became a pure yellow version of the bat symbol with black strips running up the sides kind of an inverted version of her own costume

-spoiler symbol is of her purple hood with the face blanked out giving it a very reperesque look. Her bat symbol is done in purple with a black face as a way to represent the iconic hood part of her costume

-signal symbol is of the bat symbol with a sun surrounding it as he is after all the only bat's that’s most active during the day

-the GCPD is represented with the outline of a police badge

-commissioner Gordon symbol is also a police badge but with a star in the middle. however there is also another symbol that gets used far less often and yet everyone still seems to know the meaning and that is of a moustache

-corrupt cops will have the shield symbol but with a red slash through it

-(also half way through writing this I realised that not all borrowers might have access to coloured pens/paint but after going back over it I think I've given them enough diversity in symbols that any borrower lacking art supplies has a mix of symbols to choose from) 

Borrowers actively choosing to live in rouge hideouts. Now I know this might seem crazy but hear me out. Most of the rouges galley actively reside in abandoned builds which are guaranteed to be in not so pristine condition meaning that there is a high chance of mice and rats. This makes it a lot easier for a borrower to stay hidden as suspicions are not arosued as much as everyone just puts the blame on the rodents. Another good thing about these spaces is that there are multiple places to hide and reside in, not to mention already made holes and structures that make it very easy for a borrower to get from point a to b. the henchmen are also a great source of food and supplies, as they will often order mass amounts of takeout only to leave it laying around or outright abandon it due to being called into action by whoever boss they are serving. Also I doubt some of these guys make cleaning an active priority meaning food can be left out for days on end. Giving a borrower ample time to grab a decent and very easy meal. All in all it may be high risk but comes with a high reward

Another good place to live is surprisingly the GCPD precinct. As the place is always being thrown into some form of chaos so nobody has any time to really stop notice the fact that there are little people living in the walls as there are bigger and deadlier threats to focus on. Like living with the rouges there is always a good surplus of food and supplies available. Not to mention there is pretty much a rotating door of staff, either with people being unable to cope with the job or unfortunately meeting an untimely end while working. As such there are very few people who have been around long enough to really stop and take notice. One of those few people being commissioner Gordon he's figured out there's something going on but doesn't really have the time nor the drive to look into it. As he's figured that whatever is living in the walls is harmless enough and he doesn’t mind sharing his work space with them.

No borrower will set foot in arkham asylum and those who have are forever haunted by the experience (there are a lot of reasons why borrowers won't go there but one of the big ones is that for a while there was a rumour going round of borrowers going missing only to end up as experiments of one Dr strange)

Because of the effect the rouges gallery has had on Gotham I think that the borrowing community would be very industrial/scientifically advanced more so than any other borrowing group that could be found in the world. And this is because in order to survive here they have to stay one step ahead (or at least in time) of the game.

Due to the likes of poison ivy, joker and scarecrow the borrowers had to quickly figure out and construct effective gas masks and they are now considered an essential items that no one is without. Whenever visiting borrowers come into the city one of the first things that the locals will do is make sure that they get kitted out with their very own. Even if they are only passing through its better to be safe than sorry.

due to the likes of Mr freeze borrowers have to be prepared for extreme weather changes. As a bright sunny day can suddenly turn artic, or there have been moments where borrowers have just been going about their business hidden underneath the floor or within the walls, when suddenly everything around them starts freezing over and they have to make a quick escape or risk becoming a popsicle. this becomes so common placed that it becomes known as being freezed out

ok sudden thought while writing the last one Gotham borrowers developing their own slang over time

Any borrower that goes near Selina Kyle place has to be ready to bribe the local cat population, as her home is always swarming with cats. as such if you happen to be going that way it's always a good idea to have some type of cat treat on hand just in case.

The iceberg lounge is a place that many borrowers avoid. as not only is it freezing cold but Oswald Cobblepot keeps it in pristine condition. Meaning that it is very hard if not dam near impossible to borrow anything. The iceberg lounge is after all a classy place and Oswald intends to keep it that way. Food is kept neatly stored away and any leftovers are immediately thrown out, everywhere is cleaned on the regular and the moment anyone suspects so much as a hint of a mouse, traps are immediately put out and the exterminator is being called. Another thing is that there are not any really good places to hide. The main part of the lounge for example has been design to be a very open and spacious place making it extremely hard for a borrower to get from a to b without the inevitable risk of someone seeing them.

Another reason borrowers avoid the places where Oswald resides is because of the birds. It is well known that Oswald has a vast collection of multiple different breeds of birds, the majority of which are predator species that regularly hunt and kill small animals. not a good thing if you happen to fit in that category yourself.

Following that train of thought the same can be said for scarecrow. As Jonathan crane has pretty much befriended the entire corvid population of Gotham. however unlike Oswald's birds, jonathans crows can be reasoned with. Just like Salinas cats they can be bribed with food or shiny items in exchange for safe passage. However the crows have now come to expect this and anyone without something to trade is immediately attacked. Most borrowers in these cases will sacrifice handmade tools, accessories or even their own clothing in an attempt to appease the birds. also as an interesting side note Jonathon has trained the crows/ravens to help him out in his criminal endeavours, training them to steel priceless trinkets or help drop fear toxin on Gotham that sort of thing. as such sometimes instead of the usual priceless jewels or stolen artifacts he has come to expect sometimes the crows will instead bring him the tiny items that the borrowers have traded. So Jonathan now has a curious collection of borrower items that were exchanged in a pinch when they didn't have anything else on them.

The sewers of Gotham being a great mode of transportation as it allows borrowers to get from point a to b while avoiding a lot of hazards that they would have to deal with if they were traveling above ground. it is still however really dangerous as the sewers are home to killer croc.   most of the time borrowers who use the sewers to travel will disguise themselves to look like rats so they can get around safely.

Any greenhouses or places which poison ivy is currently using are avoided like the plague. Now you might think taking up residence in a greenhouse would be a good idea, after all it offers great hiding spaces, good resources, protection from predators and if some of the plants are fruit bearing a great source of food. and you would be right however if poison ivy is around then that greenhouse goes from safe haven to death trap. This is because the majority of plants that she keeps are man eaters or toxic in some shape or form. Not to mention ivy is always experimenting with new forms of toxins

If Jervis ever got hold of a borrower he would at some point try to shove them into a tea pot and forces them to play the role of the door mouse.

The Riddler setting up miniature puzzle traps. Originally Edward thought he had a mouse problem and went about dealing with said problem the usual way, by setting up your standard mouse traps. But after a while he noticed that they didn't seem to be working (which of course they wouldn't as borrowers aren’t mice and know how to avoid/deactivate them). So he upped the ante, hoping this time they would work, but when they failed again he decided to add some of his own riddler brand flare to the traps (at this point curiosity got the better of him and he wanted to test how smart these mice are. But as we know they aren’t mice). Thinking that he'll finally managed to catch them but imagine his surprise when they once again manage to escape. now he's determined to catch and see what kind of super human mice he's dealing with. Meanwhile the borrowers are really having to put their brains to the test as they are doing everything in their power to avoid getting caught.    

once during a coin toss over the fate of some unfortunate soul two-face accidently lost his coin. With it rolling under a piece of nearby furniture before conveniently falling down a hole in the floorboards and rolling right into the home of one unlucky borrower who upon realizing what had happened, had to return it as quickly as possible before two-faces goons ripped up the entire floor and destroyed their home looking for the blasted thing. (the did manage it in the end but it was an extremely close call)

There is legend of one borrower having accidently encountering the joker and walking away from the experience unscathed and that is only because the joker was seriously sleep deprived at the time and they were able to convince him that they were a figment of his imagination which then led to a very interesting but tenses conversation about rubber ducks of all things 

Borrowers bragging whenever they manage to borrow something of semi importance from one of the rouges gallery. Now just to clarify these are not the items you might be thinking of such as gems, money or personal effects that belong to a specific rouge such as two faces coin. nothing that would fall into the realms of stealing as borrowers don't steal instead these items are thing that you could only get from a rouge but nothing that they would miss such as; riddlers doodle of a question mark, penguins pen, string from scarecrows mask, a feather or baubles from mad hatter hat, a bell from one of catwomans cats ect…

Younger borrowers often imitating or trying to outdo the Batfam stunts. This is mostly in relation to Nightwing as he does a lot of really cool acrobatic stunts that the younger generation have just got to try but every now and then some of the more senior borrowers will give it a go and show off their own athletic abilities, to and quote "show the young one's how it's done". and before you asks yes pretty much every borrower in Gotham has their own version of a grabbling hook

Some Borrower's dress extremely weird. wearing strange colours, tight fitted clothing, some form of tool belt this is in case they get spotted they can just clam that they are a visiting hero from out of town with shrinking powers.

Batman is fully aware of Gotham's borrower population and has set up various schemes in order to help them. using his influence as Bruce Wayne he's been able to get multiple projects approved under the guise of wildlife protection. Installing "animal homes" such as bird/bat boxes, toad houses and even heated cat shelters, drinking fountains for dogs/cats and "toad tunnels" for under the roads. most of Gotham's denizens question how some of these things will actually help but just chalk it up to their favourite billionaire wanting to help in any way he can.

Gotham borrowers and metropolis borrowers having an insane rivalry with each other. Going out of their way to play pranks and get under one another's skin. The most notorious incident was when a group of metropolis borrowers covered the bat signal in silly stickers (an act which the joker and Harley Quinn both got the blame for, to this day they still have no idea what the GCPD are taking about whenever it gets brought up) in retaliation the Gotham borrowers arranged an operation where a small group infiltrated the daily planet and were able to draw a moustache on the picture of superman that was going to be used for the next day's paper. by some stroke of lucky nobody noticed the altered image and it did actually go to print. For days after Clark had people coming up to him as superman and asking what happen to his moustache. the daily planet had to issue an apology and to this day Clark thinks Bruce was the one responsible.

due to the batfams influence a lot of borrowers have ended up experimenting with gliders. Seeing as the ground isn't always the safest way to travel and the fact the Gotham is made up of various high rise building it makes sense that borrowers would experiment with this form of travel. And due to the likes of your favourite bat themed hero some have even modelled their gliders to look like bats both as a form of camouflage and as a way to pay homage to their city.

And on one final note borrowers hanging out on top of Gotham skyscrapers, challenging themselves to climb to the highest point before sitting back and relaxing. gazing out onto their city below, watching as the lights of the city twinkle in the night and the people scurry on by as the bat signal lights up in the distance and occasionally getting jumped scared as a member of the Batfam or batman himself lands not too far from where they are chilling.

Well this ended up being more about the city of Gotham than I originally planned but if you enjoyed this stay tuned because I will be doing individual headcannons for each of the rouges

Ps. Sorry for any spelling mistakes

[solaria5]

Donation goal - Help me keep drawing

I've been drawing for 3 years on a really crappy laptop... (the best one I could buy for around $250 back then)

Processor: Intel CELERON 1.10GHz RAM: 4GB (3,82GB usable) (Imagine having 4GB in 2025 💀) Storage: 58.3GB (80% used by the system) 😭 I literally don't have any games installed...

Since then I've been dealing with issues like I can't have the browser open at the same time as another program, or Medibang Paint suddenly closing, in other cases the computer just shuts down without warning... And today, I lost all progress on a commission because the file simply became corrupted, this has caused me to accumulate a lot of frustration and stress, as well as having to reject complex commissions because my PC simply can't handle it once I reach a high number of layers in Medibang Paint.

I feel like I'm stuck because I can't make complex pieces and expand my skills due to technical limitations.

I haven't been able to save anything these months due to rent and I've had to turn down complex commissions which also prevents me from generating more income, this is my only job and I love what I do, but without an appropriate work tool, I might not be able to continue with this...

I'm not looking for a super crazy PC, but I want something good and quality that will last me a long time, and I might also have to replace my Wacom Intuos BT S that has been with me since the beginning of my career as a freelancer. I have goals too, I love animation and I would like to do it often, I would also like to learn to model in 3D, study Blender, etc.

How to support? >>> Check my ko-fi profile: https://ko-fi.com/solaria_5 >>> Ko-fi goal: https://ko-fi.com/solaria_5/goal?g=0 >>> Paypal: beamsolaria[at]gmail.com >>> If you donate more than $50 you will receive a sketch or a piece of art that I will post on my ko-fi account, mentioning you, in addition to my infinite gratitude.

[marshvlovestv]

It's halfway through November but I still have a couple of these I wanted to fill but didn't get to!

Prompt number: 21 "We've done worse"

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: G

Warnings/Tags: Mental health issues, schizophrenia, paranoia. Ship: Boyd/Fred

There is a stain on the cover of the manila folder. It’s an undistinguished blob, it smells like rancid spilt milk. When the tall man picks up the folder, his thumb goes through the stain and then it flickers and it’s gone. Boyd gasps, because for a moment, he feels all clear. In which case, he wasn’t clear before.

Which means he’s made a mistake.

“This says ‘Classified Psychonauts Intelligence’ on it,” says the man holding the folder. Question marks come out of his mouth. “Boyd, why is there classified Psychonauts intelligence in our kitchen?”

“Who are you?” Boyd gulps.

The man crouches. He looks Boyd in the eye. “It’s Fred,” he says, and Boyd starts to recognize him. “It’s Fred, okay? What’s going on?”

Boyd takes a breath – that’s getting a little easier. Fred looks worried, looks sad. Sometimes Fred is actually someone else, someone they call Leon. Leon is brave and angry and he fights for the people he loves, and he says he loves Boyd just as much as Fred does. But Leon is new and Boyd can’t trust him yet. Fred is here now; Boyd holds his hand out and Fred takes it, squeezes it.

And Boyd admits. “Agent Vodello was here.” She’s teaching him how to be a good psychic, she’s helping him, she’s only ever helped him. “She brought the intel with her. So, so I intercepted it.” It was barely even sticking out of her bag, he had to dig for it while she went to the bathroom…

Fred knits his brow. He’s looking at Boyd with disappointment and with pity and like he’s heard something like it before. He puts his other hand on Boyd’s shoulder, then runs it up his neck, to his cheek. Fred runs cold, and it’s soothing. “Why’d you take it?”

