#anyways i think i should make a post like this elaborating on this soon— and i’ll definitely add more characters 💀

[prijune]

Behold more ocs from the back.

[griddlebait]

since i couldn’t post the new chapter to celebrate the one year anniversary of sckl and a few of you said you wanted to read it, i'm sharing the first scene of chapter 25 below the cut.

(keep in mind that this is before beta-reading and final edits so a few things might change when the chapter is posted!)

Just past one in the morning, Gideon quietly let herself into her apartment. She carefully placed her shoes on the rack and tiptoed through the living room, assuming that all of her roommates were either asleep or trying to get there, but she soon noticed a dim, fuzzy glow emitting from the kitchen. Not all of her roommates, then.

Harrow was sitting on the counter with the refrigerator left open in front of her so she didn’t have to turn on an overhead light. Gideon wasn’t surprised; she caught her like this every now and then, most times eating individual ingredients or cold pasta straight from the tupperware container or chugging all the water she’d forgotten to drink that day. Tonight she lacked that manic, starved alleycat quality to her movements—she was looser, relaxed, nonchalantly glancing over her shoulder and languidly straightening her posture at the confirmation of Gideon’s presence—but Gideon still spotted a cup of water clutched in her hand when she rounded the bar. 

“Where have you been?” Harrow asked the moment Gideon reached the line between carpet and tile.

“Am I in trouble?” Gideon whispered back sarcastically.

Harrow’s fingers idly tapped against the plastic cup in muted, arrhythmic thumps. Her voice was curiously hoarse as she said, “That depends on where you’ve been.”

Gideon didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but it warmed her face and prickled her skin. “I was downstairs with Nona,” she elaborated automatically. “She asked me to help her pick out her nail polish colors. And we watched the Ghostbusters movies. And then fell asleep by accident.”

Harrow stared at Gideon. She blinked. She dropped her eyes. Then she said, “okay,” and there was slight resignation in the drooping of her shoulders, an audible settling in the quietness of her voice. She looked down into her cup as if the water inside was suddenly supremely interesting. 

“So … am I in trouble?”

Harrow didn’t look up. “I suppose not.”

The air between them thinned out like a window had been opened and Gideon realized, feeling unlike herself, that she’d gone in the wrong direction. She was supposed to play along and make up something ridiculous yet interesting, like that she’d actually been out at a leather bar with Ianthe getting into fights for fun. She should have given Harrow something to at least roll her eyes at, but she didn’t, and the moment passed, and it was already too late. 

That kept happening these days. Gideon tried not to kick herself too hard about it this time. She wasn’t convincingly dressed for a leather bar anyway. 

Harrow turned to set her cup down on the counter, allowing Gideon a better view of her face. She looked almost as if she’d just rolled out of bed: her cheeks held a curious flush in the yellow light and the ends of her hair were sticking to her forehead and temples, the rest of her grown out buzz cut tousled and poking up in random places. Her expression was blank and tired and gave absolutely no hints at what she was thinking about, so Gideon attempted to read her body language, lowering her eyes and—and—

And Harrow’s arms were extending upwards and curling behind her head in a lazy stretch, and that movement sent her shirt riding up on her stomach to reveal more than a couple inches of bare skin. Gideon privately remarked, her mind growing a bit foggy and distant, that she had never actually seen Harrow’s stomach before.

Which wasn’t a big deal. Stomachs were super common. So were belly buttons. There was no reason to die of shock at the non-revelation that Harrow had both a stomach and a belly button. It was just that every inch of her skin that Gideon had seen before now had been empty and blank—naturally speaking, anyway; Gideon had given her wrist a permanent blemish that summer—and, although it wasn’t as if she’d thought about it specifically, Gideon kind of assumed that the rest of Harrow’s skin would be equally as plain. So even if everyone had a belly button and it was neither impressive nor profound that Harrow also had one, Gideon found herself momentarily transfixed by the small dark brown speck just to the left of it. A freckle, or a mole, or a birthmark, Gideon couldn’t tell with the distance and lighting.

It seemed impossible that you could know someone for their entire life and still keep finding things to learn about them. Gideon thought it was wildly unfair that it had taken nearly twenty-one years for her to discover this very simple fact about Harrow, and then she wondered if something could even be considered a discovery if it had already been discovered by someone else. She found this to also be wildly unfair.

She blinked so hard rainbow flurries danced behind her eyelids and she narrowly avoided physically shaking her head to clear her thoughts like an Etch-A-Sketch. Harrow was totally oblivious to the attention and finished her stretch, dropping her arms to her sides; her shirt slid back down until there was nothing but a thin sliver of skin above the waistband of her pajama pants left exposed. 

The refrigerator was safer to look at. They ran out of orange juice this morning. Cam probably added it to the grocery list already.

“So did you stay up just to get on my ass about coming home late?” Gideon asked. Her throat felt strange.

“No,” Harrow said. After a brief stretch of silence, each word lulling with hesitation like she hadn’t quite decided if she actually wanted to say what she was in the middle of saying, she tacked on: “I was with Camilla.”

That made sense. That explained—yeah. Okay. Not really information Gideon needed to know, but okay. Waves of disappointment rolled through her chest, embarrassment following soon after. She’d been mostly joking—Harrow never needed a reason to stay up—but it was unwelcomingly humbling to be told that no, Harrow hadn’t been waiting for her, and in fact had been plenty busy with somebody else. 

The fact that Gideon had been doing the same thing in a different context, and the question of how much that context mattered and why, were such fleeting, whispering thoughts in the back of Gideon’s mind that they might as well not have been there at all. 

"What, you guys don't have sleepovers?" she asked, her voice supernaturally relaxed as opposed to the unsteadiness she felt internally. 

“No,” Harrow said, and Gideon already knew that. 

"Guess I’m special then,” she pressed because she couldn’t help herself.

“You’re—Yes. You are unique in that.”

That, too, confirmed what Gideon already knew. She still felt better for hearing it. 

Harrow’s leg brushed against Gideon’s elbow as she slid off the counter, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stepped forward and shut the fridge, casting them into a darkness that was only salvaged by streaks of moonlight slipping through the curtains, and turned back to Gideon drenched in shades of gray. 

Gideon wasn’t sure what she expected—nothing, really, she wasn’t expecting anything. It was her body that pulled taut with unnamable anticipation when Harrow looked her in the eye. It was the briefest of glances, and Gideon still could not maintain the contact; she unsteadily cast her gaze anywhere else. Harrow stepped past her to leave without letting the moment linger.

“Goodnight, Griddle.”

Gideon exhaled, her body sinking as if she’d been released. Harrow didn’t notice. She was already halfway through the living room. That was as much of a relief as it was a disappointment. 

“Goodnight,” Gideon replied a beat too late. Refusing to let herself watch Harrow go, she settled for listening to the sound of her footsteps grow quiet and distant. 

[petermorwood]

@nimblermortal sent me this last week:

A second blade weapon became increasingly common in the later Viking Age. It does not have a formal name, being often referred to as a fighting-knife or battle-knife, and it was essentially a development of the one-handed, long seax knife of the Migration Period. A single-edged blade with a thick back that added weight to a short, stabbing blow, it seems to have been intended as a back-up weapon. By the tenth century, battle-knives had elaborate scabbards that were worn horizontally along the belt, allowing them to be drawn across the body from behind a shield if the sword was gone; a variant hung down at an angle from an elaborate harness. It seems they may also have been worn on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw. Children of Ash and Elm by Neil Price @petermorwood (Mr Morwood! Mr Morwood!) I found an archaeologist claiming people were doing over-the-shoulder draws! Would you care to weigh in?

*****

Would I ever! That's a button well pushed. But things got odd when I tried, because as soon as I'd written even the smallest reply and saved to Draft, this happened:

Letting it stand would have seemed like I was trying to avoid comments, corrections or criticism, but despite poking around in Settings there was no way to turn things on. It was only by cut-and-pasting @nimblermortal's entire original as a Quote starting a new post that the problem was resolved.

Anyone else encountered this?

Anyway, on with the lecture response. :->

*****

As regards Back-Carry / Back-Draw of "battle-knives", I'm not convinced.

("Battle-knife" is a term I've never seen in connection with any Viking Age weapon. What's the Old Norse for it? German "Kriegsmesser" (war-knife) refers to something much bigger from 500 years later, also not back-carried or back-drawn - which from here on will be BD / BC.)

To get where he is now, a full professor, Neil Price will have defended his PhD, and should know such a statement as "It seems they may..." will need evidence to support it.

That phrase is easy to write, as is "According to legend..." and "It is said..." However these are IMO default History Channel phrases, with all the authenticity that implies. None of them actually PROVE what they're speculating.

"Experiments conducted by museum staff wearing authentic armour reveal that IT SEEMS medieval knights could use smartphones."

But does it prove medieval knights USED smartphones? See what I mean?

*****

I first asked if anyone had actual proof of BC / BD on Netsword almost 30 years ago, and to date there's been nothing. I've also posted about it quite a lot on Tumblr, so being poked with this particular stick is no surprise. :->

The quotation from "Children of Ash and Elm" is the first time I've heard of a trained archaeologist making a claim for BC / BD, and the odd part is that Prof. Price also states the weapon was intended for "...a short, stabbing blow" - which means wearing it horizontally in front makes far more sense. From that position it can be drawn far faster and with less telegraphed intent than "...on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw."

Reaching up for any weapon carried across the back, whether long or short, is a bigger movement - and thus less "swift" - than snatching out the same weapon worn at the hip or across the front at waist level, especially if - as he suggests - that move is masked behind a shield (or for that matter a cloak, a door, or a half-turned torso...)

Try both moves in front of a mirror with a ruler or even a length of dowel, and you'll understand.

With a weapon-hilt visible behind one shoulder or just a cross-belt suggesting something slung out of sight, what's a Norse warrior going to think when his potential opponent reaches up there? At a moment of hot words and high tension, will he wait while an itchy back gets scratched or until an attack happens?

The explosive violence described in sagas suggests not.

If Prof. Price has solid proof for his BC / BD notion in the form of artefacts or art - and it'll need more than a one-off example - I'll be very pleased to finally see some "show me" evidence.

(It won't do anything for longswords of 500 years later, of course, though I bet the uncritical back-carry brigade would leap on it regardless.)

But without that evidence, I'm taking "it seems" with a wary pinch of salt.

*****

There's a weird internet fixation about BC / BD (which are NOT the same thing) and an equally weird need to show that back-draw "works", whether with hooks under the guard and a leather condom at the point...

... or by being open most of the way down one side.

Neither are real-world historical, so let's see how they work in fantasy.

IMO they're not appropriate there either, because the designers are so eager to provide working BC / BD that they ignore the main function of a scabbard, which is to carry the weapon in something which protects people from the weapon's edges, and the weapon from the elements.

Real scabbards for real swords went to some trouble over that. They protected people, including the wearer, with a completely enclosed wooden, leather and / or metal case, and protected the blades by having them fit into their case well enough that inclement weather stayed out.

This fitting could involve metal collars (Japanese habaki), or tight-gripping lanolin-rich fleece linings, or leather flaps, caps and rain-guards mounted on hilt or scabbard-throat. Real scabbards didn't have exposed metal and weren't open-sided rainfall buckets, because the priorities of actual sword users were very different to those of back-carry fans.

Given the number of posts I've seen about the technical side of fantasy world-building - history, geography, even geology and meteorology - I think this difference is worth noting.

*****

The first time I recall seeing back-carry mentioned in a historical-not-fantasy context was in "Growing Up in the Thirteenth Century", © Alfred Duggan 1962. Here's the extract in question:

Unfortunately Duggan - though according to his Wikipedia entry "His novels are known for meticulous historical research" - doesn't give any cited source for this; his introduction to the book says:

I know the feeling! :->

I'd still trust him more than some modern historical writers who seem over-willing to add a touch of fantasy speculation / interpretation if it rounds out something inconclusive, makes the history more interesting or chimes with a personal agenda.

"Accurate" is better than "interesting", and "I don't know" is better than making stuff up.

*****

To repeat: I've yet to see any museum-exhibit or manuscript-illumination examples of BC / BD ever done For Historically Real with Western European swords, especially the hand-and-a-half longswords on which modern back-draw fans seem fixated.

A seax, scramasax or just plan sax is shorter, but yet again, this is the first time I've read anything even remotely scholarly about them or their later Viking-age version (saxes were associated more with Saxons than Vikings, guess why?) being BC / BD.

By contrast, there are at least three art instances of saxes worn horizontally, on 10th century crosses at Middleton Church, Yorkshire:

The art is backed up by surviving examples with scabbard-fittings still in place, indicating how they were worn. Here's one example, from the Metropolitan Museum, New York which makes that very obvious.

The little decorative masks (originally part of the top of the scabbard, now corroded onto the blade) are clearly meant to be This Side Up, and also show that this scabbard was This Side Out for a right-handed draw, since there's no detail on the back.

There's a similar fancy-front / plain-back / right-hand-use leather sax scabbard at the Jorvik Centre in York.

There's only a single photograph of this bigger one - 54cm (21.5 in) overall - from the Cleveland Museum of Art, with no way to see if the L-shaped scabbard mount is decorated on just one or both sides. However it does indicate the weapon was meant for horizontal wear.

I've also flipped the website photo to show right-hand use, because "It seems..." (hah!) more probable. Here's why I did it:

For most of history being left-handed was unusual, a disapproved-of aberration and the origin of the word sinister.

Left-handers were useless in any formation from Ancient Greece through Ancient Rome to the Saxon and Viking period where the shields of a phalanx, testudo or shield-wall had to overlap for mutual support.

In the Middle Ages, both the specialised armour and the layout of jousting courses were almost 100% right-hand only.

Most surviving swords with asymmetrical hilts, such as swept-hilt rapiers, are made to for right hands not left.

Even nowadays many weapons - including the current British Army rifle (SA-80 / L85/A2) - are set for right-handers only.

*****

The longest saxes are called Langseax (surprise) though this may be a modern-ish term. Here's one from the British Museum, the so-called "Seax of Beagnoth"...

...which is 72 cm (28.5 in) total / 55cm (22 in) blade.

That's about the same as a Roman gladius (another sword never back-worn despite its convenient size) and is a good 25-30cm (10-12 in) shorter than the average "proper" sword of the same period, which means it could be drawn over-shoulder...

However the layout of its runic engraving shows it was almost certainly meant to be worn horizontally As Per Usual.

*****

And now we've come all the way back around to Prof. Price's claim that Vikings did BC / BD with their battle-knives.

Such a claim needs proof.

Please, show me some.

[lilacsareinbloomagain]

Yandere time and hyrule headcannons

I'm not sure if you've seen the hype around sky being in his undershirt and being ✨pretty✨ in the recent update, but could I please request reader fawning over Yan!sky in his undershirt or some general hc's for him?

Thank you both for requesting!

Notes: I wasn't that online on tumblr around that time, so I only saw it now lmao.

Anyway, I did both headcannons and a oneshot, hope you'll like it!

Also, yes, I merged those two requests since headcannons can be piled into the same post.

I'll probably sound redundant in a lot of these, simply because I didn't write this at one go and when I got to it again I may have forgotten that I wrote it before. My memory is not the best, forgive me.

There are more headcannons for Time because he's my favorite, sorry.

I need a master list, seriously.

Edited before sleeping, I'm sleepy and probably messed up one or two paragraphs of this.

The oneshot in question.

TWs: Yanderism, Mentions of food and bad eating habits and a little of my fairy/fae brain rot.

Don't mind grammatical errors, please!

Headcannons for yandere Sky, Time and Hyrule.

Yandere! Lu! Sky x Reader

For starters, Sky is sweet, but he is very manipulative.

Therefore, don't be surprised if you notice you stopped doing many of the things you used to do when you first got through the portal.

Most of the time it's not even bad things!

He might team up with Hyrule and Wild to take care of your main health, like eating habits. If you're a picky eater then expect Sky to slowly transition you into eating a little bit of everything, in no time you'll be eating like Wild does.

Then again, he'll also make sure to get the ingredients to the foods you do eat without struggling, also getting Wild to make a separate meal for you, should you not eat that one specific recipe Wild made for dinner.

You'll probably be getting help from him when it comes to self-care habits as well, like, the max of skin care and hair care you can get at Hyrule. He will make the effort to talk to people who know more about your skin and hair type, those who have it and take care of it well.

But, we can't ignore the genuinely bad things he will try to influence you into doing...

Privacy? Gone.

Not only will he be around you most if not all of the time, but he will also always be paying close attention to you and what you're doing.

So if you believed keeping a journal in your language would help you keep some things to yourself, then think again. The privacy of using your language instead of hyrulean to write in your jornal will soon turn into a mere illusion. Despite being more quiet and seemingly the less imposing of the Links, Sky has already gone, and will keep going through lengths for you, which includes learning the language you use.

Of course he noticed you kept a private journal, and despite you trying to lie about the contents of it, it's only a matter of time until he is skillfully scanning through the pages with his eyes like he's reading his favorite book. Memorizing any and all information he can find about you.

As manipulative as he is, he is also delusional, he doesn't have any idea of what he is doing, he simply doesn't know that what he is doing is wrong on so many levels.

He's not doing anything on purpose, he's just trying to protect you and get you to like him, like a normal guy!! At least, Zelda liked it when he did this with her back then, just how different are you two?

Genuinely, Sky would have a hard time figuring you and your emotions out. You're a human being after all, and he respects that those things are not supposed to be easy to figure out. In fact, he highly respects and appreciates that you're complex.

Not that he'll respect boundaries, nope, no way.

You're a puzzle he's very much looking forward to figuring out. Honestly, the only puzzle he'd ever want to figure out.

So, I'll probably elaborate this later, but the chain as Gods. Sky would be very much a Thor. That means silly blonde lightening man.

Imagine hylians from Sky's era used matching earrings alike engagement rings, like, Sky just randomly inviting you to an overly nice picnic, just to hand you blue earings just like his.

And if you don't have your ears pierced anywhere it'd be even better in his eyes, since he'd just adjust it to be a "normal" ring.

It was actually an engagement ring, but you didn't know that, or any of the other Links, really, since this tradicional custom got lost in time.

Yandere! Lu! Time x Reader

I think pretty much everyone knows Time is a teasing bastard.

Don't get me wrong, he can be pretty mature, but trust me, it's not really common for him to act like that.

Time is used to pretending, he used many different masks to become different races in his journey, that was needed from him at the time, the same way that being the mature one is being needed from him right now.

Just because he is deeply traumatized emotionally and physically from his job as a hero doesn't mean his personality is lost as well.

It didn't change that much since he was a child, not really.

He is addicted to making you flustered, so if you get flustered easily I'm sorry for you.

If making you blush is a challenge then I'm just as sorry for you, because Time isn't quite known for giving up easily.

And he's good at making people embarrassed, too.

The amount of women who were in love with him is everything I need as proof.

But the worst part? He doesn't have bad pick up lines.

Look, Time is a toucher, so yes, his love language is physical touch, that makes sense to me.

That doesn't mean only cuddling, of course, it can mean cuddling and hugging when you're alone, but do expect a few more things.

I was gonna say hand holding in public, especially in crowded places, but you know what? Guiding you by holding the back of your neck is simply easier to him, and a lot more obvious "back off!" to strangers who look at you for far too long.

Also, randomly leaning against you, the two of you may be just walking and suddenly you feel a large mass lightly leaning against your own body, almost making you stumble. you might just be standing in front of the dinner table, reading a recipe book and once again you just feel that familiar presence right behind you, but instead of hugging you from behind he's just there, like he is reading the book along with you.

Remember how you were reading that one recipe book? Well he might give it a try and help you make something in the kitchen just to spend time with you. Like, you're just pouring ingredients in a bowl and he's there "helping" you by wrapping his arm around your waist to give you "emotional support", as he calls it.

He is, in reality, just standing there watching you cook, trying his best to resist the urge to distract you and simply annoy you, because he is still trying to make it seem like he is a mature, grown man, and definitely not one who is eyeing the flour in his reach and thinking about launching a handful of it at you.

You did see his hand slowly reaching for the flour in the corner of your vision. He only stopped once you threatened to scoop out his remaining eye should even a speck of flour hit your face.

Yet, Time is a creative man, flour was only one of his plans.

He's got wandering hands and wandering lips. And he can and will make use of those just to distract you.

And that's how Time became banned from the kitchen when you were the one cooking, only being able to join you for cleaning later.

So yeah, his love language is physical touch, but it is also disturbance.

In that matter, he's not very different from Wind when you two are alone. If you ignore his flirtatious moves, that is. But he's quite different when you two are with the others, especially if you've done, or is doing something to annoy him, then he has to keep up that mature facade of his.

He believes the others won't take him seriously should he reveal his actual personality, so really, when you're around others you'll only get glimpses of it from time to time.

It is mandatory from the Links to be stubborn, but Time takes the cake.

Maybe it is his age, but he will never change his mind, ever. No point in arguing.

So when he is silly, he is silly, but when he is serious he is terrifying, no exaggeration.

The worst part is that older people have a lot of respect in Hyrule, so no matter what he says, his word is law.

Now, don't get me wrong, by now, pet names are just a thing Time always does with you, in a way you barely hear your own name coming from his lips unless he's being really serious about something.

But actual words of affirmation? Not his thing.

He'd much rather be as clingy as glue to you when you're alone.

But, not like Sky's soft, light cuddles. Time Will basically smother you.

Seriously, it may be his sheer muscle mass, but he'll drap himself over you in a way you'll feel yourself surrounded by him.

In fact, the first time he did it you probably almost suffocated.

You'll get used to it eventually, though. Hopefully.

He's pontual and very strict as well, he and Hyrule are probably gonna be bickering in most matters involving you, like, for example, "five more minutes" naps.

Don't even try to trick him, you'll hear stuff like "I was your age once" and shit, the man will act like he's a hundred years old or something.

Then again, he might be, after all, he is older in mind than he is in body.

He was forced to mature quicker and went through a lot of trauma, that, and he also had to go back in time a lot of times.

Now that I think about it, he probably lived for longer than your grandparents. Just saying.

Yandere! Lu! Hyrule x Reader

Don't get him wrong, Hyrule is very much full of love, really. He cares about everyone equally.

Yet, as corny as that is, your name isn't "everyone", you're not anyone, you're you, how could he even think about possibly treating you the same way as he treats everyone else?

You're put on a pedestal, everyone else is treated equally by him, except you, you are treated like you are divine and not mortal like he is.

So you'll feel like a toddler 24/7 around Hyrule, he is not as stubborn as Time, he's just… Persistent.

The other Links will find themselves teasing him for it a lot, even if deep inside they are just the same.

Play nice, walk on the line and you'll have a Hyrule at your beck and call. If you know how to do it right, you will be able to use his babying to your own benefit, because trust me, his persistence can work on the Links much more than yours, after all, they trust him for being another Link.

I feel like he'd also help you keep pets, it may be his fairy nature, but he is just good with animals, especially with forest animals. Be them small or big.

Although he definitely has a soft spot for smaller pets, even more if you're the one asking him to bring along a pet you found.

Surprisingly or not, Hyrule is probably one of the most protective Links if you happen to lean more towards the naive/vulnerable side of the spectrum.

It's a general fairy headcannon of mine, but since fairies take care of forest and the animals there, specially the smaller or more vulnerable types of animals, then it's not new for them to be also quite protective towards humans close to them.

Bonus points if they have those traits.

But then again, you're Hyrule's darling, you may be as strong and independent as a Link yourself, but he'll still see you as in need of his care and attention at all times.

That also may or may not be another reason why Hyrule treats you like a toddler.

So yeah, coddling. Lots of it.

Hyrule is also a fan of small things, trinkets. Natural or shiny... Precious or useless... In his eyes all are treasures.

Treasures you'll find your bags and pockets full of.

He is absolutely a rock, cristal guy.

Imagine, you're just walking to another village, and suddenly Hyrule stops walking for a few moments, just to speed walk towards you again just a bit later, cleaning something he is holding in his hands with the help of his sleeve.

Then he hands you a small, clear rock, grinning.

Better get used to this, it's probably gonna happen at least once every day.