“These Psychonauts… they’re not working in our best interests, are they? They’ve got their hand up the government’s trousers, trying to sell their brain-powered tanks to the military!” Boyd doesn’t believe it, not as much as he did half an hour ago. But he has to make himself believe it. It’s the only thing that makes sense, it’s the only thing that justifies what he’s done…

“And what are you gonna do about it, Boyd? Huh?” Fred raises an eyebrow.

Boyd hangs his head. He wrings his hands together. “I could always… I took…”

“If the Psychonauts have brain-powered tanks, I think they’ve already got the two of us beat, no matter how much intel we steal.” Fred is good at pretending to believe what Boyd does. A long time ago, when he wore the same white clothes every day, he used to argue with Boyd, try to convince him his theories were wrong. Now, he pretends. Boyd appreciates it. “I think that if we give this back, there’s a chance they won’t try to vaporize us.”

It sounds silly coming out of Fred’s mouth. It’s silly. Boyd almost laughs, but tears come out instead. “I messed up.” He trembles and he imagines the benevolent, generous Psychonauts punishing him by kicking them out of their new home, stopping his training, putting him back in the hospital…

“Hey…” Fred says as he takes him in his arms. “It’s an easy fix, okay? You know how understanding Agent Vodello is.” Too understanding. It’s almost suspicious. “Not to mention, we’ve done worse, you know?”

Fire dances in Boyd’s eyes. It’s not a welcome sight.

“Both of us have,” Fred continues. “I’ll help you return the folder. I’ll, uh, I’ll pretend I was your, you know… accomplice.”

Never before has anyone been so willing to step into the world as Boyd sees it. Well, plenty of Psychonauts have tried, with their little spy doors… But Fred doesn’t have a psychic cell in him. And here he is, putting himself on Boyd’s level. “You don’t have to…” Boyd mutters against his shoulder.

“But I have to, Boyd. I have to.”

[filthypen]

Kaede akamatsu has it all!… except for one thing, a GOOD DICKING! Turns out that while being an absolute flirt and bimbo looking smart and teasy unit, Kaede is also a sub in bed. And for weeks now she’s been aching for a good ol rough and passionate sex session! And sure she could go submit and become one of the MANY cumdump of kokichi’s ultimate femboy harem, sure she could show kaito how much maki’s good but kaede’s massive G cups are better, sure she could go annoy and tease kirumi until the Amazon of a maid is so furious she either grows a futa cock or strap on but in any way she punish kaede’s through fully.

Alas while lust is good, great even. Love + lust is better. And love wise Kaede is Head over heels for the fat ass shy femboy goth detective so hard, just thinking about him or even his smell make her drool and temporally loose some IQ. But the issue ? If she’s a sub shucihi is a mega sub! No matter her flirt he never made a move on her! She knows he isn’t gay (thx kaito for the intel) and he DEFINITELY loves kaede’s body and huge boobs and butt and thick thighs (she saw the poorly hidden junko magazines and the many time he oogle at her) plus thanks to the tape she left in his room (everybody does that right ?) she knows he stays awake LATE at night and makes a lot of noise, moaning her name most of the time as he jerks off (which she jerks off to of course~)

But Kaede found the solution~! Being FREAKY~ she knows he quite love sex toys, and for the payment of a few sloppy make out and boob grope, miu accepted to turn Kaede into a leaving breathing next generation sex doll~! Well more like sex bot considering how advanced it is. Looking like herself but even more thicc~! Then Kaede will deliver herself in a box to Shuichi, and will pretend to be a sex toy for him~! That way he would fuck her! Or at the very least she’ll be able to see him jerk off~ she’s quite confident in her acting too so it should work~!

What she didn’t account too ? Shuichi having a cock matching kokichi’s if not bigger, cuming 100 L trash bag sized condoms, and being much, MUCH more passionate, kinky, rough and Dom that what she anticipated~! Giving her the fuck of her life for 24 hours row~ and making her addicted to be that boy’s sex toy~

''E-eeeeh… Miu… are you really sure this will work…? That looks like a toy gun you bought on a gift shop…'' Kaede was standing up in middle of Miu's lab, wearing only her now classic cow bikini that got stretched out by her double Gs and chair breaker ass, waiting for Miu to turn her into a… more suitable partner

''KYAHAHAHA! Oh come on, Bitchede! You should know by now that when it comes into becoming a proper nasty sexy fuck, i am REALLY serious!'' She said while preparing her weapon, it was a bright metalic pink alien gun with lots of tubes of all kinds of flashy colours, it clearly looked like a child's toy but oh well…

''Aaaaaah… fine, you better not leave me so… dizzy with it'' Kaede got into position, sweating a bit

''Oh don't worry, you will love your new form~'' Miu aimed at Kaede with the gun, and after a loud charging noise… a neon bright pink ray came out of it, hitting Kaede!

''O-OHH! W-WHAT IS HAPPENING-'' She got interrupted as she started floating in the air, and in a magical girl transformation, her body slowly changes! First, some tal heels made out PURE gold apear on her feet, then, her thighs and ass got 2 times bigger! Her ass now being so big it would need 2 chairs to fit in! Then her womb got a tattoo, with a big heart surrounded by roses and a familiar cap of certain boy… her tits went from double Gs to double Js! Almost covering her thick torso~ Her hace also gor some make up with a blue eyelashes and lipstick for her now plump lips, her blonde hair became even MORE bright, almost looking like gold, and with some cow horns apearing on her head… oh and clothes? Easy, her cow bikini became mere pasties on her huge nips and her pussy and could only be taken off if she was REALLY horny~

When the transformation finished, she fell to the ground on her heels… and was smiling

''It… worked… Miu… it worked!!'' She tapped the ground and gave a spin on her own body, making her tits swing around and clapping her ass!

''It worked… to well… damn… i will give this a try… later hehehe…~ o-oh yeah, the box!'' Miu ran quickly and came back with a wooden crate ''I-i know is… too small for that body so you'll have to squiiiiiiiishy a little~'' She laughed like a maniac, as always

Kaede giggle a little, and after a LOT of struggle, she managed to get all that MEAT on that crate, and Miu closed it leaving it in front of Shuichi's door, and ringing the door, Miu's work was done, so she ran away to her lab, to try that gun on herself, and Kaede, preparing herself, already panting and drolling~

Shuichi was chilling around on his room, didn't had any work to do so he was just on his phone on bed (obviously looking at porn, but just being 1% hard~), when he heard the door ring. He was surprised, he was not waiting no one, not even Kaede, who told him she was gonna be with some friends today! He just hoped it wasn't Kokichi teasing him with his mega harem…

''Kokichi, i swear that if is you again i will-'' He opens the door and sees no one, except just a crate with some wheels. He was obviously confused, he didn't ordered nothing online, specially something of this size…

''Heeeeeeey, someone there? Is this a joke…?'' He said while looking around the hallway, no one on sight… so he just put the crate into his room and closed shut the door. He was wondering what it could be, already fearing it was something to scare him, probably sent by Kokichi, he thought…

The right moment he unlocked the box, the box EXPLODED from the pressure of what was inside of it, pushing him to the bed ''W-WOW! W-WHAT WAS THAT, A BOMB-'' When he could sit on bed, he saw it… Kaede was standing up, yawning and stretching her body like a cat, sticking out her fat ass and her tits smoshing the floor…

''Aaaaaaah… i thought you were never going to open it…'' She looked at him, instantly going in horny mode, her eyes growing hearts and her now 10 meter long tongue rollig out and liking her own body sloppily~ ''…m-my dearieeeeee~~'' (Part 1/3, please check the other parts!)

[theuntoldoriginsoftheportmafia]

Part Ⅳ The Port Mafia - Chapter 4.4

✗ Who the hell is Edgar? ✗

7,884

(A/N: This is my favourite chapter, and yet, unfortunatley it is unfinished. It's not super connected to the rest of the plot though so you can read it and the next chapter will still make perfect sense. Pleas don't skip it though, I mean, you can if you want to but, I worked hard on it.)

It takes Ranpo minutes to solve the mystery in each novel. Fukuzawa groans, trying to hide his disappointment. 

'I'll just have to try and find something else. And here I thought Poe-san sounded so promising.'

Unbeknownst to Fukuzawa, Ranpo is disappointed too. 

'That's a shame. I knew I'd solve it easily, but the writing is really good, and the characters and the setting seem so real! I want to finish these, but it's impossible now that I already know what will happen. It'll just be boring, and I hate being bored.'

Both Ranpo and Fukuzawa sigh.

"No matter, you still have police work. Why don't you go and play with Elise? I'll find someone to pass these on to, maybe Dazai-san will find them an interesting read. They certainly seem dark enough for him." Fukuzawa eyes the novels wearily as he speaks. He hadn't realised exactly how dark the author's work was until he'd skimmed it, but Ranpo read the first parts of each one with joy. Sometimes the boy's tolerance of violence and black and white sense of right and wrong scares him.

Once, Ranpo, still learning to navigate the large Port Mafia headquarters, walked into one of Ozaki-san's torture sessions, not a pretty sight by anyone's standard. Even Poe-san, the writer of these troubling tomes, would flinch at her methods. 

The young women being tortured had abandoned the mafia and started up a rival gang using their intel to try and take over the city's trading routes. Their leadership was clumsy at best and in doing so they had nearly brought havoc into the already fragile port city. Some American trillionaire was trying to buy up the gem trading routes, and they approached the women for a deal. If they had succeeded then it would tell foreign organisations that they were free to take chunks out of the city and eventually it would become a mess of warring foreign gangs.

When Fukuzawa realised what Ranpo had seen he attempted to comfort him, to which Ranpo replied with a shrug, "Eh, they deserved it. They were going to bring disorder and chaos back to our city. Why shouldn't they be punished?" And with that he'd taken another sweet from his pocket, popped it in his mouth and walked off, showing no sign of distress.

In the present, Ranpo looks at the books, conflicted. He doesn't know why but he doesn't like the idea of them being given away. "Fukuzawa-san, wait."

The man turns, surprised, "Yes, Ranpo?"

"I'll keep the books." There is something almost defiant in the teenager's voice.

"You will?" Fukuzawa's eyebrows raise of their own accord.

Ranpo turns to look out the window, suddenly embarrassed, though he can't place why. "Ah, well, it would be disrespectful to Poe-san, who spent so much time and effort to write these if I didn't even finish them, no?" 

Ranpo isn't sure if that's a lie or not. The statement is objectively true, maybe? But there's no way for Poe-san to ever find out whether he's read the books or not, and an author so great would surely care not for the opinions of one young kid. And Ranpo has never cared much for what people thought before.

Both Ranpo and Fukuzawa are conscious of this sudden change in attitude, but neither put their feelings into words.

"The books weren't expensive, and money is hardly an issue. I won't be offended if you don't like them." Fukuzawa says. He knows how much Ranpo cares about him, and hates for the boy to force himself to like the present.

Ranpo doesn't answer, too busy thinking. 'I can't finish these. What's the point of finishing them? But I can't seem to make myself give them up either. Why? . . . Ugh. But isn't it ruder to let them go to waste sitting on my shelf instead of giving them to someone who can properly enjoy them?'

Ranpo can't decide.

'Since when has he cared for the feelings of strangers? The author will hardly know if he has finished the stories or not, so why? Or perhaps it's something else . . . do these mysteries remind him of his father, maybe? Yes, that must be it.'

Fukuzawa smiles sympathetically at his adopted son, he can see the conundrum and spares him the difficulty of answering a question requiring him to look inside himself. 

"That's fine, Dazai-san can read them anytime. Good day, Ranpo-kun." 

And with that, his mask is back on, and he's gone, leaving Ranpo alone with his thoughts.

-

It's nearly 22:00, Ranpo is normally asleep by 21:00, yet he lies wide awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom in his quiet home. Most of the house is perfectly adult, grand, and giving no indication that anyone under 20 resides there, but here, in the only child's bedroom, glow in the dark star stickers cover the walls.

Ever since birth, Ranpo has been unable to sleep in complete darkness, not out of fear, just simple inability. Maybe it's because he's always hated not being able to see everything, not knowing what's going on in his surroundings. Or maybe it's something else entirely.

After a year of sleepless nights, for both Ranpo and his parents, his mother put these stickers up. One would think that after nearly 17 years they would have stopped glowing or peeled off, but somehow they shine just as brightly as the first day they were bought.

Suddenly another light flashes, a more natural one. Lightning. 

'Oh. A thunderstorm.' Ranpo notes this apathetically. He loves thunderstorms, but now he's too busy thinking of the books on his shelf, the first new ones he's gotten since his parents died.

He used to love books. Every night his mother and father would sit in his room, one on the foot of the bed and the other in the corner rocking chair, and take turns reading to him. Never mystery novels, those were too easy, but everything else. Fantasy, action, adventure, dystopian, science fiction. Ranpo didn't always understand them but he loved the sounds of his parent's voices and whenever he had a question they would stop and explain patiently while he drank in the new information hungrily. Sometimes, his father would simply sit and tell Ranpo about the case he was working. And those stories were by far the best.

Now he has no time to read, and he knows the endings to all the books anyway. Yet, when his parents were alive he loved to hear the same stories over and over and over again, to hear the way they would read it, the theatrical rise and fall as they did voices for each of the characters, reading it slightly differently each time. 

Now the words just sound empty. 

A draft swirls through the room.

"Ugh, I must've left the window cracked." Ranpo sighs, voicing his thoughts just to break the silence as he gets up to close it. As he does, another gust blows through, knocking down a stack of blankets.

He freezes.

Among the pile of cloth is a piece he hasn't seen in a long time. A green and white throw woven in a zig-zag pattern, with tasselled ends. He remembers how they tickled when he would brush against his mother as she sat with him. 

Feeling suddenly heavy with emotions he picks the fabric up, burying his face in it. Nostalgia washes over him. Having been hidden in the stack of other blankets for so long it still smells like his mother, her minty conditioner, the same kind Ranpo now uses but a little different, mixed with her gentle but distinctive perfume to create a smell that is effortlessly Hirai Tohru.