So yeah, love language is gift giving and acts of service.

I feel like he's very awkward with words of affirmation, he didn't spend a lot of time saying or hearing those, after all. Like most of the Links.

[ink-stains-and-constellations]

I usually write and post Undertale fanfiction on a different account, but I kept seeing those time-travel The Hobbit fics and I really liked the premise, so I wrote a small bit of one. I have no idea what else to do with it, soooooo here have the random fic I wrote at like 1 AM.

(Quick disclaimer, I'm not actually super well-versed in Middle-Earth lore. I've read and loved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I haven't gotten around to reading The Silmarillion or anything yet. I probably got some stuff wrong in terms of lore, so sorry about that. This was written for fun and I'm not planning on making it into a longer fic, but I thought I'd share it because why not.)

Bilbo was dead.

He knew he was dead. He had died in the Undying Lands, finally succumbing to the age of his body, surrounded by Frodo and Gandalf and the elves as he drifted off into his very last adventure. He had lived a long life. A good life. One with regrets, of course, but also one with much joy and love.

Hobbit-lore had never said much about their afterlife - not like the lore of elves, dwarves, or even men - but Bilbo had always supposed it would be something like this, the comfort of home. For he had found himself back in his hobbit-hole, back in Bag-End, seated at his table with a lovely-looking tea spread out before him.

His aches, his weariness, were gone. His joints and back moved easily, without any pain to speak of. His eyesight was perfectly clear. Even his bald patches had vanished, his head and feet covered once again in thick bushes of curly hair.

"Why, I don't feel a day over fifty," he marvelled under his breath, grinning a little.

Leaving his food on the table, he explored his home, running his fingers along the backs of chairs and rifling through drawers. Most things were exactly as he remembered it - better, even for he had not seen his silver spoons for decades, yet there they were, sitting neatly with the rest of his cutlery. The only objects unaccounted for were the things from his adventure; Sting, the coat of mithril, the chests of gold and silver, and the ring (he caught himself a moment before thinking 'his ring'). But he had given Sting and the coat to Frodo anyway, the ring had been destroyed, and he didn't suppose he would need gold or silver in the afterlife, so he paid it no mind.

He had just sat back down to his tea when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting visitors, of course, as he had only just gotten to this hobbitish afterlife, but he was not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing as he had once been, so he got to his feet and went to greet his guest.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a dwarf, and it most certainly hadn't been a very familiar dwarf with a long beard and a dark green hood, worn and stained from travel, his bright eyes glittering from beneath its hem.

The dwarf hopped inside as soon as the door was open, hanging his hooded cloak on one of the pegs, then sweeping into a low bow. "Dwalin at your service!"

Bilbo was frozen, one hand still on the polished brass doorknob, staring at his old friend, who now looked decades younger and was wearing the same clothes he had been the first time they had met.

"Dwalin?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Even if the dwarf was dead too, he surely wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

Dwalin frowned slightly. "I am here for the meeting, of course."

"Meeting?" he echoed, mystified.

"Yes, the meeting." Dwalin gave him an odd look, as if he should have already known. "And, er, whose service do I have the pleasure of being at?"

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"Your name," Dwalin elaborated.

After a moment of mutually puzzled silence, Bilbo took a closer look at Dwalin. The clothes. The appearance. The expression, politely confused. Asking for his name.

I don't feel a day over fifty.

He swallowed. "I - Bilbo." Slowly, he bowed. "Mister Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He straightened, gesturing to the hall behind him. "I, uh - I just set out tea. Please, help yourself."

Dwalin nodded, bustling off down the hall. Bilbo did not follow him, but sat down on the ornamental chair by all the hooks and put his head in his hands. This... wasn't possible, was it? He couldn't be back then. He had died, for goodness' sake.

Before he could get very far with his thoughts, the bell rang again. He sprang up, nearly wrenching the door open to reveal an old, red-hooded dwarf, who immediately hopped inside.

"I see they have begun to arrive already," he noted as he hung his hood next to Dwalin's. He then bowed, giving Bilbo an entirely unnecessary introduction.

"Balin, at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, bowing in return. "Dwalin is inside - please, go join him, I'll bring out more tea. Unless you would prefer a little beer?" he added, remembering his old friend's preferences.

Balin smiled. "Yes, and some seed-cake, if you have any."

"Yes, lots."

Balin set off down the hall to join his brother, and Bilbo went to the pantry to collect the beer and seed-cakes.

Well, that settles it, he thought, a tad grimly. I am back at the very beginning of it all. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the prospect, given that he knew what lay ahead, but he resolved to do his very best with this second chance. To make their journey better with his knowledge. Maybe he could even save...

He shook his head and quickly delivered Balin's food and drink, right before the bell rang a third time and he had to rush back to the door.

It was Fili and Kili this time, and Bilbo's heart started aching when he saw them, young and whole and alive, their yellow beards clean of blood and grime, their eyes sparkling and clear.

"Kili at your service!"

"And Fili!"

He took their hoods and bags, setting them carefully to the side, and bowed back, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug. Somehow, he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili cheerfully. "Let us join the throng!"

Bilbo nodded and stepped aside to let them pass. He very firmly set aside his grief, his questions, his racing thoughts, and fixed his mind on the task at hand - namely, preparing enough food, drink, and chairs to host a company of fifteen.

While the four dwarves settled in and got to talking, he hurriedly set out more places at the table, then started raiding his pantry, bringing out everything from the wine to the cheese wheels. Halfway through, the bell rang again, and he practically sprinted to the door - in fact, he got there fast enough that Gloin had only just come puffing up to the doorstep.

Introductions were short, and the five newcomers soon joined the others at the table while Bilbo went back to emptying his pantries before they could do it themselves.

He had almost finished when a loud rapping echoed down the hall, the knock of wood against wood. Bilbo sighed heavily, thinking mournfully of the dent in his nice green door that he had never quite gotten around to fixing, and, whisking one last plate of food onto the table, set off to let his guests inside for the fifth and final time that night.

He made sure to open the door very slowly and carefully, so as not to repeat his mistake from all those years ago and end up with a pile of dwarves on his doormat. This time, all four of them hopped inside without incident, and Gandalf ducked through the doorway a moment later.

"Hello, Bilbo," he greeted with a smile. "I hope you do not mind terribly that I brought guests to our tea."

Bilbo sighed again, casting a glance in the direction of his depleted pantries. "Not at all, Gandalf."

"Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!"

There were the usual bows and "At your service"s from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and none at all from Thorin, not that Bilbo had expected any. He gave all four of them a deep bow in return.

"Bilbo Baggins." He glanced up, meeting Thorin's proud gaze and ignoring the pang of grief, an old, old pain that had never really gone away. "At your service."

Thorin merely turned to toss his sky-blue, silver-tasselled hood onto a hook beside the others.

"Now we are all here!" declared Gandalf, hanging his hat at the end of the row of hoods. "Quite a merry gathering. I hope there is something left for the latecomers to eat and drink!"

"Yes, there's plenty," replied Bilbo, gesturing for the group to follow him down the hall.

Gandalf fell into step beside him, peering curiously down at him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Bilbo quickly interrupted.

"Be careful of the -"

Thunk.

"Rafters," Bilbo finished with yet another sigh, watching Gandalf rub his head.

"A little low, these ceilings," the wizard commented, grimacing.

"Or maybe you're just a little tall!" called a grinning Fili from the dining room. "We seem to be managing just fine."

"Impertinent dwarf," Gandalf grumbled, hunched over to keep from hitting his head again.

Bilbo darted ahead to pull out a chair for Thorin, the grandest chair he could find in his little hobbit-hole. Thorin paused for a moment, then slowly sank into it, nodding his thanks. Bilbo gave him a quick smile and took his own place at the table, which he had made sure to include this time, as he didn't want to miss out on all the food again.

He wasn't much for conversation, as he didn't want to slip up and reveal all the things he knew, but he didn't bother asking if they would stay for supper after the meal was finished. Already knowing the answer, he just made to collect the plates, and didn't protest when the dwarves sprang up to clear them away instead.

The dishes were soon cleaned and put away, and the dwarves came back to find Bilbo watching Thorin and Gandalf blow smoke-rings around the room.

"Now for some music!" Thorin declared as his company filed into the room, snuffing out his pipe and setting it aside. "Bring out the instruments!"

There was a rush for instruments just as Bilbo remembered, and he sat back in his chair to listen to the dwarves' music. It was enthralling as it had been the first time, and he felt as though he was indeed fifty all over again and feeling a great desire for adventure. He found himself humming quietly along to the familiar tune.

It eventually stopped, of course, once dark had fallen, and Thorin stood to begin his speech.

"Gandalf, dwarves, and Mister Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit - may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"

The ache in Bilbo's heart increased upon hearing his friend's typically long-winded beginning, and he barely managed to reply, "You are very kind." His voice came out with a funny choked quality to it, as if he was about to cry. Which was, of course, absurd, he thought as he blinked furiously against his burning eyes.

Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that were leaking down his cheeks. "Nothing at all, Thorin," he whispered, unable to help the familiarity that slipped out with his friend's first name. "And, uh -" He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Please, call me Bilbo, all of you. It seems appropriate if we're to - uh, work together."

Slowly, Thorin nodded, although he did not continue with his speech. He just... stared at Bilbo, a puzzled divot between his heavy brows, until Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, worried that he had made a mistake.

"Tell me, Mister Baggi - Bilbo," said Thorin suddenly. "Do you have much experience in the matter of burglary?"

Bilbo felt his lips twist into a humourless smile as images flashed in his mind. A golden cup. A large gemstone that could be called white, if you ascribed the same colour to the stars themselves. Before that, a set of keys, countless morsels of food, even the very dwarves who now sat in his dining room. All done while invisible, of course, but perhaps this time he could be a burglar before he found the ring as well as afterwards. (He was a little reluctant to take possession of the ring again now that he knew what it was, but he also knew that it had been an invaluable asset on their journey, and besides if he hadn't found it, it wouldn't have been destroyed, so he resolved to pick it up again as he had before.)

"Yes. Quite a bit, in fact."

A murmur of surprise went around the room. Even Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised, although he stayed silent, still puffing on his pipe.

"How about travel?" Thorin asked, evidently set on grilling him now. "Fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo sighed yet again. "I'm rather skilled at darts, if you must know, and I quite enjoy a good hike now and then," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm that he never would have dared back at the beginning, but he was rather used to being treated with the indulgence afforded to eccentric elderly folk, so he didn't think much of it at all until Thorin snorted and he realised that the dwarf had taken his words seriously.

Another outbreak of muttering spread throughout the room, and amidst all the questions about his sincerity, he caught the fated words, murmured by Gloin to Oin.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo's teeth gritted, and he addressed Thorin again, discarding the sarcasm this time. "In all seriousness, I favour a sword, although seeing how I am not currently in possession of one, the question seems moot."

Thorin looked him up and down, as if trying and failing to imagine him using a sword. "I see."

Electing to ignore the dwarves' doubt, Bilbo stood, heading towards the hallway. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to -" His toes snagged on something, perhaps a hole in the carpet, and he stumbled, a hand darting out to steady himself upon Gandalf, who happened to be the nearest solid object.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Gandalf," apologised Bilbo, looking quite a bit less flustered than one might expect. "As I was saying, I am going to fetch a light. I will return in a moment."

"Excellent idea," replied Gandalf, peering down at Bilbo. The dwarves may not have found his stumble suspicious, but the wizard was well aware of the surefootedness of hobbits and suspected Bilbo to be up to something, which, of course, he was.

At fifty, Bilbo Baggins had been polite to a fault and wholly inexperienced in theft. However, having lived over a hundred and thirty years before his death, he now considered himself a fairly seasoned burglar and quite disliked being doubted or mocked. So when he saw the opportunity to prove himself, he took it, and by the time he returned with a lamp, Gandalf was rifling through his pockets in search of a map he was certain he had had on his person.

Bilbo placed the lamp on the table and tilted his head curiously at the wizard, struggling to conceal a grin. "Is there something wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes snapped to him, and he gazed intently for a moment or two before explaining, "I seem to have lost a rather important map. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of its whereabouts, would you?"

"Not the foggiest clue," Bilbo replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh - wait, what is this?" With a - perhaps unnecessary - theatrical flourish, he withdrew the map from his waistcoat, holding it up. "Well, it appears it's right here in my pocket. How odd." He dropped it onto the table in front of Gandalf, his grin breaking through his attempted poker face.

Gandalf stared at the map for a few seconds, then chuckled loudly and suddenly, patting Bilbo on the back. "Very impressive, my friend."

Bilbo laughed and went to sit back down, not noticing the suspicious look Gandalf shot him behind his back.

"Now, then," the wizard began, spreading the map out on the table. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin. It is a plan of the Mountain."

Thorin glanced at it, then shook his head, disappointed. "I don't see how this will help us much. I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," put in Balin. "But it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"Unfortunately so," Bilbo murmured to himself, his shoulders curling a little inwards.

"There is one thing you haven't noticed, and that is the secret entrance," pointed out Gandalf. "You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," Thorin countered, "but how do we know it remains so? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may, but he can't have ever used it. It is far too small for him - 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, and Smaug couldn't have crept into a hole that size even when he was a young dragon, let alone now, after devouring so many of the dwarves and the men of Dale. In any case, the door should be closed and hidden, made to look exactly like the side of the mountain, and therefore kept secret from the rest of the world, if not from Smaug."

Bilbo leant closer to get a proper look at the map, which he had not seen for decades. The Mountain drawn in dark ink on the paper seemed a lot smaller than the Mountain of his memories.

"Also," Gandalf went on, "I forgot to mention that with the map came a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" He presented it to Thorin, a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, flashing silver in the lamplight. "Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," replied Thorin, taking the key and fastening it upon the fine gold chain that hung around his neck. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea of what to do. We thought of going east, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake -"

Bilbo had heard Thorin's ramblings before, of course, and if this was an ordinary meeting with friends, he would have tuned him out. However, he was acutely aware of just how precious his time here was - every second with Thorin and Fili and Kili alive, every second with the others smiling and in good cheer, every second unburdened by deep, heavy grief - so he listened quietly to the voice he'd spent so many years missing.

"- but we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the south of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too - far too often, unless he has changed his habits."

"That would be no good," added Gandalf. "Not without a mighty warrior, even a hero. I tried to find one, but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood, heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; dragons are comfortably far-off, and therefore legendary. That is why I settled on burglary - especially when I remembered the existence of a side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

"Very well, then," agreed Thorin. "Supposing the burglar gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned to Bilbo with mock politeness, although it was a bit less mocking than it had been the first time around.

Bilbo drew himself up, meeting Thorin's gaze with a determined look. He was the only one there who knew what was in store, and over the course of the night, he had come to the decision that he meant to bring them all through the journey and out the other side alive and more or less intact, if at all possible. "Certainly, Thorin," he answered briskly. "I should think that we ought to focus on actually getting there and finding the side-door before we worry about dealing with much else. I take it there is quite a lot of treasure?" he added, although he already knew.

Thorin nodded. "Yes, halls upon halls of it."

"It will be impossible for me to move it all by myself. I will be able to perhaps steal one or two pieces before the dragon notices us, so I would suggest you give some thought as to which pieces you should like." A large white gem glimmered in his mind again before he pushed the image away and forged on, ignoring the echoes of dread. "I would also suggest -" His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his words steady. "I would also suggest that we take a moment to consider the possibility of things such as dragon-sickness, and how it may be overcome once the Mountain is in our possession."

"Sage advice," said Gandalf approvingly, filing away his suspicion to deal with later and patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

Bilbo threw him a quick smile, though he was unable to hide the hint of tiredness to it. He found that he didn't particularly want to speak of their journey anymore, not with the knowledge of what was to come weighing on him, heavy as a sack of dragon-guarded gold.

"And, well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I would appreciate some help with breakfast tomorrow, if anyone would be so kind."

"You're the host, are you not?" replied Thorin, raising a dark, heavy brow. "But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham when starting on a journey - fried, not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."

Bilbo crossed his arms, staring at the dwarf expectantly, until Thorin reluctantly added, "Please."

Bilbo nodded and grabbed a small notebook that had been laying on the mantlepiece, quickly jotting down Thorin's preferred breakfast. "Anyone else?"

The dwarves and Gandalf all ordered their breakfasts, and Bilbo managed to get a 'please' from every one of them. Afterwards, he had to find places for all of them to sleep, which was thankfully a much shorter affair than last time, as he had his previous experiences to go by. He did have to dig extra blankets out of the linen cupboard, and set several dwarves and Gandalf (who was much too tall for his spare beds) up on couches and chairs, but he eventually got them all stowed away and retired to his own little bed. The shock of finding himself back in the past, along with having to host thirteen dwarves and a wizard, had left him rather exhausted, despite the renewed strength of his younger body. Before he collapsed into bed, he remembered to leave a sliver of his curtains unclosed, so that he would be awoken by the rays of dawn.

He fell asleep to the sound of Thorin's humming from the bedroom next to his, and this time, it was comforting.

The Hobbit was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[other-shades-of-sapphire]

Lock screen – Bang Chan

Chris x best friend turned fiancee Bora, circa June 2024

In which Chris got greedy and wanted to tell the world just who exactly was the one for him.

"I finally watched the interview with Young K while having dinner." 

Chris perked up at his fiancee's remark. "Yeah? Did you enjoy it?" 

"Of course." Bora hummed thoughtfully. Chris knew she was mulling over various choices of adjectives to elaborate, and ended up with: "It was heartwarming. My heart is warm." 

He laughed, but knew she actually meant it despite her teasing tone. "Glad I still have the ability to make you warm without physically being with you." 

"Only my heart, Chris," Bora deadpanned. Chris could practically hear her eyeroll even over the phone. "For other body parts you still have to physically be with me." 

"Duly noted. Let's see just how many parts of you I can warm later tonight." 

Bora let out her low chuckle, one of Chris' favorite sounds. "You have to come home first for that, though." 

Chris sighed involuntarily, letting his eyes wander around the practice room, where his members and dancers were scattered all over enjoying their fifteen minutes break. They still had a couple more runs of practice to go. Another couple hours, maybe even more if Minho deemed necessary – and Chris knew precisely how arduously satisfied their dance leader was. "And I will. Probably not soon, but I will." 

Something in his tone must've tipped her off, because Bora sounded suspiciously fond when she said, "Hang in there, buddy." 

"Always." 

They fell silent for a while. Chris didn't mind the least; he liked the fact that despite the both of them being talkative extroverts, they had no problem falling into comfortable silences like this. The world seemed to slow down, giving them time to breathe and just enjoy each other's presence – even when they're not physically together. 

"So when are you going to introduce me to Young K?" 

Chris laughed at the recollection. "I'll try to find a time. He's busy though, so may not be too soon." 

During the short break of the interview, he had his phone on the table when it lit up with a notification. Young K had caught a glimpse of his lock screen, which was a picture of Bora with her hair blown by the wind, and had teased him about it. 

"Look at this!" the hyung had exclaimed, picking up the phone and showing it to the camera. "He's such a simp! And he hasn't even introduced me to her yet." 

"Why did they blur out your lock screen though?" Bora sounded curious. 

"I asked them to." Chris didn't think it'd make the final cut since it wasn't actually a part of the interview, but he'd asked the production team to blur the shot of his lock screen if they decided to use the footage. They ended up putting it as a bloopers, and the team kept their word. 

"But why? You took the pic from behind, it only features my back and my hair." 

"Well, I've only ever featured your hand and shoes on my Instagram posts so far. We haven't gotten into your back and hair yet." 

Bora laughed. "Chris, it's just my hair and back." 

"Still, I didn't want to soft-launch it to the world without checking with you first." 

Her laugh softened; Chris could just picture the smile on her face, serving as the fade-out outro of her laugh. "It's alright. You can show off my hair and back to the world." 

Chris gasped in delight. "Really? I can do that?" 

"Of course. The pic was a few years ago anyway, my hair doesn't even look like that anymore." 

"What about your face and your name? Will we get to reveal those?" 

He was just teasing her for most part, but Chris couldn't help the faint hope creeping up inside him. He knew he should be thankful that Bora had agreed to publicly announce their relationship – and then their engagement – at all, but he was getting greedy. Still the world didn't exactly know who she was, and still he craved for more; he wanted to be able to fully brag about her, wanted to post random pictures of her (taken from the front, not behind), wanted to scream her name to the world and tell everyone she was the one who managed to captivate his heart, the source of his inspiration. Wanted to tell everyone she was the one for him. 

"We'll get to that," Bora said. 

Chris nearly couldn't believe his ears. "We will?" 

"Sure. Can't let the fans keep thinking you're engaged to a ghost forever." 

He laughed. "Stays do not think that!" 

"You don't know that." 

Before he could reply, Minho started to peel the members off the floor one by one, a sign of the end of their break. Chris sighed in defeat. "I have to go." 

"You're doing great," Bora said softly. "Hang in there." 

The simple words were always enough for him. "Always." 

He hung up just as Minho approached him. "We'll start in a minute, hyung." 

"Alright," Chris said. "In this last minute, could you do me a favor?" 

Chris asked the dance leader to take a picture of him holding up his phone, showing off the un-blurred out version of his lock screen, and quickly uploaded it to his Instagram story before they resumed practice. 

Bang Chan on Instagram

gnabnahc added to their story:  The unedited version of my lock screen since she said I can show off her back and hair, yay! 

bora_kim replied: You really don't waste any second, do you?  gnabnahc: Can't wait for the face reveal 😛 

previously on | coming up next

Find more tales of Chris & Bora and the rest of Stray Kids here!

[arcsimper5]

Passing

Guess whose brain decided it was on an angst trip this morning?

Post BB AU No pairing Just a short comm form drabble about things that have happened.

Warning for angst, major character death and grief. Characters features: Echo, Wrecker, Omega, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Riyo Chuchi, Rex.

I wish I was writing this under better circumstances, but I know that, were the positions reversed, I’d want to know.

It’s been far too long, and we’ve left so much unsaid. I never realised how quickly time would pass.

We buried Echo under the huge oak tree at the end of the garden today.

Hunter still hasn’t spoken since he passed. In a way, we all knew it was coming. The nerves connecting his legs died a long time ago, his scomp shorting his implants out more often than not.

Rex is here too. He… isn’t good.

He still blames himself for sending Echo out. We all know Echo would have gone anyway, but survivor’s guilt hits hard. He’s staying for a while with two other troopers, Wolffe and Gregor. They’re nice, a bit quiet, but that’s to be expected.

Senator Chuchi showed up as well. Well, former Senator. She was dressed all in black. She didn’t stop crying.

I didn’t even know she and Echo were involved in any way. Apparently, they had a ‘thing’ once. Rex won’t elaborate. He still treats me like a kid, but at least it seemed to make him smile thinking about it.

There’s been so much we missed with Echo when he left with Rex. Part of me thinks we should have gone too.

That might be why Hunter is so quiet, if he’s thinking the same.

He’s getting old, he knows that. Echo knew that. But he kept fighting. Kept trying to take down the Empire.

Now it all feels a bit… empty.

The Empire is still there and still hurting people, and Echo is… he’s under the dirt, at rest, finally. He’s with his brothers. He’s back with Fives. I never knew Fives, but he told me so many stories.

I keep crying, but I know it’s selfish.I want him here. But his brothers are there. Most of them. Not you. Not Hunter.

Gonky has just sat next to the tree all day. He doesn’t seem to understand. Maybe he thinks Echo is charging, that he’ll wake up when he’s done. I tried to explain. It didn’t help.

The house is busy. I don’t like it.

Hunter prefers it quiet. Too much going on overwhelms him nowadays. His headaches are getting worse.

We tried to contact Tech a few rotations ago. His comm is still dead.

I know he doesn’t want to talk to any of us after what happened, but I thought he should know. You were always closest to him. If you see him, tell him…

Tell him we miss him.

Wrecker misses him.

He’s adjusted to losing his other eye well, all things considered. There are still times he feels useless, and he says as much. Today was hard.

He wanted to carry Echo down the garden, to help, but he couldn’t. He’s still sat by the lake. I think he might stay out there all night.