Thunder shakes the quiet room and Ranpo's cheeks feel wet as if the rain is inside.

"Oh, yeah, the . . ."

With clumsy movements, he closes the window, just before the raindrops soak the wooden floor. But the wetness doesn't stop.

"Am I . . .?"

Ranpo reaches up to his face, feeling the tears with surprise. He hasn't cried in a while.

There's a soft tapping on the door, a gentle rapping. Lenore wants in, to comfort Ranpo in her own bird way.

"It's . . . okay, Len, I'm . . . fine" Ranpo manages, not sure why he's bothering to hide his sobs from a bird.

When the door is cracked the large raven flies in, landing on the shelf, right next to the new nooks. She taps them curiously with her beak.

Hesitantly, Ranpo wraps his mother's blanket around him, sitting himself on the window seat to watch the rain. A memory overtakes him, a comforting quilt of several memories.

His mother sitting on this very same window seat with young Ranpo in her lap, the two of them staring out at the rain together, watching the lighting in fascination, counting to see how far away the winter storm was. 

Then again in Spring watching the wildflowers bloom, colourful buds rising up from the weeds. 

And in Autumn watching the leaves turn brown and float gracefully to the ground. 

In all the seasons watching the small animals, the rabbits and the squirrels and the birds, pass by the window. Patiently she'd nod and smile and answer as he pointed out each one and asked its name, and when he got too sleepy she'd start pointing them out until he drifted off.

"M-mum." Ranpo whispers, voice cracked from the tears.

He hates crying and being sad and how his throat and stomach hurt from sobbing and how his vision gets all blurry. 

Maybe he's going crazy, but he can hear his mother's voice. 

"The best part of any story isn't the end, it's how you get to the end. Sometimes it's nice to read the same thing over and over again, to live in the story and with the characters, simply because it's warm and familiar and because it makes you happy. It doesn't matter that you already know how it ends, all that matters is the journey of reading it. That is something that never gets old. You can soak up the turns of phrase and details, and fall, for a time, into another world. To me, that's one of the most beautiful things a human can experience."

This is what his mother had told him as he fell asleep the night before her death. He'd had a fever that day and everything felt fuzzy around the edges. He hated being ill even then, hated the stuffy nose, and itchy scratchy throat, and the feeling of being weighed down. But when his parents read to him all of it seemed to go away as he was pulled into the novel and suddenly he was as good as new inside of the fictional world.

When morning came his mother made him stay in bed instead of coming with her and his father into the city. Even his favourite cartoon couldn't entertain him, he was so eager for their return with the promised sweets and new books.

Now in his dark room, Ranpo can hear his own voice, a younger version weeping tears of longing.

With his fever broken, but still in bed, he was bored and resorted to pacing the longest corridor in the house. He kept pacing, repeating his path exactly every time, waiting for his parent's return, with a determination that many adults lack. 

Eventually, he knew it had been too long, his parents had never left him for such a great length of time, and knowing this his pacing intensified until he was running back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And then, out of breath, he was out of the door desperate to find them with no idea how. All alone he stood on the hill overlooking the city, cold air stinging his tear damp cheeks, the scream stinging his throat. 

And he knew like he knew every other thing he figured out so easily. He knew his longing was pointless and so it turned to grief, the feeling more vast than the city sprawling out beneath him.

The memory feels suffocating, the sobs so frequent Ranpo can hardly breathe through his burning lungs and chest. He doesn't want to think of this. Why can't he stop? He just wants it to stop! How can he make it stop?

He does the first thing he can think of, grabbing the first book in reach. He's tempted to throw it, but his respect for books is ingrained too deep, so he opens it to the first page and begins to read.

It's one of Poe-san's novels.

It starts just how Ranpo remembers it from earlier today, but the strangest feeling comes over him. A feeling of relaxation. Now that he doesn't have to worry about how it ends he's free to notice the little things. The way the character is described with certain details so purposefully left out or included is very careful, a story crafted with love and care. It reminds him of the way his father used to tell stories and suddenly his tears don't hurt so much.

With each drop that falls his father's voice becomes clearer, his own internal monologue taking on Hirai Kogorou's voice until it's his father reading him the book.

-

The sun begins to rise just as Ranpo closes the book. He finds himself disappointed that the novel, which looked so long at first glance, is over already. He looks out the window, sees the colourful sky, and realises with a start that he spent all night reading.

'I thought I would be bored but I wasn't! I wasn't bored at all! That was great! Mum was right, the middle is much better than the end! I should read another one.'

As Ranpo finishes the thought a yawn overtakes him. He huffs. It also becomes clear that his head is throbbing.

'All that crying really tired me out, at this rate I won't be able to keep my eyes open. I think if I look at another page, I might faint. Argh, and there's still work . . .'

"Wait, sleep deprivation counts as an illness right?" Ranpo asks the room.

Lemore caws back, seeming to nod her head in confirmation.

"Great! I'll just call in sick."

Dragging himself up from the comfy position, Ranpo retrieves his phone from its charger and dials Fukuzawa.

"Yes, Ranpo?" Fukuzawa sounds barely awake.

'Oh, right, it's still early for him. Oops.'

"Fukuzawa-san, I'm not feeling well, so I can't come in today."

Ranpo's voice is still gravelly from the sobbing fit and now slurred while sleep overtakes his body.

Fukuzawa is immediately concerned., not questioning the early call-in time, "Not feeling well? Do you have a fever?"

Ranpo rolls his eyes, appreciating the concern but not wanting to extend the conversation any further, the crackly quality of voices coming through phone speakers is only exacerbating his headache. "No. It's just a small cold. I'll be in by tomorrow."

"Alright . . . but don't push yourself if you aren't feeling better by tomorrow. Come in when you feel absolutely healthy again."

Ranpo has to smile at the leader's concern. "Yup."

With that he hangs up, falling into bed, disappearing into dreams.

-

He dreams of fictitious worlds, beating hearts, wine cellars, black cats and his father with him, a face to go with the voice, the two solving the mysteries side by side. He hasn't dreamt his father's face so clearly in a long time.

He wakes up in tears again, a softer kind of crying this time, the tears gentle displays of his happiness. It's dark out again, and thankfully Ranpo is still tired.

'There is hope yet for my sleep schedule. It's not quite my normal bedtime though, I'll wait an hour. But what to do until then . . .'

He sighs shakily, thinking of all the emotions he's felt in the small span of 24 hours. He can't deny that these books have, beyond a doubt, moved him.

'I know! I'll write a praising letter to Poe-san!' Ranpo smiles at the thought. He adores praise, so it must be the perfect gift.

Lenore circles the room, grabbing paper and pencil and dropping them on Ranpo's desk. He thanks the bird with a treat from the glass jar.

Then he begins to write.

"Dear Poe-san,

I really liked all of your novels, even though the mysteries were somewhat predictable and took me barely a minute to solve, (it's hardly unexpected since I am the Greatest Detective in the World) I still had an amazing time reading. Your characters are so well written, I'd like to live in a world like that. The simple, chronological world of a novel where everything that happens has a reason behind it that makes sense. 

Maybe if I lived in a novel my parents would still be here with me, or maybe their deaths were all part of some greater plot that I have yet to deduce.

Anyway, I've never finished reading a book since they passed. I always figure out the ending long before the story is over and I never saw the point of reading further after that, so I have a bunch of barely-read books on my shelf. Because of you, I'm going to read all of them!

Getting praise is one of my favourite things in the world, so I thought I'd write this letter to you. I hope you like it."

Ranpo could end the letter there but something deep inside of him makes him continue.

"Reading your novels reminded me of when my parents used to read to me when I was younger and to be honest it made me cry. A lot. Reading your work made me feel as if my mother and father were right beside me. So congratulations, Poe-san, you're now one of the few people who can make me cry. That's a real achievement, be proud of yourself, and keep writing books so I can read them!

~ The Greatest Detective in the World"

Ranpo folds the letter into an envelope happily, unaware that some of his comments could come off quite offensively. He also pays no mind to the fact that the letter is written in Japanese, a language which it is unlikely that Poe speaks, but who knows? Maybe things will work out anyway.

'In the morning I'll ask one of the goons to find his address.'

Still smiling, Ranpo falls back into bed.

-

In the morning Fukuzawa greets him, fretting until Ranpo shakes him off. He's not sure why, but he doesn't want Fukuzawa to know what happened. This feels too personal. And he's eager to send his letter so he hurries past, brushing him off.

Fukuzawa tries not to take it personally. 

'Ranpo must still be grumpy. I'm sure some sweets will cheer him up.'

-

The lower floors of the Port Mafia are both darker and lighter than the upper floors. They hold less pure evil but are also farther from the sun. Ranpo's mask, a white Greek theatre mask with its mouth twisted into an uncomfortable-looking smile, seems to glow in the dimly lit corridor.

On one of these lower floors is a small cubicle belonging to a man by the name of Sakaguchi-san. He has a precious sort of gift, not very much use in active combat but still a nice asset to have. Discourse on Decadence it's called. An information extraction ability, making Sakaguchi-san the best out of all the analysts working under Ranpo, or rather pretending to. 

Sakaguchi-san is a spy. Ranpo knows this, but it just makes him all the more useful, he has information not only from the Port Mafia but also the Special Operations Division for Unusual Powers and its international network. Sakaguchi-san will surely know the address of Edgar Allan Poe since the author has been involved in an ability user case.

Ranpo opens the door, knowing Sakaguchi-san will be inside. Sakaguchi-san is always inside. He looks up with tired eyes, not bothering to flinch at the mask, he's too exhausted.

"Ah, Clairvoyant-san. What can I help you with?"

"I need you to find someone for me."

With the help of a young ability using back alley hacker Sakaguchi-san met a few months back, finding someone will be no trouble.

—

The letter arrives at Mr. Poe's home exactly 3 days later.

He wouldn't have even bothered to check but on his way back inside from some errands his racoon, Karl, the physical manifestation of his ability, notices the peculiar black envelope with its blood red wax seal sticking out from his mailslot. The fuzzy mammal pulls the envelope from the slot with his mouth, and scampers up his master's shoulders to finish the delivery.

"Oh! Why, thank you Karl."

'What could this be? I never receive mail. Mr. Fitzgerald maybe? No, he would never bother with something like this, and he has my number.'

Thoroughly mystified, Mr. Poe takes the letter into his study, opening it carefully with a tarnished, antique letter opener.

He looks at the note, it's written in swoopy characters. He recognises them as Kanji.

'Something from Japan? Is it from Gelhart Security Services? Couldn't they just send a message through Mr. Fitzgerald. No, they would have written in English anyways. Oh! Oh, what if someone else found out . . .'

He refers to Francis Fitzgerald, older than Poe but still a young man at only 22 and a half who hopes to establish an organisation for ability users he calls The Guild. He approached Poe after finding out about his ability from an anonymous source. 

Poe was worried, terrified. He's kept his secret so well for so long, dictating his novels to an unaware typist just to avoid any mishaps. 

Mr. Fitzgerald told him the anonymous informant had seemed friendly, and that they had said not to have told anyone else of Poe's ability. It seemed they were trying to help out. Mr. Fitzgerald couldn't, even with all his resources, track down the informant but no one else had approached Poe so it was assumed they were telling the truth.

Shaking his head to clear away the anxious thoughts he begins to read.

Languages have always come easily to him, and he's been diligently studying Japanese ever since Mr. Fitzgerald offered him a Guild adjacent position, hoping that when The Guild is fully established, Poe would join. The position involves heading up a security service that the billionaire recently bought. The service is located in Yokohama, Japan and was originally funded by the German government but went underground when the subsidy ended, which was unfortunately shortly after Mr. Fitzgerald bought it. The man was warned that there must be something wrong for the company to sell for that cheap but he was optimistic, a fault he's still learning to overcome. Not liking the idea of owning a company responsible for illegal activities Mr. Fitzgerald paid Poe to go and straighten them out.

Why did he pick Poe? The author has no idea.

"It's alright if they pillage the occasional gang warehouse now and then, but having armed robbers on my payroll is not a very nice look. If they operate in the criminal world let them at least do so with more subtlety. Don't you agree? And think, this will be an excellent chance to experience a culture so different from the West." is what Mr. Fitzgerald had said.

Now Poe is thankful he'd started learning the small country's language. He can understand every word but even still he reads it through thrice just to be sure he has it right.

'P-predictable! He solved it in MINUTES!? N-no. No way. This "Detective" must be lying. T-that's not possible . . .' Poe's thoughts turn desperate. He is the greatest mystery novel writer. He is. His work is NOT predictable.! No one can take this, certainly not some random stranger who writes as if he isn't over the age of 13. This has to be some joke, it has to be. His mysteries have to be interesting and engaging. He has to be the best, nothing less is acceptable, nothing less would make his father acknowledge him. 'he couldn't have . . .'

Poe starts to hyperventilate, spiralling into his mind, his head getting foggy.

'Calm yourself, calm yourself, calm yourself. Edgar Allan Poe! Calm yourself at once!'

He breathes deeply, concentrating as hard as he can on steadying his breath and with each inhale and exhale he shoves the inadequacy down into a mental box. He imagines it as an ornately decorated treasure chest, beautiful but filled with evil. He may resent the box and all that fills it, but it does the job.

When he reviews the letter once more, with a semi-clear mind it really is very sweet, assuming any of it is true.

'My books . . . made this boy cry?' Poe doesn't know what to do with this information, he never thought anyone would find his gory tales emotionally stirring. 'He still enjoyed my books, despite their claims of its predictability . . . is that perhaps what really matters? No. I must find out what happened! 

But still . . . he gave such praise. I have never received a letter like this one. What was the point? To insult me and then give me the highest compliment, saying that I changed him so deeply, is this boy mentally unstable? What happened to his parents? What's with the "Greatest detective in the World" thing? He says my books led him back into his love of reading and he did seem quite eager. He said he wants me to write more books, for him to read! ' Poe feels a warmth spreading in his chest at the encouragement. There is something cute, he thinks, about being referred to with the Japanese honorific. And then there's the biggest question of all: 'S-should I . . . write back?'