I’m going to clean up. There’s a lot to do now.

We’re cooking Pantoran roast porg tonight.

Riyo said it was Echo’s favourite. I’ve never tried it. I hope we can learn how to cook it. It would be nice to keep a bit of his memory with us.

A lot has happened, I know. But you should come home soon. It would be good to see you. It would be nice to visit Echo with you.

I’m not even sure if you’ll read this, but if you got this far, I only want you to know one thing.

We love you, Crosshair. And we’ll always be waiting.

O

xx

[guilty-pleasures21]

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

You guys are going to hate me for this.

And then you're going to hate me even more on Friday when I post part 3 😈.

2. It NEEDS to be EVEN sssslllllooooweeeeerrrrrr.

Part 1 - the new recruit

Part 2 - the depression

Part 3 - the gelato

Warnings: mentions of low mood, but no explicit description of mental illnesses.

----------------------------------------------------------

     Miguel shook his leg nervously, hesitating. He should just forget about it, it wasn’t even that important anyway, it didn’t even matter. But then why did it keep weighing so heavily on him? “You don’t say it in front of anyone else!” 

     What? X swivelled her chair around to face him, getting even more confused when he didn’t elaborate. “What?” 

     He shouldn’t have said anything, mierda, he shouldn’t have said anything. He kept his gaze fixed on his desk, the back of his neck heating up in embarrassment.

     “You don’t say it … when there are other people around,” he mumbled. She leaned closer to him, still puzzled. 

     “Say what, Miguel?” He hesitated, his muscles tensing up as his nerves went on edge. 

     “Never mind, forget it.” He turned away from her, hunching over his desk as his leg began shaking beneath the table restlessly. 

     “No! Don’t do this to me, Miguel!” she pleaded, leaning over the back of her chair dramatically. “I hate it when people do that! If you’re going to bring something up, then you better finish it. I’m going to go insane otherwise - trying to figure it out.” He pursed his lips, contemplating his options. Finally, he shifted slightly, turning back to her a little. 

     “You never say that you love me,” he paused, his voice catching on the words, “when there are other people around. When someone else could hear it.” He looked up at her, lips twisted down at the ends, sorry expression on his face. He looked so cute, sitting there before her, waiting for her to tell him that he was deserving of her love. She snickered affectionately. 

     “What?” she asked him, amused. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Miguel!” He narrowed his eyes at her, shooting her an exasperated look: ‘I think we’re already past that point, don’t you, arañita?’ 

     She grinned: ‘besides that.’ “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in front of other people. I don't tell you that to show it off to other people. I tell you that because I want to make sure you know. I want you to know that, whatever happens, wherever you are in the world, there is at least one person out there who loves you, with all their heart. Who waits for you to come home everyday, safe and sound.”

     She swung herself back and forth in her chair, gaze fixed on him as she waited for his response. His expression softened as he considered her words, his lips twitching at the corners as he fought to hold back a smile. Someone waiting for him to come home everyday - he liked the sound of that; of a home. Of her creating a home out of this messed up place just because it had him in it. Just because of him. Just for her. She smiled when she saw him beginning to relax again. 

     “I don’t love you because, remember?” she reminded him teasingly. “I love you full stop.” He huffed, his smile widening as he rolled eyes and turned back to his screen. 

     “Get back to work, arañita - we've got too much to do today,” he told her. 

     “Sí, boss,” she replied, turning back to her computer. But she rolled over to him soon after, a suspicious smile pulling at her lips. “Do you … want me to-”

     “No.” She grinned at the immediate response and returned to her own computer. Then she glanced at the door, making sure no one was nearby to hear when she leaned over to him and whispered, “I love you, Miguel.” 

     He shook his head and turned away, unable to stop his smile this time. 

     He raised his wrist, checking his watch for the umpteenth time that day. Nothing. He lowered his hands back to the table and tapped his fingers on the hard surface, trying to focus on the code in front of him. Then he checked his watch again. Still nothing. He groaned in frustration and tapped on the screen, typing out a message to her. 

     X? 

     ¿Qué pasa, arañita? (What's wrong, little spider?)

     ¿Dónde estás? (Where are you?)

     She tapped on the notification as it flashed up on the screen, opening it up to find a series of concerned messages from Miguel. She sank back into the sofa as she considered her reply. She didn’t want him to worry - it was nothing out of the ordinary, after all. Just something she’d have to deal with forever. 

     Estoy bien … (I'm fine.)

     I’m at home. 

     He jumped as his watch buzzed, clicking on the messages eagerly. She was definitely not ‘bien’. He could tell by the ellipses she’d added at the end of her sentence. But she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong if he asked her over text, he knew; he’d have to see her in person, when she wouldn’t be able to hide the emotions scrawled all over her face. 

     Are you alone? 

     He couldn’t bear the thought of her being all alone at home when she wasn’t feeling good. And it terrified him how worried he was about her, how much it upset him to think about her being upset … how much he wanted to make sure that cute little smile graced her features once again. 

     Yup. Why? 

     “Lyla,” he called out, tapping X’s coordinates into his watch. “I’m going to X’s.” 

     He hesitated as Lyla gave him an expectant look, knowing by the expression on his face that he had more to say. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, how long it would take for him to make her feel better again. Would they fall asleep together? Like they had the last time? When she’d been there for him just as he wanted to be there for her now? “Let me know if anything comes up.” 

     “You got it, boss.” Lyla replied, understanding from his concerned tone that now probably wasn’t the best time to tease him about his feelings for X. He nodded, satisfied, and left. 

     She’d been lying on the sofa, mindlessly watching the television when Miguel suddenly stepped into her living room. She sat up immediately, her heart feeling much lighter when she saw his face. 

     “X?” he began, brows knitted together in concern as he rushed to her side. She looked exhausted - beaten down and defeated. And yet, the moment her eyes had landed on him, they’d lit up, her expression transforming into one of delight. “¿Qué paso? Are you sick?” 

     He sank onto the sofa next to her, raising his hand to her forehead to check her temperature. She grinned and clasped his hand, twining their fingers together as she lowered it down to her lap. 

     “I’m not sick, Miguel,” she reassured him, an amused smile on her face. Then she lowered her head, squeezing his hand as she bit on her lip nervously. She released her grip on him. “I’m just … I get … sad, sometimes. Like, low moods? It’s just my period or something. I have PMDD, so that’s not fun.” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal. But he saw right through her. He shuffled a little closer to her, then tilted her face up to his so she was looking at him. 

     “What’s it like?” he asked her carefully, unsure if she wanted to share such information with him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

     She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to try to stop the tears from building up behind her eyes at his concern. He was so sweet and so kind, so gentle and so caring. “I just … I’ve had depression, before, so it comes back sometimes, around my period. It’s something about my hormones or something.” 

     Her voice kept getting softer as she spoke, catching on her admission that she’d survived depression before. And it struck him like a punch to the gut, knowing that she’d had to go through that, she with her smile that lit up the whole world, with her heart that always seemed to have room for those who needed it, with her kind words and reassuring presence that always seemed to make everything that much easier, that much less … complicated. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out what to say, how to make her feel better. But eventually, he gave up, settling instead on laying his arm on the headrest behind her, giving her the space to curl up against his side. She smiled softly and snuggled into him, her small form fitting so comfortably against him. Then she tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes travelling over his features studiously. 

     “What?” he asked her. She pursed her lips in thought. 

     “Just making sure you’re real.” Her features broke into a grin after she’d said it and he relaxed, feeling the tension leave his own body. She’d be okay. He smirked down at her. 

     “I can assure you, arañita,” he told her, his voice low and soft as he leaned into her, “I am very, very real.” She bit down on her smile at the familiar words and curled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest so he couldn’t see the shy expression she wore. And normally, he’d have reached out to push her hair away, revealing her features to him so he could see for himself the cute smile on her lips. But she’d wrapped herself so firmly around him that all he could think about was the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra right now and, ay carajo, he could feel her nipples getting hard as she snuggled herself up against him. 

     He’d tensed up suddenly, his muscles tightening as she relaxed into his side. Was something bothering him? She hoped he hadn’t pushed himself too hard today - he never knew when to take a break. She reached out and placed her hand on his knee, stroking it gently to try to calm him down. “How was your day, Miguel?” 

     F*ck, she was cute. Looking up at him with that adorable expression on her face. He clenched his fists and swallowed hard, his mouth watering at the feel of her against him, at all the parts of them that were touching, all the places where they brushed up against one another. He wrenched his gaze away from her. “It was all right. A little boring without you.” 

     She snickered and rested her head on his shoulder, beginning to trace small circles along his thigh with her fingernail now. “Doubt it. Your days are always a little too exciting, if anything.” 

     He sucked in a breath, trying to think about anything else but how close her fingers were to his centre right then. Anything else, Dios, por favor! 

     “Hmm …” she began suddenly, curling her fingers as she worked up the nerve to ask him the question. “Do you … want to go to the supermarket with me? Just … for fun?” 

     “For fun?” he repeated incredulously, his confusion finally drowning out his arousal. But then he looked down at her, at the hopeful expression on her face, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. “Sure. Do you need to get anything though?” 

     She sat up, untangling herself from him, and he breathed a sigh of relief at finally being able to regain control of his thoughts. She tapped her lips, thinking. Then her eyes lit up with an idea. “We can make a banana split! I love those! I’ll only ever share them with my mum. Or my boyfriend someday.” 

     She gave him a mischievous smile and he gulped at the sight. Did she ever think about him being her boyfriend? Some day? He pushed aside the thought, knowing it could never happen, knowing they could never be together, no matter how badly either of them wanted it. He stood up. 

     “Uh, okay,” he relented, avoiding meeting her gaze. “I’ll just go get changed first.” Before he could even take a step, however, she’d grabbed onto his wrist, forcing him to return his attention back to her. 

     “Wait!” She let go of his wrist and sank back into the sofa. “You need to wear your pyjamas though.” 

     “M-My pyjamas?!” he echoed in disbelief. She couldn’t be serious, could she? Not with that naughty grin on her face. 

     “Well, still wear your underwear, of course,” she told him, ignoring his surprise. “But yeah! Pyjamas! You’ve never done a nighttime grocery run in your PJ’s?” 

     “No!” he shook his head quickly. “Of course not! ¡¿Por qué diablos haría eso?!” (Why the hell would I do that?!) She chuckled at his reaction. 

     “I dunno.” She shrugged. “Isn’t it just one of those uni student things?” She smiled up at him as she waited for his response. And again, he felt his resolve crumble at the sight. 

     “Vale, vale,” he agreed reluctantly. Then he sighed. “I’ll go put on my pyjamas.” 

     She peered through the glass door, perusing through the options in the freezer. “What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?” 

     “Uh, chocolate.” He shifted uncomfortably, still glancing around nervously in case anyone saw them. He’d thrown on one of his night shirts and a pair of sweatpants, so it wasn’t too bad. It still felt a little weird though, dressing down to go out. Not that anyone seemed to care anyway, not when she flashed that warm, welcoming smile at anyone they passed. 

     “Do you want to try coffee?” she asked him. 

     “Before bed?” he asked her incredulously. She pulled out the neapolitan instead and shrugged, placing it in the trolley he was leaning against. 

     “Coffee makes me sleepy.” 

     “Estás loca, arañita,” he informed her drily. (You’re crazy, little spider.) 

     “No! I think it’s because my body metabolises the caffeine really quickly. So I basically just crash,” she theorised. He rolled his eyes and sighed. But how nice it felt, strolling through the supermarket with her, pushing the trolley along as he followed behind her. She just had this way of making even the most menial of tasks feel like an adventure. His smile slipped slightly as he wondered if this was what she’d do with her husband one day: drag him through the supermarket in the dead of night just to get some ice cream. Would he play along? Would he do whatever it took to keep that bright smile on her face? He was a lucky man, her future husband. And he probably didn’t even deserve it. 

     She glanced over at him and noticed his features beginning to melt into a look of apprehension. Was something stressing him out at work? She never liked it when he got stressed out, when his eyes hardened as he gazed into the distance, his thoughts running a million miles a minute. He just had such a nice smile, his full lips curling up at the ends to reveal his pearly fangs, his eyes scrunching up at the ends as he looked down at her. It was too bad no one got to see it that often. She glanced up and down the aisle, confirming that it was empty before she went over to him, nudging him aside. 