-

Poe feels foolish as he types World's Greatest Detective, Japan into the search bar on his computer.

A slew of Japanese news articles come up, all about a man called The Clairvoyant. At first, it looks promising until Poe notices the dates. 

'No, this isn't right. This man would be much too old to have written a letter in such a carefree, childish style.' Poe thinks as he looks at one of the few pictures taken of Hirai Kogorou. He frowns. He needs to know who has outwitted him.

So he does the only thing he can: write back. Determined to hide his confusion and desperation behind politeness he begins the letter by thanking the detective for his praise and then starts questioning him.

'It's unlikely that I'll get an answer especially since the man didn't even include his name and the return address was a fake, but I have to try. Maybe if I question his intelligence enough he'll take the bait and write me back? Hopefully . . . Ah, this is quite pathetic, but what else can I do?'

With shaky hands, he puts his message onto paper.

"Dear "Greatest Detective in the World",

I want to start this letter by asking you to forgive any errors I may make, I only started studying Japanese a few months ago, so if I seem to be struggling to get my point across or if any of my phrasing doesn't make sense or seem as elegant as it is in my published works, that is why. 

To begin I will say that I was quite shocked when I received your letter as getting mail is a rare event for me, particularly in this new digital age, so thank you for surprising me.

Now, as to the contents of your writing, those were a surprise as well. I thank you for your compliments, but some of your other comments confused me.

Most who read my novels are sufficiently stumped by them, as is my reputation. I am the author whose carefully thought through prose keeps readers unaware, basking, lost and confused in its beauty until the very last page. So, forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you have so easily cracked the code to these mysteries.

Who on earth are you? How old are you, because, if you're just a kid, then please stop joking around. Nobody finds you funny. 

What reason do you have for claiming the title of "World's Greatest Detective"? Isn't that a title that others should give you, not yourself (there are no news articles about you)? What have you done to earn it? What makes you think you're so smart?

But of course, I don't mean to be rude, not at all. All good authors must learn from and enjoy the opinions and feedback from fans and critics alike. What exactly makes you feel my mysteries are predictable? How did you work them out? I'd like to know.

~ Sincerely, E.A. Poe

P.S. I feel rude addressing you as Detective-san, so If you don't mind. I would like to know your name, even if just your surname or whatever you'd like me to call you by."

Satisfied with this he seals the blood-red envelope with black wax seal of the Poe family crest. 

-

A few days later Ranpo receives the letter. He opens it growing amused as he reads the contents. He can see the desperation in Poe's handwriting. Cruel satisfaction rises inside of him at having bested one of America's genius writers. He isn't known in the mafia as The Clairvoyant for no reason.

He's smiling as he scrawls his letter.

"Dear Poe-san,

I'd like for you to call me The Greatest Detective in the World or The World's Greatest Detective, either is fine. 

Your Japanese is very good, you must be studying really hard. That's probably the one thing you're better at than me. I've picked up some Korean and a tiny bit of Chinese since my job involves international clients but I'm miserable at learning languages.

I did indeed solve the mysteries in your books, but you shouldn't feel bad because I am The World's Greatest Detective. I can't tell you much about myself, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Don't bother searching me up online again, you still won't find anything.

For your second question: While I did initially crown myself with this title, the police I aid, all agree with me, as well as my colleagues and subordinates. I solve criminal cases and deduce all sorts of information in seconds. That's how I solved your novel. 

But I will tell you this,"

Ranpo proceeds to list exactly how he figured the mystery out, his smile growing as he does.

"So that's how I did it. I hope you're satisfied! 

Write something else for me, okay. Something actually hard to solve.

~ The Greatest Detective in the World"

-

When Poe receives the reply he had been pacing with anticipation for, he doesn't bother with the formality of a letter opener, tearing the envelope open with his hands and retrieving the letter. Karl nibbles curiously at the scraps of envelope.

He ignores the put-down about languages, growing more confused as he reads the detective's reply.

He's learnt a few things but none of them are helpful in identifying this mysterious man.

1) He is work involves clients, some of them from other countries (across Asia at least)

2) He works with the police. ('Is he some sort of agent of Interpol? That would explain how he'd found my address, particularly since I was recently involved in a criminal case recently. I think there was even a new article about it.')

3) He has people working under him, but also people at his level so he must be at least somewhat high ranked, even if not at the highest rank.

4) He is very very very observant and very very very smart.

5) Outwitting him is probably hopeless.

'How did he know I'd searched him up? Well, I guess it's a fair assumption, that is what most people would do.'

So Poe writes back. This time he has a plan, a plan of vengeance, a plan to ensure that he and he alone is the best. In this letter, he sends a fragment of his new novel under the guise that he wants to see if Ranpo can truly deduce the ending without the entire text, a way to ensure no cheating.

The truth is that the fragment is infused with his ability, Black Cat in the Rue Morgue. His ability allows him to transport anyone into his novels, all they have to do is read a single word. He can even transport them into a book that wasn't written by him, so long as it's one they're currently reading. They can only get out until they solve the conflict of the story, usually a crime or other mystery, seeing as that's Poe's favourite genre, and explain the answer aloud, but this book is different.

This story isn't a mystery, there's no crime to solve. Poe plans for the man who's defeated his novels to die in this story, transported in by a page from the novel he's crafted for this specific purpose, never to return to the outside world. Thus sealing his position as the greatest mystery author.

As Poe sticks his letter in the public post box (he has to use it because the post carriers don't bother checking his house anymore), he hesitates. 

'Should I really go through with this? I've never committed murder on someone who I have every reason to believe is completely innocent, maybe even an officer of the law, before? Is this the right thing? And if by some miracle, he doesn't die he could reveal the fact that I have an ability . . . oh! What to do, what to do, what to do?! . . . It will all be fine. What could possibly go wrong? I must go through with this if I am to be the best, and I MUST be the best. There is no other way. Unless I become the best, my father will never acknowledge me.'

Poe slips the envelope in. He is the best and he will stay the best, His father will eventually have to accept him. And when he does he'll come to visit his son whom he abandoned before his first birthday . . . and that's when Poe will kill him. Maybe slit his throat right there, maybe trap him in a novel to starve, or get mauled by beasts. Either way, it will be a pain equivalent to what Poe and his mother experienced. 

His mother, his poor mother. She could barely get out of bed after her husband left and eventually, she succumbed to pneumonia, it wasn't exactly a quick death. Poe was only two years of age at the time. He shouldn't be able to remember anything, but he does. He remembers how he watched her take increasingly difficult breaths, he watched the life drain out of her with each laboured exhale and listened to her fever-slurred words of affection to him as she died. Maybe it's because of his ability, maybe he had an eidetic memory even then.

Poe will kill that wretched man, and no one, Interpol or otherwise, is going to stop him.

With his shoulders set, his heart steeled and his mind a little manic but determined, he drops the letter in, walking quickly back to his home. Inside he's greeted by one of his many bookcases, volume after volume, spine after spine, and he's read them all, and he will probably do so again. They remind him of the detective's first letter. 

"I've never finished reading a book since they passed. I always figure out the ending long before the story is over and I never saw the point of reading further after that, so I have a bunch of barely read books on my shelf. Because of you, I'm going to read all of them!"

Poe stops in his tracks, the thought sending ice through his veins. The detective will never finish reading any of those books . . . because of him.

'Ah, it can't be helped. This is absolutely necessary.' Poe assures himself, yet still he feels the sadness building up inside him like footsteps descending into a dark cavern or bricks being added to a wall. The turning of phantom pages echoes through the house.

'At least I have Karl. Karl will be my friend forever!'

He shakes away the thoughts, slinging his jacket over the back of his chair and kicking off his boots, far more carelessly than he would ever be ordinarily. Feeling a little lighter he heads straight to the large mahogany cabinet in his barely used sitting room. After all, nothing goes better with murder than underage drinking. 

Poe stands for a moment in front of the piece of furniture, the windows, decorated with swirling patterns, make him dizzy despite his sobriety. Slowly he takes the key from the top of the cabinet, which he's only recently been tall enough to reach flatfooted or without shoes, and turns it in the lock. The cabinet opens with a resounding click revealing the mostly still full bottles of sparkling alcohol inside.

Aside from the occasional murder, Poe wouldn't consider himself a lawbreaker. In all his time living alone, he hadn't touched his father's stash of expensive liquor. He'll legally be able to in only two years, but right now he just wants to feel the exhilaration of intoxication which he's heard so much about from books, telly, and older friends. Yes, he knows the expensive whiskey is wasted on a young and inexperienced pallet like his but this was his father's so he gives about zero fucks.

Forgoing the fancy crystal glasses he grabs his favourite mug, (with a raccoon wearing a witch's hat and riding on a broom) and fills it with the strongly scented brown liquor. He downs it in five gulps. It burns like when you put an alcohol swab too close to your nose or bite your nails after using hand sanitiser, only so much worse. It leaves him sputtering and gasping for breath, hacking so hard he sounds like a certain black and white-haired inhabitant of Yokohama.

Even still, his veins fill with a comforting warmth, as if there's a miniscule fire roaring through him. When he recovers himself, he pours another mug. This one, Karl knocks from his hand, chittering angrily. Poe knows it's impossible (is it), because Karl's a racoon, but somehow he wears an expression that's so human. A look of disappointment, and . . . worry. The mug, thankfully, lands on the carpet, but the noise reverberates uncomfortably inside Poe's skull and the liquor spills out over the floor. 

" . . . H-hey, whu zat for?' he slurs.

Karl, very smart for a raccoon, grabs the bottle cork and uses his paws to push it in, then takes the neck between his teeth and scampers off.

" . . . Eh? W-waaaait givit back!"

The racoon doesn't turn, but seems to shake his head as he disappears into the darkness. Poe could summon him back, he lacks the faculties to do much of anything right now. He starts after his pet and the bottle of liquor but all the doors are closed and he can't seem to remember how to open them. So, with a great amount of effort he staggers to his room and falls into bed, red faced, and still fully clothed.

'It . . . will be . . . so sad . . . to say goodbye . . . to my dear detective . . . when . . . he was . . . the one . . . to get the most . . . out of . . . my novels' Poe thinks drunkenly, a sad sort of smile on his face as sleep overtakes him.

(A/N: Author-san doesn't drink, certainly not fancy alcohol, so R.I.P. these descriptions, lmao. 

Also for anyone wondering, Poe can tell Ranpo's gender despite not leaving his name because of his use of the personal pronoun "boku". 

I have a HC that Karl is the manifestation of Poe's ability, like Elise is of Mori's. This is because Karl seems to be way smarter than a typical racoon and able to do things intuitively that normal racoons can't without extensive training. Karl normally has behaviour and habits of a normal raccoon, but when he senses Poe's in danger (say of alcohol poisoning) he becomes almost human-like.)

—

Ranpo expects the reply and is pleased when it comes. He may or may not have intentionally used inflammatory phrasing just to ensure his dialogue with the author, an admittedly great mind, would continue.

'Such a shame that he feels such animosity towards me. It's not like it's my fault his mysteries are simple. Mori-san would be pleased with my underhandedness.'

In his office he opens the letter, pausing to take a bite of a candy bar, then he sets his eyes on it. As soon as he processes the first word he feels himself being sucked down, down down. 

'What the—? What's going on? Is this some sort of trap?'

Before he can finish his thought he lands in a new world. It doesn't materialise around him like something new, instead it stays static and stable as any earthly room or scene, as if it has already been long established and Ranpo is the outsider.

'Since when did isekai become a real thing?' Ranpo scoffs as he takes in his new surroundings. 

He's outside. The day is warm and the sky is blue, dotted with perfectly shaped white clouds, like cotton balls or candy floss. The rolling hills are alive with grass of vibrant green and wildflowers add brillant pops of colour. Majestic oak trees sway in the gentle breeze providing shade, on one tree there is a swing secured to a branch. 

To the side of the house is a small lake, it ripples slowly jiggling the lily pads that float upon its surface. A crane stands at the edge and frogs splash happily until the crane spears one of them violently with its beak and gulps it down.

There's something unsettling about the place. He feels it in his bones, but Ranpo can't point out what it is specifically. It's already driving him mad. Everything looks as it should be but he can feel something underneath like a thrumming evil. He files the information away for later and continues observing.

In front of Ranpo is a road, a driveway and it leads up to a large mansion. The mansion is a beautiful grand place with new paint and trim, light shines from within the spotless windows, and smoke rises charmingly from the chimney. It's perfect. 

Too perfect, apart from one thing, the single imperfection in the utopic vignette. 

A thin crack extends from the house's intricately tiled roof, down the front of the house, just missing the front door, and disappearing into the lake.

'Now that isn't right.' Ranpo wants to be pleased that he's found something to justify his unease, but he can't shake said unease enough to be pleased.

He's a Port Mafia executive as well as a police consultant, he's seen more gore and death than most, yet he scarcely thinks of it again, but this sickly peace sends a shiver through him. 

At the same time, he feels too hot. And the seams on his clothes, usually hardly noticeable (and picked for that very reason) are suddenly very irritating. He whines and tugs at his shirt surprised when he finds a thicker material. Wool.

"Ack!" He squirms quickly out of the heavy suit jacket and begins loosening the tie, and unbuttoning the vest. After he's shed the layers, he runs to the edge of the lake, shaking his hands and arms out a bit manically at the new freedom. The crane doesn't startle, instead looks him dead in the eyes before returning to its hunt for frogs. 

On the surface of the lake, Ranpo stares, aghast at his reflection. He's wearing a three-piece suit, a term he only knows because of his father's love for the Sherlock Holmes series. He reaches for his glasses and realises they aren't in his pockets, instead there's something smooth. 

He takes it out. It's a folded sheet of paper, almost identical to the one he held only minutes ago, but this one is faded and creased. It tells him that he was asked to visit this strange place by a friend suffering from a mysterious illness alongside his sister.

'Perhaps my "friend" can help?' Ranpo thinks doubtfully.

He walks up the drive until he arrives at the front door, like his own home, it has a knocker, which he uses to rap thrice on the heavy wooden door. 

Someone answers just after the third knock. A man, tall and slender and looking quite pale, his brown locks are frizzy and slightly matted, and barely visible beneath a stringy fringe are his eyes, which Ranpo guesses are dull murky brown on a good day, marred by dark circles.

(A/N: For those of you wondering, yes Poe did subconsciously model the main character after himself because of his desire to meet Ranpo.)

"Oh, Hello friend. Thank God you arrived on time, and with all this terrible weather. It's truly a miracle indeed."

"What?" Ranpo looks behind him. There's only the sunny, perfect sky and that seemingly never ending road behind him.

"The weather, the storms, the lighting? Haven't you noticed? It's rather hard to miss, is it not? Are you quite alright?" The man sounds frantic, his voice cracking and when he runs his hand through his hair, his fringe pulls away, revealing fevered eyes. "Well, I really must insist you get inside. You're getting soaked."

"Oh, uh, yeah."

More creeped out than ever, Ranpo tries to peer around the man and see into the cracked house. Behind the owner is what must be the house's main staircase. The bainsters are chipped and crumbling away, the carpet is torn and rotten. Broken, flickering lamps, slashed, red stained paintings and animal heads in various states of decay line the walls.

Ranpo knows it's not a good idea to go in there, but having no other choice, he enters. Immediately as his foot crosses the threshold he feels the dampness seep into his clothes. He is, in fact, soaked.

Inside the house, everything is different. The mansion is what can only described as decadent. The stairs shine, perfectly polished with soft maroon linear carpet. The sconces give the foyer a soft glow, perfectly lighting the charming landscape paintings and mounted animals heads, unharmed on their plaques.

'Unharmed aside from the fact that their heads are no longer attached to their bodies.'

The friend directs Ranpo to a perfecty fluffy sofa. He knows he shouldn't sit, no matter how safe it looks. If there was ever a time to get a bad feeling, it's now.

"Oh, I'm quite stiff from my travels, I'd prefer to stand."

"Of course, I shall prepare some tea." the man leaves. Ranpo realises that he doesn't know his name. The letter was only signed "your friend".

When Ranpo looks out the window he sees the most disturbing things of all. The day is now dark, the sky black with heavy clouds, lighting striking fiercely, trees swaying and the flowers blown over. He can even hear the creaking of the swings, and the rippling of the pond mixed in with the flap of wings.

Frantically he runs for the door. The man was right, it is raining. But as soon as Ranpo steps out of the threshold, the day is calm again.

"My friend? Are you determined to catch your death out there?"

Ranpo turns, quite startled. "No, . . . I was simply investigating what could be the cause of your illness. You were right, this weather isn't good for anyone."

To Be Continued . . .

(A/N: The next chapter is finished. It's a separate storyline so don't worry it will make sense.)

[k7l4d4]

K Reviews and Rants: Miraculous Ladybug Season 5! Episode 18

Here we are, time for the "Emotion" review! Oohh boy... this is gonna be an annoying one.

Overall, beyond the issues with this episode in how it tries to shill Marinette and Zoe's friendship, Felix literally trying to wipe out Paris and all of humanity just because he can and the show framing it as "him having no choice" and "just doing what he needs to," the biggest issue with this episode is it's criticism of "the rich."

Like, I know, "eat the rich" is a thing, and there are a LOT of exploitative jerks who take advantage of the lower class in the world. But this? What this did was try and present a bunch of teenagers just being spoiled brats and doing nothing but being uncomfortable with a "poor person" around them as deserving of Felix's pointless rampage. It tries to have Zoe critique them by labeling them as "braindead zombies," which if anything makes Felix's actions WORSE because it makes them come off as not a threat, just annoyances. And what really sinks it home how shallow this episode's "message" is... is how it doesn't criticize the biggest Rich Hate Sinks in the show, Andre and Audrey. Oh it takes a stab at Gabe, but he's meant to be sympathetic later on (emphasis on "meant to be"), but the series has already downplayed how much of a corrupt official Andre is and ignores how horrible Audrey is as a person in favor of making her toxic control over Andre a joke and blowing off her emotional and verbal abuse of BOTH her daughters. It's aimless, weak, and just doesn't seem to have any overarching POINT to it.

Anyway, that's my two cents in hindsight. Onto the review!

Episode 18: Emotion 

And we start off with Andre giving a "couples' ice cream" to Adrien and Marinette, and aside from acting like a bit of a brat and demanding that there's no drama going on, he doesn't look like he'll go Akuma for once. 

And another near kiss between Adrien and Marinette got killed. Albeit this time it doesn't look like supernatural BS by Gabriel, just regular BS. 

Marinette is worried at how "weird" Adrien is being lately, and tries to get intel from Nino about what's happening to him... and we more or less get yet another case of the show trying to act as if Marinette's stalking was some big joke they could wink and nudge about. 

And now we have Marinette learning about the Diamond Dance. From Alya. Which, granted, wouldn't be so bad since Alya is a journalist... but she apparently didn't even do the research, she just "knows about it" and used Alliance to pull up the info for Marinette. 

Now we get a scene of Kagami training in swordsmanship with Tomoe, before...ughh... Lila shows up. Nope, not gonna mention how royally idiotic her still believing anything Lila says is, I'm not gonna do it. 

...PFFFT. Wow, I genuinely cannot tell if Kagami is that fucking dense or she is genuinely throwing shade at Lila. "You're not a precious stone, you're just a stone." Best line in this mess. 

If this is meant to be Kagami having an "autism" moment, though, I'm not impressed.

Zoe making a "joke" comparing the attendants of the Diamond Dance (the sons and daughters of Paris' elite) to a party of brain-eating Zombies is gonna set the tone for things. The unironic description of the children of the 1% in such a way is all kinds of toxic and obnoxious to me. 

We get a tiny reference to Zoe's life in New York (no real details beyond the "rich brats making her life a nightmare at school"). 

And a moment of Zoe shilling how "Marinette taught her not to let her family control her life" despite the fact that, by all accounts, THEY NEVER DID. 

I honestly just have no words at the moment. I can barely follow along with whatever thought process the writers are having Marinette go through right now. All I can get is that Marinette thinks she needs to "save" Adrien from his dad... again. 

Also, the masquerade masks acting as the invitations just screams obnoxious to me. 

Oh, and yet more proof that Gabe is a fucking hypocrite who puts his need for control over whatever alleged "love" he has for Adrien as his son.

The one upside is that we are getting more signs that Gabriel is gonna cut Lila loose... which is both one of the smartest and dumbest things he could possibly do. Smart since she's a manipulative troublemaker who isn't nearly as useful as she presents herself as, dumb because she's far too close to his operations at this point. 

Although the fact that Lila is genuinely dumb enough to think she can dictate terms to the guy who is literally HER BOSS makes his decision even smarter. This level of arrogant self-assurance and ignorance of reality is one of the biggest reasons her being so successful baffles me. 

Now we get a "funny" moment involving Andre, Audrey, and Chloe arriving at the ball.

Chloe describing Adrien as "the traitor" just sounds so completely and utterly WRONG to me. Like, it adds nothing and just sounds awkward with her voice. It's the issue with the lead-up to her becoming Sole Destroyer all over again. She just DOES NOT SOUND RIGHT when they try and put words nastier than kindergarten grade bullying in her mouth. 

Marinette's reasoning for why she's even going to the party screams of plot contrivance. She's literally forcing herself into a party she wasn't ever invited to... just to tell Adrien that it'd be okay if he told her about it and that she wouldn't have minded if he had to go but didn't want to. All things she could literally have just TEXTED HIM ABOUT. IT IS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD!!! 

There's one big fucking hole in Marinette's plan to infiltrate the dance: even if she has an invitation, she's walking through the front-door. While paparazzi are mobbing the entrance for photos, and unlike in Inside Job, they aren't just going to conveniently lose all ability to notice her. 

And we get Adrien's arrival and then his staring weirdly intently at Kagami's ring. THAT doesn't mean ANYTHING at all, I'm sure. /s 

And now Amelie is on the scene. And we get a scene of Amelia accusing Gabriel of having "changed" since whatever happened to Emilie, which doesn't make a lick of sense since Adrien, consistently, has described Gabe as ALWAYS having been this much of an ass.

And NOW we get a scene of Amelie criticizing Nathalie for going along with the "different" Gabe... and Nathalie going, sorry but I have no choice. The FUCK YOU DON'T WOMAN!! This, shit like THIS, is why them trying to make Nathalie redeemable DOES NOT FUCKING WORK!!! 

"There's always a choice, Nathalie," AMELIE IS THE LAST PERSON WHO SHOULD BE SAYING THIS!! She KNOWINGLY harbored her son from the heroes, CHOOSING to shield him from the consequences of his actions!! She does not get to say shit like this!! 

I'm honestly just baffled that the security detail isn't concerned on any level by how out of place Marinette is. Not to be classist, but literally EVERYONE looks dressed up, whereas she's... casual. Granted, so would Zoe, so maybe they somehow knew that's the kind of style Zoe likes? Who knows. 

And now, after using the mask/invitation to get in, she's just "suddenly dolled up to the nines," in the same ritzy style as the rest of the guests are. HOW!? Is, is it some kind of super-tech or something?? That would honestly be believable, IF we were given ANY kind of explanation at all!! 

And now we get Chloe shoving her face in the disguised Marinette's, with Marinette using Zoe's name... I'm honestly baffled on why Chloe doesn't recognize her, since she should know damn well that Zoe had an invitation and recognize Marinette's voice... nope, not gonna think about it, that way lies madness. Also, they are really hitting all the "shallow, vapid brat" stereotypes with her today, huh? 

The way she more or less implied that all rich kids have underlings makes me want to drive my head against a wall. Like, this is just obnoxiously stereotypical. THIS is what Astruc is dead set on implying is the deepest evil humanity can sink to!? THIS!? Also, her stating that they make fun of their "underlings" doesn't make a lick of sense since Chloe hasn't really ever made fun of Sabrina. She, at worst, just takes advantage of her.

We get a few brief muffled snippets of conversations of the other rich kids and, again, they are basically just cardboard cutouts of Chloe's post-flanderization personality. This is literally a "party" of walking stereotypes. Kagami and Adrien then have a conversation, with Kagami questioning why Adrien kissed her hand "because he's in love with Marinette," which is the kind of thing that's really shoehorned in. At a big fancy event like this, I'm pretty sure he would be expected to do that REGARDLESS OF HIS FEELINGS. 

Adrien, who I'm "suspecting" is not Adrien, asks Kagami if she's jealous. Kagami honestly answers, and I'm just... why? WHY!? Why would EITHER of them CARE enough to talk about this!? Is this meant to be a set-up of some kind?? I don't get what this is meant to introduce!! WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS AWKWARD CONVERSATION!? 

Also, the way Kagami phrases her reaction as "shutting off her feelings" feels icky to me. If this is meant to be some kind of neurodivergence wink and a nudge, MY ANGER RISES. But even if it isn't, the set-up, treating emotions like something you have to "turn off for other people's happiness" DISGUSTS ME on so many levels!! You don't have to stop loving someone to want to support their happiness with somebody else!! God fucking DAMMIT I thought we were past this shit!! And now we get "Adrien" calling Kagami "his Queen." I am creeped out on so many levels, since he's not even pretending to talk like Adrien by now. 

Kagami saying things like "I am the descendant of Samurai women, we follow orders because we choose to" makes me want to puke. THIS is the kind of shit that I find infuriating, because they are all but blatantly stating that she is being emotionally abused and gaslit, and that's not even going into the implications she's a fucking SENTIMONSTER!!! God dammit does this infuriate me. 

"Let's leave." "Are you insane, we can't do that!" "Of course we can, I can." Well THAT isn't ominous at fucking ALL.

The way they frame Kagami realizing "Adrien" is serious as something interesting weirds me the fuck out. It comes off as kinda predatory, like him being someone who knows something deeply personal about another and intending to exploit her over it, with her being none the wiser. 

And after the remainder of that awkward "conversation," we get the sight of them before the guests of the Diamond Dance... and Marinette immediately rushes for Adrien. ...She's supposed to be SMART, right? RIGHT!? 

Honestly, even if she HAD been invited, her basically shoulder-checking her way past the other guests to get to Adrien SHOULD HAVE gotten her kicked out of this idiotic ball. 

And now she's in front of "Adrien" rambling like an idiot. Telling "him" things that she could've just fucking TEXTED HIM. Deep breathes... deep breathes... And now we get Marinette and Fadrian dancing together, nothing uncomfortable about that at all, while Chloe tries to rally the guests... who all can't bring themselves to touch Marinette for the most superficial reasons imaginable. Astruc really wasn't even TRYING. 

Also, for once? Chloe's basically entirely in the right about all this. While her elitist attitude is deplorable, not only does Marinette not have permission to be there at all, she had already massively disrupted the entire (boring, dull, unoriginal) party. I'm just wondering why the HELL none of the fully human security detail members from outside the ballroom itself haven't been called in to kick her out!? It's not as if she (in her civilian form) has any kind of powers that would let her get the drop on things!!

Also, I'm mildly surprised that Gabe hasn't tried ordering F-Adrien to pull away and stop dancing with her... but that would spoil the surprise, now wouldn't it? It's not as if he's had any problem using his power over Adrien in as unsubtle ways possible BEFORE today. 

"They're all looking at me like I'm a monster," Marinette, please shut the fuck up. They aren't looking at you like you're a monster, they are looking at you like you are someone who broke into a party you had no business being at under false pretenses (and being too much of a bunch of whiny brats to want to remove by their own power). Also, it's really "funny" how the only adults present are Gabe, Tomoe, Audrey, and Andre. 

For a so-called gathering of the Elite. 

"Look closer Marinette, THEY'RE the monsters." Why? What have they done, IN ANY WAY, to be described that harshly!? Adrien's a fucking shut-in, so it's not as if he knows any of these people, the worst you can say about them is that they are spoiled!! They aren't monsters, they are just people, people who don't yet know better, and whose only crime is being part of a group you don't fucking LIKE!!! GET THE ABSOLUTE FUCK OVER YOURSELF ASTRUC!!! 