     “Let me, Miguel.” He moved aside, confused, and she looked up at him, eyes lit up with mischief. “You’re going to hate me for this.” 

     She stepped up onto the wheel covers and pushed herself forward, gripping tightly onto the trolley as it launched itself down the aisle. Then, just before she reached the end, she hopped off, catching the vehicle before it smashed into the display. She turned to face him, a wide smile stretched across her face and he couldn’t help but smile back, even as he shook his head in disapproval. 

     “Estás realmente loca, arañita,” he notified her, snatching the trolley back. (You’re really crazy, little spider.) “Give this back before you break something.” She grinned, glad that she’d managed to bring one of those highly coveted smiles to his face. He was so handsome when he smiled. They finished getting the rest of the stuff she needed, then went over to the cashier to pay before leaving. She took out her phone once they'd stepped outside, her hands completely free thanks to Miguel’s insistence that he carry everything. 

     “What happened? Is everything okay?” he asked as she tapped at the screen, worried she might have received an important message from someone. 

     “It’s fine,” she waved him off. “Just wanted to play some music.” The metallic sound of a keyboard began flowing from her speakers as she said it, loud enough for the both of them to hear, but not enough to disturb any of the rare passersby out at this time of night. She took a deep breath. 

     “‘Don’t ever say you’re lonely, just lay your problems on me, and I’ll be waiting there for you’,” she sang along to the lyrics, gesturing to him and tapping on her shoulder as if she was telling him that. “‘The stars can be so blinding, when you get tired of fighting, you know the one you can look to.’” She waved at herself and his lips twisted at the ends as he watched her dance around, pointing at him occasionally like she was trying to get the point across to him. A warmth rushed through him at the sight of her smile, his heart starting to speed up in his chest. 

     “‘I know it’s been a long night, but now I’m here it’s all right, I’ve done my walking in your shoes.’” She grabbed his wrist and looked up at him, hopping down the street as she continued. “‘We’ll take each step together, ‘til you come back to centre, you know that I know the real you.’” He shook his head, fully smiling now as she stood in the middle of the street, turning her face to the sky as she bellowed out the lyrics to the chorus. She had such a beautiful voice, he didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it. She looked back at him, her curly hair tumbling down her shoulders as she smiled, delighting in the amused expression on his face. And in that moment, he didn’t think he’d care if the world fell apart around them, if everything went to pieces and nothing was left but the two of them, her beautiful smile reassuring him that everything would be alright as long as they had each other. He froze, terrified by the sudden thought. Because it was in that moment that he realised: he’d fallen in love with her. 

     She grabbed the can of whipped cream and held it over her bowl of ice cream. “And now for the final touch!” 

     She sprayed a generous amount of the cream onto her banana split, then leaned across the kitchen to aim it over Miguel’s. He’d been so distracted by his earlier realisation that he'd almost let her do it, burying his dessert the same way she’d smothered her own. 

     “¡Ay, no, no, no, arañita!” he scolded her quickly, reaching over to pry the can from her fingers. “¡Puedo hacerlo! I can do it myself.” But he couldn’t fall in love with her, not when they were from two different dimensions. Not when it would only end in heartbreak and loss with either the both of them losing each other or one of them losing the other. He sprayed a more reasonable amount of cream onto his dessert, setting the can down when he’d finished. X dug into her ice cream, making sure to get a bit of everything on her spoon before shoving it into her mouth. 

     “Mmm! It’s so good!” She closed her eyes and gave a contented sigh, completely oblivious to his thoughts. He chuckled at the dollop of whipped cream sitting on her nose, suddenly forgetting about his worries, and leaned over the island. 

     “Ven aquí, arañita.” (Come here, little spider.) He swiped the cream off her nose with his thumb, then brought it to his lips to lick it off. She stared at him stunned. Did he just …? And not even blink while doing it? She felt her cheeks heating up, even as he sat back and ate his ice cream like it meant nothing, doing the thing the hero always did in a cheesy romance story. 

     “Um, so what movie should we watch?” she asked him, trying to ignore the way her chest warmed at his actions. He pursed his lips in thought. 

     “What about one of the ones you said last time?” he suggested. “Barney or Simba or … Shahrukh Khan?” He tried to sound disinterested as he recited the names, not wanting to give away the fact that he’d searched them up right after she’d left, curious to know what she liked. But a purple dinosaur, a cartoon lion and a man old enough to be her dad told him nothing about what her type was. Not that he wanted to know what her type was. Or if he fit into it. 

     He’d remembered! She grinned at the fact, then pulled her laptop over to her. 

     “Yay! Okay, let’s do Shahrukh Khan. Oh my god, I love him so much! He’s just such a good actor! And such a nice person too! Probably.” She narrowed her eyes as she thought about it, but then shrugged it off, returning to her laptop to browse through her options instead. “Oh! But …” 

     She looked up at him suddenly, biting down on her lips as she flashed him a sheepish expression. “Hindi movies take, like, three hours long? But we can skip all the songs though! Unless they’re good. Hmm, let’s see.”

     She went back to her laptop, puzzling through the list in front of her. Finally, she decided on one. “Oh! We’ll watch this one!” 

     He opened his eyes, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings that came into view. Where was he? He felt a weight on his arm then and looked down to find X, her head resting on his shoulder as she curled up against him. He smiled at how cute she looked, blissfully asleep, her features so much more peaceful than they’d been when he’d first visited her yesterday. He reached up to brush the hair out of her face, but then his fingers froze mid-air, his entire body tensing up: he shouldn’t - he couldn’t. Not when it would only end in heartbreak and loss. He curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand reluctantly, moving it away from her. Then he began the painful process of untangling himself from her, his body physically aching at having to be separated from her. She was just so soft and so small, like a little toy he could cuddle as he fell asleep. But he couldn’t - he shouldn’t. Not when they’d never be able to end up together anyway. A sigh fell from his lips as he sat up and she stretched herself out, getting up as well. She pushed herself up and blinked at him sleepily, and he found himself grinding his teeth together at how adorable she always looked when she’d first gotten up - they’d fallen asleep together far too many times for two people who weren’t even seeing each other. Far too many times for two people who couldn’t ever be together. “Did you sleep well, arañita?”

     His voice was still heavy with sleep, deep and warm, and a spark shot through her chest at the sound. He looked so good in his soft cotton shirt, his wavy hair uncharacteristically mussed as he waited for her response. She nodded. 

     “Mmhmm.” She leaned forward on her hands, her curly hair falling around her shoulders as she smiled at him. “You?” 

      She was too pretty, way too pretty for her own good. And he could just imagine her, sitting in that position with his shirt on, the oversized material slipping off her shoulder and revealing her tanned skin to him. Coño, she was cute. He looked away, fixing his eyes instead on the quilt she’d pulled over from her bed last night, tucking the both of them into it as they’d curled up on her pull-out to watch the movie. He shrugged.

     “I slept fine.” It was an understatement - he’d slept much better than fine; much better than he had in a long time. Better, even, than the last time they’d fallen asleep together. But he couldn’t help it - not when it felt so right, holding her in his arms like that. He pushed himself off the sofa. “I’m, uh, gonna head back. I’ll see you later?” 

     She nodded enthusiastically, always excited to see him again, even after they’d just spent an entire night together. “See you later, Miguel!” 

     And just like that, she was smiling again - just like that, she was fine again. Just because of him. His cheeks heated up at the thought and he lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, hasta luego, arañita.” (Uh, see you later, little spider.) 

     “So? How are things going with you and Miguel?” Preethi asked X, her eyes narrowing with mischief at the question. She was another variant of Peter Parker, from a city much like Pav’s Mumbattan. She was only about a year older than X and the two of them had fallen into an easy friendship rather quickly. X bit her lip, her stomach flipping over at the very mention of him. 

     “Um, good, I guess. He’s really nice to me.” She lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her smile. Preethi rolled her eyes, lips curled into an amused smile. 

     “I’ve noticed. I think everyone’s noticed by now.” She paused to take a bite of her food. “The question is: what are you guys going to do about it?” X hesitated, pushing her own food around her place. 

     “I don’t know,” she admitted nervously. “I mean, I don’t even know if he actually feels the same way as I do. Or not.” Preethi raised an eyebrow at X’s sudden dip in mood. Then she reached over, placing a reassuring hand on X’s forearm. 

     “Hey.” She waited until X looked up at her. “He definitely feels the same way.” She leaned back in her seat and fixed X with a knowing smile. 

     “It’s so obvious that we’ve all got a bet going on about how long it’s going to take for him to tell you,” Preethi confessed to her, watching for her reaction. X lit up at the revelation. 

     “Really?” She still couldn’t quite believe it though: that someone like him could possibly feel the same way about her as she did for him. He was just so smart and so handsome and so frickin’ hot! And she was just ... her. Preethi nodded enthusiastically. 

     “Yes! How could he not fall in love with you? Look at you!” Preethi gestured to her general being. “You know at least half the guys here are in love with you, right?” 

     X brushed her hair behind her ear, giving her an embarrassed smile. She rolled her eyes. “Baas karja, Preethi.” (Enough, Preethi.) 

     “It’s true!” Preethi insisted. “They’re all just too scared of Miguel to say anything.” X bit her lip, excited by the very thought. Miguel? Scaring everyone off because he liked her and didn’t want anyone else to? 

     “So … what are the estimates?” she asked Preethi, curling one leg beneath her. “How long does everyone think it’s going to take?” 

     “Hmm,” Preethi considered the options, taking another bite of her burger. “It’s between two weeks to one year.” X’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. 

     “One year?!” she repeated, horrified. Preethi waved away her concerns quickly. 

     “Those are just the one who don’t know Miguel that well yet. They just think he's some big, scary robot that hates everything.” X frowned at the thought. She hated it when people thought of him like that - like he wasn’t an actual living human being himself, with his own worries and concerns. If only they knew how many times she’d sat together with him on the rooftop, keeping him company while he processed his grief or anxiety in silence, always making sure she was there to pull him out of it when it got too bad. Maybe then they’d understand why he cared so much. 

     “Don’t worry,” Preethi told her, noticing her reaction to the statement. “They’ll get over it. We all know Miguel’s actually a big softie.” X nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with the argument. 

     “I think it’s going to take one month. Tops,” Preethi informed her, popping a fry into her mouth. “The guys all think it’s going to take two weeks. Maximum. But that’s just because they’re guys.” She leaned back in her seat and gave X a suggestive look. X scrunched her eyebrows together, confused. 

     “Huh? What do you mean?” Preethi wiggled her eyebrows at her, widening her eyes knowingly. 

     “You know. Guys with their ‘brains’?” She winked at her. “None of them think Miguel’s going to be able to control himself that much longer.” X’s lips parted in surprise at Preethi’s meaning finally dawned on her. 

     “Oh!” She squeezed her legs together, getting flustered by the very thought. She smiled. “Oh.” 

     Miguel? Thinking about her in that way? The very idea was enough to make her wet between the legs. “You … You think he thinks about me? Like that?” 

     Preethi scoffed with disbelief. 

     “Of course!” She smirked at X, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?” 

     X’s stomach gave another flip. “Um, no? How does he look at me?” 

     “Like he wants to eat you up.” X’s eyes widened with embarrassment. 

     “Preethi!” She reached across the table to slap her arm, smiling. “You can’t say stuff like that in public!”

     “Hey, you asked!” 

     “Asked what?” Preethi and X jumped in their seats, startled by the sudden appearance of Miguel behind them. Then X shook herself back to reality. 

     “Nothing! Nothing!” She leaned against the table, trying to act all nonchalant, her lips still stretched in a stupidly wide smile. “What are you doing, Miguel?” 

     He clenched his fists, trying to maintain a straight face - because he’d heard. He’d heard everything they’d said: her insecurities about whether or not he even really liked her, other guys at HQ thinking they were half in love with her - he hadn’t liked hearing that - him looking like he wanted to eat her up … He looked away, trying not to think too hard about that last one, trying to stop his mouth from watering at the very thought of picking her up and devouring her whole. P*ta madre, she was cute. Why had he come here again? 

     “Uh, I …” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Because he’d wanted to see her. He hadn’t been sure if she’d arrived yet or not, so he’d thought to check the canteen, what with it being her lunchtime and her having her gastric issues and whatnot. He glanced down at the table, his eyes landing on their half-eaten lunches. “I was hungry!” 

     Miguel slid onto the bench next to her, his thigh pressing against hers over the small surface area. He pulled his hands into his lap, trying to minimise their contact, and gestured to her food. “Can you get me some?” 

     X grinned, mistaking the reason for his discomfort as him being in the canteen rather than him listening in on her earlier conversation. She climbed out of her seat. “Sure!” 

     Preethi leaned forward once she’d gone, resting her elbows on the table and fixing Miguel with a devious smile. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What?” 

     “Nothing.” She shrugged, trying to act casual as she leaned back in her seat. “Just … You didn’t really come here for the food, did you?” Miguel looked down at his hands, trying to figure out how honest he wanted to be right now. But Preethi was her friend - she cared about her just as much as he did. He slid his gaze over to X, her face lit up with that beautiful smile as she made conversation with the Spider serving the food. His jaw tightened. 

     “If it’s so obvious, then why …” Why couldn’t she tell? Why did she just continue to wait for him? Why didn’t she push him to make a move? Preethi followed Miguel’s gaze, understanding his thoughts perfectly. 

     “Well, she’s never been in a relationship before,” Preethi pointed out. “How could she possibly know what to do?” His leg began shaking beneath the table at the reminder. He hated that she could be so insecure in herself. She was so sweet and so caring and so pretty and it upset him to think that she’d still never properly received all the love she deserved. X returned to the table, setting his food down in front of him before squeezing back into her seat beside him. Her features scrunched up with concern as she noticed the way his shoulders had hunched with tension. She reached up to place a hand on one and he relaxed almost instantly. 

     “Everything okay, Miguel?” He looked down at her and his expression softened, his lips curling into the smallest of smiles. 

     “Everything’s fine, arañita.” She grinned, relieved. Then she pushed herself to her knees and reached over to steal a fry off his tray. She bit into it. 

     “Let me know if you’re still hungry,” she told him, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I can always get you another if this isn’t enough.” She popped the rest of the fry into her mouth and lowered herself back into her seat. He groaned. 

     “Ugh, one will be fine, arañita.” But his lips curled at the ends anyway at her joke. 

Tags: @leahnicole1219 @heubstr

[celeste444spacey]

heyy so i wanna manifest a successful singing/music career bc i rlly do enjoy that stuff and music has always been my biggest passion in life. but i feel guilty bc the industry is very fickle and (this is gonna sound weird) i dont wanna become a horrible person. i feel like i should move on to a more respected career like medicine but i just feel more connected to singing.. idk i feel like its wrong for me to want to be successful. ik i shouldnt be limited to society's beliefs but sometimes it gets to me. idk if this made any sense i just wanted to say something ygfdyfudfd

Hey

Every industry is fickle. You just see it more in the entertainment industry since it is a very public industry.

Now however, i don't want that to put you away from your passions. Look, you will become a horrible person if you let yourself become one. You have control over that. At the same time you can affirm that you are timeless, and here's where you work on your personal brand. And i highly recommend everyone who sees my posts to work on their personal brand.

Now i don't know what kind of criteria you have set which determined what career is respectful, but i will say this, it's not wrong to choose your passion. Choosing a specific career does NOT determine your status in society let me tell you this, one hundred percent right now (except the underworld careers in crime and other stuff, those are definitely not respectful). Hear me out, it's not what you do. It's what you make of what you do.

The most successful people were passionate. Very very passionate about what they did. That's why they become successful.

For eg: Bob Ross.

Man was a drill sargeant, which is a very respectful career but people respected him so much even when he was giving painting tutorials to everyone, if not even more. Heck quite a lot of people didn't even know he was a drill sargeant.

What the heck does society have on you anyway? The 1% didn't confine themselves to society which is why they are in the 1% living awesome lives.

Confining yourself to societal norms AGAINST your wishes = being stuck in an unhappy trap for the rest of your life and wasting a life full of potential.

And that's worse than not being confined to society but soon enough rising up the ranks to influence society instead.

Success is your birthright, it's like water, it's like breathing, walking, talking, EXISTING

I'm not gonna elaborate on this more because quite frankly if you think you are wrong to choose success? You are denying yourself the right to live up to your potential and make the most of this life, your only chance at life as YOU.

If you say and if you feel like you are meant to do big things? Babe you're meant to do big things.

[max1461]

Scattered thoughts on "let's have a universal language for the economic benefits".

So like, ok, some object level considerations: languages are not dying out (mostly) in favor of English. Like, English is not naturally becoming a universal language. Languages die out in favor of local majority languages, and there's hundreds of those. I feel pretty confident in saying that the only way to achieve a universal language within a couple of centuries would be some sort of highly authoritarian set of language policies that I think everyone in this discussion is against. So we're not getting a universal language naturally any time soon—in particular, not within the present technological horizon.

I think once we look outside the present technological horizon the issue is probably mostly moot. Like, machine translation is already getting very good. I suspect it will be within my lifetime that the job of real-time interpreters can basically be totally automated, at least outside of particularly high stakes contexts. And maybe in the far future we'll all be a hive mind or some shit, I don't know.

So anyway, I don't think "we're going to get a universal language naturally soon, and that's something that will have large economic benefits" actually stands up very well to scrutiny on the object level. I would bet against this.

Worth noting also that I don't think that at present language barriers are a large source of economic friction in the industrialized world. Like from naive observation that just doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe it is, I don't know. It would be cool if someone had stats on this.

Anyway, I think the large-scale "linguistic homogenization will be really good" thing is probably not likely.

The more thorny issues are local (in both time and space). Being a member of a minority speech community has various economic downsides, and in exchange speakers often report intangible benefits like a sense of pride, a feeling of connection to ancestors, access to works (such as oral or written literature) that are composed in the language, etc.

Obviously I'm a big fan of vague intangible benefits because I'm one of those Gender Havers, and the idea of sacrificing some practical utility in exchange for like, achieving my desired expression is very close to home for me. So I'm always big on defending the value of intangible benefits.

Of course not all members of minority speech communities report intangible benefits. I think this correlates a lot with, you know, ideology, just like gender stuff does. The point is that people have complicated feelings about their relationship with language and you can't always predict what they will be. This is why I compared the ethics of minority language immersion schooling to population ethics questions about ending autism. See that post for elaboration.

Anyway, you could probably predict I was going to say this, but the point I keep coming back to is "languages matter a lot to people, and once they die you can't get them back, so you probably should not throw them away lightly". And when I say that languages matter a lot to people, I don't mean to linguists. I mean like... if you ever listen to someone from a moribund speech community, here in the states at least, the relationship between language and personal identity is something you'll hear about immediately. I've heard some version of "when a people loses their language, they've lost everything" about a thousand times. And like, sure, the concept of identifying with "a people" might not hold much stock for you, but the concept of identifying with a gender doesn't hold much stock for a lot of people. I think it's important to take people's word for the intangible benefits they say they derive from stuff.

So like, I guess the upshot is:

My strong hope is that within my lifetime, redistributive economic policy and the advancement of machine translation will make all ethical debates around language policy absolutely trivial. In the meantime I think it's worth supporting policies that support the existence and continued use of minority languages. Obviously not if it impinges on individual rights—you know, I'm not saying anybody should be forced to speak their parents' language, that's fantastically beside the point.

I'm not just saying this because I'm a linguist and, clearly, find language to have aesthetic value in themselves. Although, you know, I do think that. It's just not the most salient fact here.

[eneablack]

im what, two days early for ur weekly motivation? who gives a shit i’m doing this bc it makes me happy and i know it makes u happy (THE ENERGY OF UR POSTS LITERALLT IS SO POSITIVE IT MAKES ME WANNA DO A FLIP)

BUT I LOVE U SM!! YOURE SUCH A COOL UNIVERSE TRAVELLER AND I HOPE I CAN MEET U ONE DAY IN PERSON!!!

i wanna personally invite u to a rlly cool wr i have planned (that i haven’t shifted to yet but i will soon LMFAO) AND LIKE GO THERE WHENEVER BC IT IS RLLT COOL!! it’s called the star and i rlly need to make a blog on it but 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️ when i decide to it happens lmfao BUR I LOCE UR BLOG I LOVE UR CONTENT I LOCE UR LITTLE STORIES AND I LOVE U

thank u for keeping me and so many other people motivated to shift, and showing that shifting isn’t always something insane — there are things that ground us and keep us feeling like normal, ig is how i would describe it

what i mean is when u tell us abt ur shifting life u make it seem soooo casual, like going on a walk, and that makes it so much more like — real i guess?? like it makes shifting feel like sunscreen (wow weird analogy)

i rlly hope we can stay in contact in so many realities bc it would b so so so so so sooooo fun and ur personality and energy is js AMAZING!! i truly wish and hope the best for you, and it is clear the universe has its eye on you. there are always so many positive energies and spirits surrounding you, and i can feel it rn.

you are protected more than you think, and you’re going down the right path. “don’t be surprised if everything js starts making sense” is what i just heard, and they won’t elaborate so thanks spirit 😭💀💀

ANYWAYS I LOVE U LEMME STOP RAMBLING AND SAVE SOME SHIT FOR NEXT WEEK‼️‼️

no but like receiving these levels of affection is doing something to me.. just know the feelings are reciprocated, even though i might seem too stiff.

you should definitely tell me more about that wr you’re talking about, no if or no buts, i already said that i love waiting rooms, and if i’m invited too.. hell yeah. so please let’s meet there, alright?

i’m so glad my blog is useful in giving you and other people motivation, and i’m happy it is giving the thought that it feels normal, because it is. i don’t know for how much longer i will post on this account, but i hope it will last long together with the people i know here (i don’t have anyone close but i love my mutuals), because not just for you but it gives motivation to myself as well, to remember that i can do anything. and so can you, of course.

i wasn’t prepared for you saying that the universe has its eye on me and that i’m more protected than i think. it’s truly reassuring because lately i’ve been struggling with paranoia (i won’t talk in deep here because its another topic) and i feel like i’m unconsciously attracting bad energies/entities because of my nonsense fears and anxieties. so thank you so much really, i mean it, i’m actually already feeling better.

anyway, i joke and stuff but i really do appreciate all the kind words you always say to me. i don’t have many friends (and the few i have are only online like you) so it means a lot to me to talk and know someone with this kind of positive energy.

[dreambeloved]

you don't think that the snaps were sent to someone else? he's said on his twitter that he had relations with someone over age back in 2020, from where I'm standing it looks very much like that person was possibly nat, who has admitted recently that she's been in contact with the people behind the burner.

not to mention that the evidence of the alleged exchanges between dream and the victim are images of screenshots of screenshots of a video of someones phone.

I just think it's way too soon to go throwing everything away, he hasn't even released his video yet!

much love and i hope you're ok <3.

There are over 50 asks in my inbox right now, but this one is actually worded kindly, so I’ll answer. Believe what you want of course, I’m not here to harass people into seeing things the way I see them, but just an explanation on the way I view it.

It’s very clear to me that he lied about who he sent those snaps to when everything is put together. At first, I wanted to attribute it to just forgetting who they were sent to, or mixing people up- but the way he went about proving that lie is what makes it obvious that this isn’t some mix-up.

To start, I want to point out that both the burner account and Nat (who Dream says is the actual recipient of those snaps) have denied Nat’s involvement with the burner beyond sharing the “chia seeds” discord screenshots. She also provided proof (linked here) that she hasn’t been in contact with him on snap since 2019. (burner account confirmation linked here).

Now, when he provided proof of Nat being the recipient, he provided this screenshot (seen below on the left). It should be noted that the “Sam” in discussion was a mutual between them both on Twitter, and not his ex, like some think. In the screenshot Nat provided (seen below on the right), there are voice memos that were either edited out or deleted before Dream posted them. Nat also provided videos (linked here) to show that the messages are authentic.