Of fucking COURSE it's fucking Felix!! All it took was him saying something totally out of character within earshot of Marinette for it to make any kind of sense!! Also, I kinda just "love" how Marinette instantly thinks Felix "did something to Adrien," which doesn't make any sense given his track record. Even at his worst up until now, all Felix really did was impersonate Adrien and tried to damage his reputation. So her thinking he "did something to Adrien" just... feels insanely stupid.

Now we get Chloe literally JUMPING on Marinette to tear off her mask... instead of just calling in security from outside. Because WHY THE FUCK NOT!? Oh, and Felix is transforming in public, I guess. 

Wait, NOW I see the other adults, they were just out of most of the shots. 

"I can wipe out anyone bathed in the light of the Red Moon with the snap of my feathers!" Question: When did Felix get the fucking Rooster Miraculous? You know, the one that is supposed to grant people any superpower they can imagine so long as it doesn't violate some utterly arbitrary rule? 

And also, WHAT THE FUCK DID ANY OF THOSE PEOPLE DO TO DESERVE GETTING WIPED OUT AT ALL!? 

Argos honestly works fairly well as a delusional villain, honestly. He talks like he's "wiping people out" for some kind of moral basis, but literally EVERY TIME HE HAS SHOWED UP, he has done nothing but torment Adrien, damage his social life, enable Gabe's cruelty, so on and so forth to utterly idiotic degrees. Him acting like what he's doing is for the sake of others is BULLSHIT. He just wants to be the one doing the controlling. 

Kagami screaming in horror at the sight of her mother being wiped out is honestly the most believable part of this whole episode. As much as Tomoe has been shoehorned into the role of being a villain, Kagami genuinely CARES about her, which makes Felix's attitude even more stupid. Literally all of this is just him power-tripping over getting to do whatever the fuck he wants to the people around him. 

"Adrien is the last person I would want to hurt" LIES!! FUCKING LIES!! YOU LITERALLY DID NOTHING BUT TRY AND DAMAGE HIS REPUTATION THE LAST FEW TIMES YOU HAVE BEEN AROUND!! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT ISN'T HURTING HIM YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!?

Now we get a cringe-inducing musical number. Like, the lyrics alone basically spell out that Felix is a selfish hypocrite who only cares about anything so far as it relates to him getting what he wants. 

Also, while he's right in that he isn't working for Monarch/Hawkmoth/WHOEVER THE FUCK HE IS, him acting as if he needed to hand over all the Miraculouses "for his plans" when he literally had the perfect Miraculous for stealing the Peacock without any problem at all just reeks of self-serving hypocrisy. 

And now we get to the root of his hypocrisy. His wish wouldn't even be BAD if he hasn't been consistently a self-serving hypocritical douche-canoe all this fucking TIME. The fact that he's labeling Marinette with the "controlling others, deciding others' fates" BS just spells that out. He doesn't know what he's talking about, and he doesn't fucking CARE. He just wants free rein to do what HE wants and fuck the consequences towards anyone else. Also, he can't realistically use snapping her away as a threat because he's already revealed he needs her to stick around. 

Also, them trying to make him sound sympathetic by acting like he has "nothing to lose" just screams "PITY ME!!" at max volume. It falls flat with how much of a selfish and despicable tool they've made him out to be. This isn't revealing someone previously thought bad has depths no one had considered (like what it looked like they were doing with Chloe in Season 2), this is them trying to ignore how blatantly hypocritical this idiot is. 

Like, he literally just admitted he would rather wipe out EVERYONE in the world if he has to if it means getting his way. 

"The whole world has been bathed in the light of the Red Moon." Seriously? Like, seriously. It's a spherical object hovering over the sky of Paris. It's not even covering ALL OF FRANCE, let alone the world. 

"All of humanity will disappear if you don't hand it over!" BECAUSE OF YOU!! YOU ARE TRYING TO PIN THE BLAME ON HER FOR YOUR FUCKING CRIMES YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!! 

And we get some scenes of Felix wandering an empty Paris before getting confronted by Kagami. Ugghhh....

And he reveals he can bring people back, fantastic. 

If the transformations are meant to block people from realizing someone is transformed, how did Adrien notice that Argos is Felix? HOW!? Also, we literally fucking SAW Red Moon get created during the ball, so just... did he make TWO OF THEM? AND USED A SMALLER ONE IN PRIVATE OR SOMETHING??? 

Him calling Adrien his "favorite cousin" is a bad joke. Adrien is his ONLY fucking cousin, and he routinely treats him like shit. Unless Felix is delusional beyond words, this comes off more as him mocking Adrien for "not having the guts to stand up to his oppressors." 

Seriously, them framing the wholesale slaughter of the entirety of Paris as "saving Adrien" and conveniently ignoring how literally NOTHING Felix has ever done or said to Adrien prior to this has been anything other then malicious really makes me feel sick to my stomach. 

Okay, so he DID make the stupid thing earlier. Still doesn't explain how he made it disappear and reappear, OR how Adrien could see through his transformation. Also, he's apparently been stalking Adrien for WHO KNOWS how long, yet the knowledge that Adrien is in Love with Marinette came as a SURPRISE TO HIM!? WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THIS!? 

Wow, how convenient of him to ignore how he tried to ruin Adrien's social life. And tormented his friends pretending to be him. And all the other times he's done nothing but make life harder for the people he allegedly cares for to satisfy his personal whims. This... this is just some delusional psycho throwing a tantrum. I think I'm gonna throw up. 

I just... I just cannot take this seriously. Felix has been consistently utterly malicious and self-serving all this time. Trying to reframe that as him giving a shit about Adrien (who he hasn't properly seen in years and tried to ruin the life of) and Kagami (who he doesn't even fucking KNOW) just doesn't WORK. 

"Do you really think I'm that evil?" Yes. Yes they do. Because you literally ACT that evil. You literally threatened to WIPE OUT THE WORLD just to get your own way.

Something's wrong, I can usually bring back whoever I want!" How would you even KNOW THAT!? HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU BEEN TESTING THIS FUCKED UP POWER ON IN SECRET!? 

Again, them trying to make him sound remorseful DOES NOT FUCKING WORK when he didn't have any problem wiping out ALL OF FUCKING PARIS. 

"I never meant to hurt you two," THAT IS FUCKING NEWS TO ME!! CONSIDERING YOU LITERALLY TRIED TO RUIN ADRIEN'S PERSONAL LIFE YOUR VERY FIRST DAY BACK IN PARIS!!! 

If him talking so remorsefully to the non-sentient orb in the sky he made is supposed to be touching, it fails. He just looks unhinged. 

And now we learn that Amelie knew all along about Felix being Argos and what he was planning. Mother of the fucking year people!!! You can't make her come across as sympathetic when she's the accomplice of the guy who tried to genocide Paris. 

And it's done. I'm just... drained by this. I don't hate this as much as the prior episode, even if I am infuriated by it, since my anger is more inflamed by... things going on in the world being carried over to the writing here. These writers are fucking HACKS.

[penandswords]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ G i v e.

This Meme (so many stars!)

Saying her loyalty to Endeavor is Simping, OR insinuating she's looking to get something out of him by being Loyal, Is like hitting war drums to her. (Do you want her to claw your eyes out? KEEP pressing that button and someone is going to have to drag her off to keep her from committing crimes) (I'm looking at YOU kaiba)

Rima is also protective of her loyalty to the other heroes who have helped her get to where she currently is. (Moral of the story) Rima is VERY protective over her relationships with her guardians, and having people say she's using them for some ulterior motive are fighting words. (Yes this includes Yagi and Fin.)

Rima LOVES singing, but can get a little stage shy. The second too many eyes are staring at her she will stop and go hide.

Rima is REALLY bad about telling other people when she achieves something. - Her arts on display at a school event? (Oops she didn't bring it up) (Vee usually spills the beans) - Won an award? GEt on the honors roll or the deens list? She will celebrate everyone elses little achievements but often times will forget her own. (oops)

When she was younger, Rima had an issue when it came to giving heroes intel on her family. She was young and it felt weird having heroes listening to what she had to say. (And she wasn't really use to that kind of treatment back home). If the Anxiety GETS to high, she has a habit of gravitating towards the faces she's learned to trust. (Endeavor, but if Endeavor isn't not there she'd gravitate to whoever else happens to be in the room)

[ageless-aislynn]

Friends. I have learned something VERY important. My computer... hates Google. No, seriously. I realized that the entire last bunch of blue screens that happened after the BIOS, Nvidia and Intel driver patches were occurring either as soon as I loaded up Chrome or was taking it down. If Chrome did manage to load, then my Nvidia graphics card would literally GROWL the entire time it was on. I am not speaking metaphorically. It sounded like it wanted to bite my ankle but now I know, it was just Google it wanted to bite.

The final piece of the puzzle was yesterday, when I tried to use Google docs (via Firefox). My computer HATED Google docs. My computer sees anything Google and it WILL do this:

Apologies for the crudeness. It was what my computer insisted on in exchange for letting me type, you know, G👀gl3.

Trigger warning: flashing lights

Halo 2 Honor Guards Google: "Hey, Ais' computer, would you like to see what amazing products we have for you today--ERK!" *essplodey*

Ais' computer: *Needler sounds and maniacal laughing*

(I removed Chrome, btw. Firefox has always been my main browser but sometimes it would act weird on certain sites and they'd load fine on Chrome so I'd split my browsing like that. If FF has issues with any site, I'll either try Opera for a secondary browser or *shudders* Edge - edit: no disrespect meant if you love Edge. I just had Some Problems with it back when it was Internet Explorer and I've never forgiven it. 🤷‍♀️ Either way, Chrome has gotten the boot and my computer is much happier about it.)

My frens, it is a weird new computer world I've found myself in but, if I can keep the computer from crashing, then I'll try to thrive in it. So far, at least it doesn't seem to mind me transcribing my ch7 "15 Minutes" draft into my email. It's an awkward way to edit but it's better than nothing.

Now I just have to make sure I don't mail the dang thing to somebody. Like, say, Noble Team!

Hey, guys, what did you think of my rough draft? Did you like it? What did you think about that part with the huge... Hey, WAIT A MINUTE, COME BACK HERE!

Um, yeah. They loved it. I'm pretty sure they're rushing off to blog about it right now! 😇

Seriously, though, I hope to have it ready to post in a couple more days. We'll see. Ch8 will be (emailing) right behind it and ch9 is still being hand written. It's... something, at least. 🤷‍♀️

I may see if the computer is stable enough for me to put my ol' faithful version of Word 2003 (my beloved) back on there. But for now, we email like a Spartan in the AU Party 'hog!

Anyway, I share because I care. Hope you all are doing well. Love you, frens. 💖💖💖

[jenroses]

A lot of it can! I built a stupidly overpowered computer given that the game I played the most in the first month or two was Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri from 1999. Windows 11 actually does better with SMAC than Windows 10 did, it's only crashed once! I can also run Creative Suite CS2 which I OWN on this system. Photoshop from 2004 doesn't quite know what to do with multithreading but it's actually still really fast and the 64 gigs of RAM doesn't hurt. At the moment I have NMS running in the background while I have a gadzillion firefox tabs open and I could easily watch a video like this and be fine. One of the upsides of holding on to old software is that where it can take advantage of the new hardware, it really does run very well and you get actually uplift. The issue is that a lot of people lost the thread of Intel's naming scheme and haven't upgraded their computer or they bought something with stupidly little RAM (16g is probably okay but 32 g is what most gamers will be happier with and I bought a little word processing toaster of a netbook in 2020-ish or 2021 which had FOUR gigs of RAM but there was a huge tech shortage at the time and it can do what i needed it to do (run Scrivener) just fine. It cannot handle a lot of tabs open and still do, you know, the operating system. 8 gigs is Sluggish because of Windows bloat.

And yes, I have a fervent desire for two things in programming:

That programmers optimize their programs to run on a wide variety of systems with reasonable speeds

That programmers enable their programs to use things like multithreading and large amounts of available RAM *if there is excess capacity readily available* to speed necessary functions that take significant time. Like, oh, loading screens and transitions shouldn't take much time at all on my system but the cpu is sitting there at like 4% utilization while the framerate drops to 30fps on a LOADING screen because they just had to animate a gadzillion star systems through the gpu alone (looking at you NMS.)

What I mean by that is that, for example, in the gaming sector, there are a lot of companies who are like "How much eye candy can we stuff in here to meet our arbitrary (stupidly low) framerate goal" and most of the "eye candy" is stuff most observers wouldn't know or recognize from a hole in the ground. Yes, I'm talking about Starfield. I didn't understand why they'd accept a framerate of 30fps on console until I discovered they'd artificially locked both Skyrim and Fallout 4 ON THE PC to like 30 or 40 fps. And then tied the physics to framerate, completely unnecessarily (as in you can change this behavior with like two or three ini edits.) Then there's games like Baldur's Gate which was done thoughtfully and can run on a huge range of hardware. I had to return one Civilization game because they hadn't accounted for an aging fanbase and high resolution monitors and I flat out couldn't read the tiny text to play the game.

But yeah, we have this neverending leapfrogging bloat that goes on, where users try to upgrade to get things to work better and companies decide to fill in the new overhead with data mining background tasks and "user experience optimizations" that are a ridiculous rat race that in no way enhances the user experience.

Anyway, I'm not opposed to upgrades but like, do them sensibly and if you can, learn to build your own stuff so that you aren't beholden to the anticonsumer tactics most major computer system integrators (dell, etc.) use to get as much of your money as possible while giving you the least in exchange.

we should globally ban the introduction of more powerful computer hardware for 10-20 years, not as an AI safety thing (though we could frame it as that), but to force programmers to optimize their shit better

[babyawacs]

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@garedorsay #musee_gare_dorsay @paris oh i suspect the issue besides all underfunded museums is thatit additionallyhas the used patina charm with additions on s t o r e #keypoint consider a different museumtheme thathighlights the interesting aspects incontrary artistic only if itis a trainstation the trains shouldbe infocus itcouldbe a highlight with the paris patina if thereis a specific…

[witch-hazels-musings]

Until you are safe

Warning: Vision Hunt Decree still in effect, kidnapped themes, reader grabbed by hair (Thoma), possessive themes (scara)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Albedo, Scara, Thoma, Zhongli

Albedo

The frosty chill of the mountain side was more than you could bear. Every time you thought you gained warmth it was ripped from your body by icy hands threatening to drive you insane. You shivered and wrapped your coat further around your body while you scowled against the frigid cold. 

Ahead of you stood Albedo who seemed indifferent to the temperature and while you were impressed that he knew how to handle this without any complaints, you were also irritated by the fact. He was barely wearing anything and here you were shivering under countless layers of cloth. 

He turned to tell you something but with the turbulent winds and nibbling frost against your ears, you didn’t understand a single word he said. Quickly, you forced your legs to move as you made your way to his side.

“W-w-what di-did you s-say?” Your chattering teeth made it hard, and painful, to speak but you did your best anyway. 

“We are nearly there, can you keep going?” He narrowed his eyes at you but you knew that was a common thing he did. It was unlikely to have any additional meaning behind it. 

“H-how f-f-f-ar?” 

“Just around the bend.” He rested the back of his hand against your cheek and somehow that made you shiver even more than the touch of frost. When you nodded and began to walk forward, he took up position behind you and directed you toward the camp. 

With the cave blocking out the wind, and several warming mechanisms already glowing, you stumbled your way in between them an the fire. Trembling hands extended toward the orange and yellow light while you watched the snow drip from your clothes. 

“I always h-hat-te this p-p-part.” You complained, shaking your head and shoulders to warm up the muscles. This wasn’t the first time you traveled to Dragonspine with Albedo, but each time you braved the conditions you recalled the promise you made yourself last time. Never again, well ... I guess that promise was made to be broken. 

“Here, this will help warm you.” He handed you a cup and immediately you caught the scent of fresh and soothing tea. The aroma itself perked you up and even though your fingers were still stiff, you graciously took the offering. Warmth seeped into your throat as the liquid carved a path down your esophagus and into the pit of your baron stomach. With a refreshing hum you smiled through the steam.  

“P-p-perfect. Thank-k y-you.” Another sip warmed your lips and tickled your nose but you didn’t dare stop. 

“This trip should be less strenuous than last time.” Albedo began, his back turned to you as he rummaged through the stacks of books. “Where did I place that ... perhaps it got caught in the wind, that would be unfortunate.” 

You giggled, eyes watching him meander and speak to himself all at the same time. He had a habit of doing it but it never bothered you, in fact it was comforting to hear his voice, stabilizing, grounding. 

“You ca-can head out. I’ll b-be fine here after I w-warm up-p.” The shivering had eased, but you still succumbed to the residual affects as your body began to shift from frozen to thawed. 

“No need, I can wait here for a while.” 

“Haha, that’s silly, g-go on ahead.” You took another sip of the cup and found yourself sad at the emptiness of it. That’s when a hand entered your field of vision and you watched Albedo walk toward a table, refill your drink, and return to your side. He offered it to you and when your fingers found the circumference his nestled against them.

“Until I know you are safe, I will be here.” His eyes held your own for a while as if waiting for your reaction, your response, and when you nodded he mimicked your action before slipping back toward the bookshelves and research table. 

You were glad he left you, because if he hadn’t you were sure the only way to cool down was to step beyond the barrier of the cave and into the never-ending snowstorm that protected Dragonspine. 

Scara

Being at the side of a Harbinger had it’s own trials. If it wasn’t the constant movement between assignments or the threats against your life, it was the loneliness which creeped in every single day. There were some Harbingers who left the life of love far outside of their reach: Signora, who vowed to never love again and instead put all her attention into fulfilling her duty, Childe, found love a difficult thing to ignore and did his best to keep what he cherished hidden behind closed doors. 

Scara, he never understood the meaning of the word until it crashed around him like a house crumbles into itself, and the way he kept his belongings safe was to have them near him at all times. It was far better to be under the watchful eyes of his competence than leave something so valuable in the hands of another. So, here you were, following him around and staying hidden until he called for you. 

-- 

The room was empty, absent of all the things you would have normally kept to make this place more homey. If you could get away with it, you’d have made some changes to the décor, but the problem with never settling in one place for long made this desire of yours difficult to accomplish. It wasn’t feasible, you thought to yourself  but that didn’t stop you from adding a bit of comfort when you could. 

The night came and went without issue and after you prepared yourself for bed you wondered where your lover was. Was he succeeding, was he accomplishing his goals, would he return to you tonight or would you wake up alone yet again. Luckily for you, you had learn to be patient. 

Your dreams kept you occupied but there seemed to be something about them that pulled you toward consciousness, a subtle wish drifting across your imagines to wake up. 

Something brushed across your cheek, but was it the dream or reality, you couldn’t tell. Gravity pulled you close to something sturdy, but was it a creation of your imagination or the real thing - why was this so challenging. When your eyes finally opened and adjusted to the light of the room, you realized what had been calling to you. 

“Scara?” You pulled your hand down from behind the pillow, the muscles tense from being locked into that position for so long. “What has-” 

“Go back to sleep.” He spoke and the sound of his voice pulled you closer to him. 

“Is everything okay?” You continued your question as if what he said was never uttered, your eyes trying to find the outline of his frame while your skin adjusted to his touch. 

“Nothing to concern yourself with, just sleep.” 

“But, why are you here?

“I don’t recall needing your permission to do anything.” His words may have been direct, but you could sense there was something else behind them. 

“... would you ... like to come to bed?” 

“I can’t.” He adjusted and you felt the warmth of the blankets cover more of your exposed skin. The chill of the evening became blocked by the sheets and you hummed in response. You were confused, but the feeling of his hand running along your neck, your jaw, and into your hair made all the questions you had disappear. Moments like these brought out something completely different in the Harbinger and you wondered why he treated you so differently. 

With a yawn, you turned into his touch, lips finding the palm of his hand easily and placing a tender kiss against his skin. “You don’t need to stay if you have work to do. I’ll be fine.” You hummed again as he thumb ran over your lips and the gentle pull of sleep began to find you. It was quiet for a while and you focused on the warmth, the closeness, the comfort he provided until you practically melted into the bed. 

“I can’t do that either.” Scara whispered, hand pressing into the mattress as he leaned closer to your face. “Not until you are safe,” He breathed in your scent, gazing down at your trusting form beneath him. “Even from me.” He spoke as his fingers curled into the sheets and before he lost himself in you, he slipped from your bedroom and made his way down the hall. 

Thoma

He ran so fast as soon as the news reached him. The weight of his feet as he dashed through the countryside grew with every passing second but there was nothing more painful than his clenching heart and anxious thoughts. 

What have they done, am I to late, please don’t be too late. He wracked his brain over and over again, blamed himself for the stupidity of leaving you. If he had been there would the outcome be different? If he had stayed, would he have been able to fend off their attack enough to get you to safety. How foolish of him for thinking they wouldn’t use dirty tricks like this to accomplish their goals. 

Rumors and intel began to swirl like wildfire and at this point he couldn’t differentiate the accuracy of it all. There was one thing he knew for certain, the vision hunters had you and he was going to get you back. 

-- 

Their campsite was simple and you wondered if they would really be able to escort all of these prisoners back to the city on their own. They were intimidating enough to keep most insurrection at bay, but you were not about to let them get away with this. After a quick analysis of your surroundings, you found a few potential options worth trying, now it was only a matter of timing. 

“You won’t get away with this!” Someone shouted next to you and you patiently waited for an opportunity. 

“Shut up.” A soldier barked, his dismissive attitude apparent from the lack of eye contact and the wave of his hand. 

“This is wrong and you know it! Do you think you’re immune to the decree, when the day come to hand over your vision will you?!” 

The soldier turned and made his way through the trembling captured, you used the scuffling of those trying to get out of his way as an excuse to move closer to your escape. The dirt scraped against your bound hands and pulled at your clothes, but you didn’t care because each inch you gained the closer you got to freedom. 

You watched the soldier lift the woman from the ground, his impressive height apparent as she dangled above the well worn soil. “I will do what is necessary for the Raiden Shogun. I am bound by honor, unlike the resistance.” 

“Honor! You know nothing of it. Put me down you brute.” She spat in his face and he reacted in kind. You hated the fact that you were using her as your distraction, but hopefully if this all worked out in the end freedom would be enough compensation for her bruised face. Your fingers brushed against a metal handle, the sword you were aiming for had been reached and you quickly worked to get yourself free from the bindings.

The loosening rope told you of your success but when your hand wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and you moved to stand, a sudden pain against your head made your vision go blurry. 

“What do you think you are doing?!” Shouted a voice near your ear. They were so loud that you shrunk away from it only to be yanked right back. “You think you could take on all of us? Are you stupid.” 

“I didn’t think so.” You wheezed, blinking harshly to try and bring your vision back to clarity. 

“Well let me help you understand.” He drug you away from the group but before you could take but a few steps, an intense groan blasted it’s way near you and the hand that held your hair fell away in an instant. 

“Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked, hands finding your waist to steady you. It was like your eyes snapped back on because as soon as you turned your head, you found Thoma standing their with an expression you’d never seen before: fury. 

“I’m - ouch - okay.” You whispered and then you realized the implications of him being there. Turning, you pressed your hands against his chest and pushed against him, your voice turned tense as you shouted. “Ge-get out of here! What if they catch you!?” 

“I’m not leaving.” 

“Thoma!” 

He looked down at you, his arm tightening around you and you swore the world shifted red and the screaming soldiers shouts became muffled. “Until I know you are safe, I’m not leaving.” He looked forward and the glint of his polearm caught your attention. “Now hold on, okay.” 

The dry landscape turned into a wildfire until only what Thoma wanted to remain, remained. 

Zhongli

“This is very kind of you, Zhongli. To walk me home.” You chuckled, gazing up at him as you made your way down the path and toward the city. It wasn’t uncommon for Zhongli to escort you from place to place, but tonight you would have assumed he would stay on the Pearl and continue his lively conversation. 

“It is no trouble at all, to allow you to walk by yourself would not sit well with me.” Zhongli commented matter-of-factly, his eyes closing as he nodded his head and gazed up toward the stars. 

“You were having such a nice time, know that I didn’t mean to bring that too a close.” You scratched your forehead and adjusted your clothes after climbing the stairs from the docks. It was a rather pleasant night, but it usually was in Liyue this time of year. 

“I would never insinuate you had ill intentions. I made this decision on my own, to escort you is no trouble at all.” 

“Yes, well, that’s very kind of you Zhongli.” The lights of the festival swayed in the wind. To you they looked like fireflies in the sky, but that was such a silly thought you kept it to yourself. “I think I can manage on my own, if you want to go back?” 

“Nonsense, I will stay until I know you are safe.” He glanced down at you and offered you a smile, one that spoke true and gave you the impression of ‘I will not be swayed.’ 

“Well, thank you.” You turned away from him in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the embarrassment you were sure shined in your eyes and flashed across your expression. How can someone so regal find your company enjoyable at all - but Zhongli was so kind to anyone you fought against your better judgement to believe this gesture was more than common courtesy of a gentleman.

“It is my pleasure. Did you have an enjoyable time?” He asked, head examining the city streets and decorations as you had earlier. 

“Oh yes! Thank you for inviting me, I’ve never attended something so high class.” You fussed at your outfit again, it was apparent you weren’t used to wearing something like this but you did your best to fit in and not insult the guest who invited you to join him. 

“I am delighted to hear. It is far better to enjoy ones time when in company you relish, don’t you agree?” 

“Absolutely!” For a while, the two of you discussed the highlights and lowlights of the gathering. The sound of your laughter and excitement caught the attention of late night patrons, but you didn’t mind because it also caught the attention of the one you wanted the most. 

It wasn’t until you neared your home that the conversation began to drift. Your heart was sad that the night was coming to a close but responsibilities held you to a tight schedule, even if you felt the itch to break them. 

“Thank you again, Zhongli. This night will be one I remember for a while.” Your nails had received a break all evening, but, now that you were about to be alone, they felt the dig of your nervous habits once again. 

“It was my pleasure, it is always a gift to spend the evening with you.” He bowed, his long hair slipping over his shoulder at the motion. 

“I tend to agree with you.” Chuckling, you moved to unlock your door and when you looked back to Zhongli, his face was illuminated by the sparkling lanterns and yellow glow of the city. No matter what he did he radiated colors you’d never fully understand. 

“Liyue has many festivals,” He began, his tone wistful, “though I must say the ones where lanterns adorn the city are my favorite. Do you not think they look like fireflies in the distance?” He asked, gazing up at a few that dangled across the bridges and walkways that lined the city. 

“Yeah, actually I do.” You whispered as your eyes fell onto the man you loved so much it hurt to look at him, but, if it meant you could capture even a hint of his existence in your memory, you would happily suffer this pain. 

[teruel-a-witch]

Sorry for hijacking your meta-writing abilities but I'm at work and I have just had an epiphany. You know what's really, insanely wild about the whole Cath/Billie/Steve problem? That when in 4x02 Steve rants that Cath will need a job, and Danny answers that they'll find her one, despite harping about Catherine’s unmatched abilities in recon and intel, Steve doesn't suggest, NOT EVEN AS A JOKE, no, it doesn't even cross his mind, that they could offer her a job in Five-0. Steve could do it. Later he will. BUT. NOT. HERE. AND. NOW. See, it would've solved any issue: give Cath a job exactly tailored onto her, keep her close to Steve, reinforce their bond. But neither Steve, nor Danny, even suggest it. Or think about it. It's like....dunno, it's like they don't want to break the perfect bubble of intimacy and closeness they've built for themselves. Like Cath would play among them the same role Billie plays between Steve and her. Or maybe I'm seein things.

You are not hijacking anything like I'm ever gonna pass up an opportunity to ramble (especially about my current obsession aka McDanno). You are not seeing things, unless you mean seeing what's actually shown on screen ;).

First, I'm gonna speculate on the reasons the writers wrote it this way and then I'll put my shipping goggles on.

As soon as they made Cath a regular on the show, I thought it's just a matter of time before she would have to join 5-0 just because, well, it's what the show is about.

BUT there were two problems with that, one - they didn't want to make it look like she only got the job because she's Steve's sometimes maybe girlfriend (even tho lbr that is why, not that she's not qualified, of course she is, but she was only considered for the job because of her connection to the boss, that is the definition of nepotism, not to mention they wanted to avoid the implication that she...uh...slept her way to the top) so they had to make it look like she had her own thing and they tried everything before just sticking her on the team.

The second problem, I imagine, is they didn't want to make it look like they immediately replaced Kono with Cath (while Grace was on her maternity leave which was a valid reason for her to be absent the optics are just not great especially after they already sidelined Kono for Lori in S2, since the show was allergic to having more than one woman on the team (had to adhere to the Smurfette Principle I guess).

The Powers That Be and the marketing doesn't care about the show *being* progressive it cares about *appearing* progressive which is why they had to cover their bases, so to speak. They had to go 'See? We have tried everything. We gave her her own job, that didn't work out, and now they are one team member short so it makes sense for her to be there since she is more than qualified, not because she's dating the boss, she's her own woman, hashtag feminism'.

So that's my conjecture/speculation for why it was written like that OUT OF universe.

Now *puts her shipping goggles on* since we don't have to consider the external reasons and only work with what we get on screen, you are absolutely right, it's veeeery curious how neither Steve nor Danny actually want Cath there, because 5-0 is ohana and no matter how much TPTB tried to force it she was never truly part of it.

But more than that, their job is their partnership, it's a Steve-and-Danny thing, of course they didn't want a third wheel to invade their own private little world.

It's absolutely in the same vein with Steve inviting Danny to go fishing to his father's secret spot and refusing to disclose to Cath where he is going. (He needs his very special male bonding time away from wymyn ;))

Steve NEEDS a place where he can escape to from the tiring burden of heteronormativity, Danny doesn't have to see his 'girlfriends' at work every day, this is the time where he can spend as much time as he wants with Steve without anyone invading that, of course they don't want Steve's 'girlfriend' to be there every day taking a giant bite out of their quality time cake.

Cath being there means they both have to be on™ all the time, the performance never stops and they can't relax and be themselves and it's exhausting. Steve prefers to compartmentalize and he was perfectly happy to keep Cath and 5-0 separate.

Not to mention he was perfectly okay with the little amount of time he usually spent with her (tells us everything we need to know, doesn't it, especially compared how him and Danny live in each other's pockets) and if she worked with them it would be like being forced to eat tasteless bran every day instead of only occasionally just to tick a box.

Lastly, I would argue that unlike with Billie, there IS actually a triangle of sorts with Cath - Steve - Danny (Billie - Cath - Steve isn't a real triangle because Steve is clearly not interested in competing with Billie).

Danny definitely doesn't enjoy Cath encroaching on his quality time with Steve, and he *cannot* watch any form of PDA between the two, as evidenced by him literally turning away and/or making a joke every time he has to witness the forced display. Her working with them would mean he would have to suffer through even more of that so of course it wouldn't be his suggestion. Danny may feel like 'the other woman' sometimes but in reality Cath simply couldn't compete with him, if Steve knew he returned his feelings he would have dropped Cath like a hot potato. It's not a real love triangle when the sides are extremely uneven and the choice is obvious.

TL;Dr: you are not so much seeing as perceiving correctly.

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   ��What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Sam Wilson x Reader ~ Safe and Sound  [Pt.1]

A/N: Here’s the first part to a fic that’s been sitting as a work in progress for the longest time. I am still working on finishing the Rest Assured series, but I just needed time to figure out all the issues I’ve been running into with it. Hopefully this three-part series will suffice for the time being!

[Marvel Masterlist]

Word Count: 2231

Words cannot describe the sharp, gut-wrenching pain burning at (Y/n)’s side as she inhales sharply. The mission was supposed to be quick and easy. She and Clint were supposed to grab a hard drive from an abandoned steel factory before HYDRA could get their hands on the stolen intel; if the information were to fall into the wrong hands, many innocent lives would be in danger. Unfortunately, HYDRA was the least of their worries. 

Though the opposing parties did confront one another, the thief who stole the hard drive had rigged explosives throughout the building. When both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents entered the vicinity, several meticulously placed motion-sensors were triggered, setting off a massive explosion that turned the factory into a mountain of debris.

Now, as the rubble begins to settle, (Y/n) tries her best to remain calm. Large chunks of concrete and steel beams box the agent in, leaving her to assume that she is either buried at ground-level, or deep within a pit created by the explosion.

“Happy thoughts, (Y/n). Happy thoughts,” she thinks to herself in a mantra. Her throat is dry and hoarse thanks to the dense cloud of dust wafting in the air. The unpleasant rumbling of shifting debris startles her already-anxious mind, and the pain radiating from her side does little to help calm her nerves. Taking a look at the damage would only make her panicking worse, but (Y/n) knows that she must somehow assess the wound—in complete darkness—and take measures to ensure her survival. 

“H-Hey, can an-...c-py?” Despite the whiplash she experienced after falling two stories while building is simultaneously being blown apart, (Y/n) can make out the fragments of words from the message; her mind is fuzzy, making it hard for her to concentrate, but the voice seems to belong to Bruce. “G-Guy-ys?”

“Y-Yeah, I copy.” Clint’s voice rasps out through the pregnant silence. After a report of his status to whoever is listening on the communications links, which is interrupted by many coughs, he turns to inspect his surroundings. Clint flicks on his flashlight to wave around the area. There is a small opening large enough for him to possibly squeeze through to escape, which he should do soon; the heavy concentration of dust and ash is not good for his lungs. Unfortunately, the shattered bulb dies before the l can thoroughly assess his surroundings, but during the brief moment the device actually functioned properly, he spotted a dim shine reflecting off of the red highlights on (Y/n)’s gauntlet beneath the rubble. “Ah, shi-...I think (Y/n)’s hurt.”

Before he can speak once more, the line falls dead-silent. The archer pulls his earpiece out to inspect it and finds a small stream of smoke slipping through some large cracks; he casts the device aside into a random space behind him, since there is no hope in contacting the team with it anymore. 

Turning onto his side, Clint groans in pain as he rolls over sharp rocks and shards of metal. The temptation to simply lay on the ground to prevent his sprained ankle and broken ribs from hurting any more is strong, but after the quick glimpse of (Y/n), he knows she needs more help.

“Hey, can you move, kid?”

“N-No,” (Y/n) grunts. “I can’t feel my legs, and my right arm and back really hurt.”

Left with no other options, Clint crawls over to his teammate, ignoring the wave of nausea that comes crashing down on him as he pulls out a flashlight from her utility belt to scan over her body. Through the thick clouds of dust and ash lingering in the air, he can barely make out the shape of (Y/n)’s torso, but after a few seconds of waving his hand around, the particles settle.

“Oh boy…that’s not good.”

Chunks metal cover the entirety of the young woman’s lower-half and right-side, and several concrete slabs, along with an unknown number of debris above it all, are on top of the jagged metal, but (Y/n) being pinned down is the least of Clint’s worries. What worries him the most is the steadily-growing pool of blood inching out from beneath her.

“What do you mean by ‘not good,’ Clint?”

“Uhhh,” glancing over at his teammate, the archer decides to leave out any descriptions of her condition to avoid creating a panic. He racks his brain for a proper way to alert the rest of the Avengers without scaring them or (Y/n). “We’re going to need to call for a med evac immediately. Lemme use your earpiece.”

“That doesn’t tell me wha-”

The device is removed from (Y/n)’s ear before she can get a proper response from her teammate. She simply lays in silence as the man taps at her earpiece impatiently, shouting for Bruce as if the volume of his voice would amplify its effectiveness.

Miraculously, Clint manages to get a stable connection after a few minutes and wastes no time in relaying the situation to the team. (Y/n) struggles to pay attention, hoping she can listen for any clues regarding her condition, but the adrenaline rush was waning.

In the midst of a discussion with Bruce, a loud burst of static cuts the line and soon the scientist’s voice is replaced by a stern, yet anxious, tone of voice that can only belong to one very protective and worried boyfriend, leaving Clint even more apprehensive than before.  Now he must come up with an even better way to update (Y/n)’s boyfriend without sending him into a nervous frenzy; choppy audio or not, he can clearly hear the anxiousness in the man’s voice.

“Heeeeyyyy, Sam,” he coughs out. “How are you? Everything okay? You sound a bit winded there.”

“I was circling from above when the bombs detonated. Only got a few cuts from flying debris, nothing serious. Now, where’s (Y/n)? She was partnered with you for this mission.”

Upon hearing Clint mention Sam’s name, (Y/n) whips her head around to face the archer. Her worried expression speaks a thousand words and Clint is quick to assure her that her flying boyfriend escaped with only superficial scrapes. This allows her to release a deep breath she did not realize she was holding in, but the pressure leaves her shuddering in pain, which does not go unnoticed by Clint, who curses under his breath.

“She’s here with me, but we’re gonna need to get her out of here as soon as possible.”

“Why?? What’s her condition?”

“Not good,” Clint mutters. He glances back down, only to spiral into a panic when he realizes (Y/n) has closed her eyes. Sam continues to bombard Clint’s ears with endless questions, but they are pushed to the back of the archer’s mind. All his attention is focused on the unconscious woman laying before him.

A quick inspection tells Clint that (Y/n) is still alive, but her shallow breaths, coupled with the pool of blood refusing to cease as it continues to expand its reach, does nothing to calm his racing heart.

While many would caution against leaving an unconscious, bleeding individual alone in situations such as this, Clint finds himself debating it. He is lacking the medical expertise and supplies to provide any form of aid to his teammate, and the longer he remains by her side, the smaller her chances are of surviving. If he were to leave, Clint will be able to search for backup. As much as it pains him to abandon (Y/n), he must take a gamble and pray that she will still be breathing by the time help arrives.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to (Y/n)’s dusty forehead, Clint pulls himself up to a crouching position with the help of a nearby concrete slab. Without the flashlight shining through the darkness, there is no way anyone will be able to see (Y/n), so the archer places the light beside her body. “I’m going to bring help, I promise. Just hang in there for me. For Sam.”

Hands reach out blindly, guiding Clint through the rubble as he searches for crevices large enough to crawl into. No matter how dangerous or time-consuming the journey may be, the archer is determined to push forward. He must. (Y/n)’s life depends on his success.

“Alright, team. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Steve throws down a holographic projector detailing the layout of the building that once stood before them. The blueprint was promptly pulled up once the team received Clint’s message, and with the help of Maria Hill, a rescue plan was organized. “As soon as Rhodey and Tony’s Iron Legion arrive, they’re going to start excavating the rubble. Bruce is already on the phone with Helen Cho, so she’s also flying down here right now to help (Y/n) and Clint as soon as we reach them. Our job will be trying to locate our teammates. The devices Tony gave us should help us locate any heat signatures, so we need to do what we can to help out without putting ourselves in harm’s way.”

Bruce was tasked with calling Helen Cho to relay the information, urging her to drop her current project to fly over to the mission site, Tony calls in Rhodey and his Iron Legion to excavate through the debris. 

To avoid any further injuries or unprecedented attacks, the captain pairs up all the heroes, trying his best to consider each respective person’s talents and skills as to avoid ill-equipped pairs. Once everyone is aware of their partner, they fan out and begin their search.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, Sam. You’re with me.”

“Steve-”

“I’m not asking you a question. Now let’s go.”

In all reality, despite having many possible partners for Sam, Steve is too worried about him. With (Y/n) injured and her exact location—under all the broken concrete and metal—unknown, there is no telling the lengths, and risks, Sam will take in order to reach her. Steve hopes that by pairing himself up with the former airman, he can keep an eye on his friend while also providing him both mental and tactical support, though he hopes against the latter.

The gravel seems to crunch so loudly as if it is next to Natasha’s ears as she cautiously scans her surroundings. Every little sound has her on edge. Her mind is focused on searching for possible entry points, but she finds herself slipping into old memories.

Just last night, before she left the common room to begin her mission preparations, the red-haired assassin was seated on the sofa with (Y/n), gossiping about the new S.HI.E.L.D. trainees and many of the male trainees’ obvious infatuation with Maria Hill. They walked down the halls until their adjacent rooms came into view, and (Y/n) made an offhand comment about stealing Pym particles from Scott’s suit to squeeze into the small crevice beneath the door to cuddle with Natasha if Sam hogs the blankets in the middle of the night. It made both women giggle like school children at the thought, and while Natasha wishes she could hang onto that moment, the sound of Scott repeating her name brings her back to the present.

“Natasha! Are you okay? I’ve been calling your name for a while now.”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about something.”

“Well, you won’t have to think about much anymore,” Scott comments while pointing down to a small gap between two slabs of concrete with a smirk. “That should definitely be good enough for one of Tony’s suits to start working a hole into.”

Natasha starts to agree with the man when she comes to a realization. The memories of the previous night’s conversation suddenly become very important and she silently expresses her gratitude to whatever higher power that triggered the evocation.

“What if we don’t have to wait for Tony?” “Wait, what? I don’t follow…”

“Steve,” Natasha all but shouts into the communication links. “I have an idea. Instead of waiting for Tony to arrive, what if we just have Scott shrink himself and go in through the small openings in the rubble? He’d be small enough that he won’t bump into anything and cause more collapses.”

Scott interrupts Steve’s objections by agreeing with his red-haired partner. The former con man has placed himself in dangerous situations before, so this instance should be no different. In fact, he is much more determined to participate knowing that he can aid in his two teammates’ rescue.

“Put me in, Cap. I know I can do this. Trust me.” It’s not that I don’t trust you, Scott,” Steve sighs. “I don’t trust the situation. We don’t know where Clint and (Y/n) are and if something were to happen while you’re blindly searching inside, then we’d have a new total of three people in need of extraction. We just don’t know enough to send you in there.”

As if on cue, there is a shout echoing from within the debris. Natasha and Scott turn towards the sound to see an arm flailing from between the gap Scott had pointed out a few minutes prior; their eyes widen in shock at the pure coincidence.

[Part 2]

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