Okay I’m going off on a tangent here. I don’t have the energy to go through every little piece, so for now, here’s my conclusion for the Nat thing. To me at least, it very clearly isn’t her. But if the actual recipient of those videos wasn’t someone that shouldn’t have been sent them in the first place, why go to such lengths to claim so? Why go through all the trouble of bringing in someone completely uninvolved if there was nothing wrong with it in the first place? Even as a stan, I could admit that he has a thing about lying at first when he’s in the wrong, so all this just feels like the final nail.

Now, even if this was just some elaborate set-up to get him cancelled, I still find it really uncomfortable and strange that he sent something like that to a fan anyways? I feel like a lot of people forget the whole power imbalance aspect when it comes to youtubers with their fans. The fact that he has so many intimate relationships with stans/fans strikes me as weird whether they’re legal or not.

That’s all I have for now, at least on the “could be Nat” situation. There are a Lot of asks and messages that I don’t have the energy to go through, so I’ll probably make a final post and then never look in my notifs again.

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 2.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: part 2 is up! I've had this written for a while and I didn't want to wait to post hehehe. Not a lot of Steve interaction this time around though, just getting the plot going &lt;/3 (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, violence, cursing) (2.5K words)

2: CONDUCTIVE ACCORDS

“So, I’ve been thinking about what that thing you asked me,” Natasha slides on a stool next to Steve, and he raises one eyebrow at her, silently waiting for her to elaborate. He asks her lots of things, all the time. “on the girl with the electric powers. And then I remembered something.”

She opens the laptop she’s brought with her, and Steve feels dizzy by the lack of, well, anything, in her desktop area. He’s aware she has a meticulously crafted system, and that it never fails her, because she is Natasha Romanoff. But come on. There’s not even a Google Chrome on there.

After a couple of clicks a PDF is up on the screen. Medical records, and a picture attached. Yeah, that’s her alright-- he could spot that intense gaze anywhere.

He reads her name on the top of the page and tests it on his tongue.

“Or…A-7463. They refer to her mostly like this, anyway. She was part of an experiment to get people into manipulating energy.”

“Seems like they were successful.” He’d know. His body was still recovering from that.

“Almost…They wanted an army.” Natasha scrolls down, and more pictures come into view. They all have a bright red VERSAGEN stamp over the pages. Failures.

Kids.

That makes Steve grimace. “She was the only one who survived.”

“Yes. And when I came across these for the first time I thought--”

Steve’s head whips to Natasha’s face. His eyebrows meet at the center of his face.

“You knew? You kept this from us?”

“Well, it didn’t seem relevant—"

“An enhanced HYDRA agent walking around free isn’t relevant?”

“She’s not so much an agent – she’s more of a victim, don’t you think?” Natasha sighs, and closes the laptop. Steve perks up in his stool, staring down at her, even though he knew damn well that intimidation tactic wouldn’t work. But he wants her to know that he’s angry.

A victim. She didn’t seem like a victim when he was writhing on the ground like a fish out of water.

But those cries of pain he heard then weren’t his. His jaw was too busy being clenched shut to utter any sound.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to feel sympathy for the girl—woman, actually; from her files she is around 23 something now.

She’s HYDRA, still. And hasn’t turned herself over to justice. There was something off about it, Steve could feel it even though he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.

“And I figured they’d have eliminated her already.” That brings Steve out of his own thoughts. She had been slipping through everyone’s fingers, then – and that was intriguing.

Maybe they could get her to collaborate. Take down HYDRA once and for all. Smash all the heads, burn all the tentacles to a crisp. From the inside, or at least with an insider on their court.

Even though their first impression was less than positive.

“We should take this to Fury and the others.”

“As if we needed another one of those.”

“Tony—”

“No, no, let ‘im talk, Natasha. Those what?” Bucky plants both hands – one human, one a prototype – on the table in front of him.

“Those—”

“Will this ever stop…” Steve shoots a sympathetic look at Wanda, though Tony’s remarks were never directed at her.

“Those what, Stark?”

Since Bucky Barnes had moved into the Avengers compound with the rest of them, his and Tony’s bickering had become a constant. They revel in civility until Tony decides he’s bored and it all begins again.

“Okay, children, you can stop now.” Fury drops a manila folder on the table – theatrics, because he never opens it, and instead uses a controller to turn on a screen behind him right after. It works though, as all of them turn to look at him. Steve rests his chin in his hand.

The face of a young A-7463 is up on the screen, staring right at him once again. A mystery wrapped inside a challenging gaze. Steve’s need to figure out just what she wanted and who she was grew more every time he looked at her.

Wouldn’t you like to know, Cap.

“…so we make her an offer she can’t refuse: freedom in exchange of information. Of course, with the bonus of not letting another superhuman on the loose.”

“Temporary and conditional pardon isn’t really freedom, Fury.”

“Well not everyone is as lucky as you, Barnes.” Bucky clenches his jaw at the same time Steve does his.

But it’s different. Bucky was a prisoner of war. He was forced into it. Who’s to say which side the girl was really on.

And those powers… she could be dangerous. Taking her down would probably need all their forces combined. They all agreed on that, at least.

But the plan was set: find her, convince her to cooperate in exchange of a conditional. Keep the girl and her powers under their watch and their control.

Finding her would be Natasha’s job. Steve and Sam would play the diplomatic part. Or they’d try.

He had a feeling that would be the hard part. Maybe they should cause a power outage in the vicinity just in case.

A-7463.

He thinks about your name again. It’s fitting for a hurricane, and he’s about to walk right into it.

There’s something humorous about having blue hair when you have electric powers.

Your hair is dyed a deep indigo now – and it should make you easier to spot in any normal circumstances, but not in Los Angeles, it doesn’t. This specific shade of blue was sold out in all of the Sally’s you walked in. So, like the sensible person you were, you broke into an apartment and stole a jar of it. You know, as you do.

The good thing about this city is that there were plenty of empty apartments for you to stay in – granted, most of them were just arranged to look livable, but a couch is a couch and for a night, that’s enough for you. 

It’s not like you can rent an AirBnb.

Your mousey life has been going okay so far – since meeting Captain America over a week ago, you managed to stay lowkey, powers included. A blackout in L.A. would be a dead giveaway.

The balmy air of the city fills your lungs and clings to your skin as you munch on the other half of the burrito you got for lunch. You haven’t been able to eat much these days—something about the migraines left you with barely enough energy (ha) to keep yourself alive.

You’d never thought you’d miss the devils in lab coats and gas masks, but you almost do. It’s hard doing it yourself, and you don’t have the access to the drugs they used.

The view is pretty from the top of the building you’re sitting on, all windows and lights and cars going up and down the elevated highways. It’s nice. You wonder what New York would look like, but you don’t have the guts to go up there. Too close.

“Nice view you got there.”

A woman’s voice makes you jump and drop your food on the floor. You groan in frustration, but your breath gets caught up in your throat when the red hair comes into your line of vision.

Natasha Romanoff.

She’s leaning casually against the door that leads to the staircase down, and you know it’s to stop you from getting to it.

“Smart move with the hair. I almost got to three other people before finding you.”

You shrug, but inside you feel a little spark of pride.

“You made me drop my dinner.”

“Sorry about that. Although half a burrito barely sounds like dinner to me. I’ll buy you a decent meal—if you agree to sit and talk to me.”

The offer was tempting, and Romanoff’s face made you want to trust her. You were starving, really, until the realization that she was going through an effort to keep that expression on made you take a step back and your appetite vanish.

“Not hungry. And I’m not really a conversational kind of girl.”

“We have a proposition you might be interested in.”

“An apartment behind bars? Rogers already made that,” Casually averting your eyes back to the skyline, you begin scanning the horizon for the rest of them.

“They’re not here. Relax.”

“Lie.”

“Yes and no. They came with me, but they’re not close enough to ambush you.”

You don’t miss how she skirted around the actual reason she was here – a proposition. Bullshit.

“Right.”

“Not that I think they couldn’t—but they won’t. Trust me.” Her voice sounds much closer than before, and you turn your head to meet her intense gaze as your hairs stand on end. She’s sizing you up; you know her methods.

You had classes on all of them before you got out.

A former field of study standing right in front of you, casually inviting you for dinner. You wonder if she knows you feel like you’re caught in a mousetrap.

“Should I?”

Natasha chuckles lightly. “Not if you’re smart. Now, I am dying for that Pho across the street, so I’m heading there. Offer stands until I walk out that door, and I’m not leaving without you. Noodles or handcuffs, take your pick.” She sighs as you square your shoulders and keep looking ahead. You can hear the creak of the door at the same time your stomach rumbles.

Oh, screw it. Might as well take your chances.

“Wait—” You catch up with her a second before the door closes. When in Rome.

Well, L.A.

Turns out the choice between food or handcuffs wasn’t one. You inhaled the Pho like it was your first meal in days, because it kind of was, and then you got your wrists bound behind you on the next.

There was just a little scuffle in the middle.

Honestly, it wasn’t your fault; Captain America and the Falcon descended on you just as you were leaving the restaurant, your belly still warm from the food.

All you managed was a snarl as you leaped away from the three and gathered the block’s electricity on your body. One by one the lamps were out, and your face was illuminated by the familiar blue glow.

Captain America’s shield deflected your first blast before being hurled in your direction, lodging itself on the wall behind you. The next hit him right on the chest. Your lips curled into a smirk.

And then the energy vanished from your hands. As if evaporated into the air.

Groaning, you concentrated on bringing it back and directing yourself to your second target. Spots filled your vision, and your head felt like it was being split open.

It was a fraction of a second, and the Falcon took it. He knocked you over your middle and handcuffed you. And that was the end of it. You vision was too blurry to react and you had to make an effort to keep yourself conscious. The lights returned to the street. Shit.

Your powers are unreliable, you know as much. And now here you are, being strapped into a high-tech aircraft by none other than Mr. America himself.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

They had finally shared what the proposition was.

You could be arrested. Or you could be arrested, but with a pretty bow on top.

“You don’t have a third choice here. This the most generous we’ve been to anyone ex-hydra.”

“Except for Barnes.” Rogers clenches his jaw, now even more pissed than he was by your swearing. “Pity you and I are not besties then.”

His hairs are still unruly from your energy blast, and it makes you smirk. No hair gel is invincible.

Natasha must have caught a wave of it too, because you notice her usually impeccable hair a little bit frizzy. You almost feel bad – she did buy you dinner, after all.

There’s something almost empathetic to her demeanor, but it must be to break your resistance. Good cop, bad cop, as they say. You’re honestly surprised Rogers is the bad one this time.

He must really hate HYDRA. And so do you.

Thing was, you were kept in the dark on most of their operations. You didn’t even know where your base was until you escaped from it: two days away from civilization across the frozen tundra.

And this felt like walking back to it, except with a government issued name.

“I don’t know all these things about them like you think I do,” You start, and you meet eyes with Sam Wilson.

“We’ll take whatever you got.” He’s frowning, as if he’s undecided about you.

“And then let me go.”

“You will be pardoned. But you’ll stay at the compound for the time being.”

That’s that pretty bow on top.

However long or what would be done with you after said pardon, no one was willing to make that clear.

“That’s a shit deal. Prison or prison! Who did you guys learn to negotiate with, the Russian mob?” You squirm on your seat, but the cuffs on your wrists and ankles are tight. Your powers nowhere to be found. All that lab fuckery for nothing.

“You’ll see the living conditions are pretty good there.” Natasha arguments. “And we have a pretty damn good doctor that can figure out whatever’s going on with you.”

You look at her like a deer caught in the headlights. You’ve always thought she had no special powers, but now you’re wondering if she can read minds.

All three of them are staring at you now.

“Your nose is bleeding.” She explains it, and you hastily wipe it on your shoulder. There goes your last good hoodie. “And I read your file. We did.”

Your file. She has your file, the thing you’ve been looking for, the answers you need.

As if on cue, the pounding on your head returns. You close your eyes, letting your head fall back and knock softly against the wall. All you wanted was to just live. No stupid powers. No running. No Avengers, no HYDRA, no migraines and nosebleeds. The boring life everyone complains about.

You didn’t want to waste away while your own body turned against you, mad someone tampered with it until things went haywire.

The promise of a solution at last makes you go quiet. 

“Fine. The Avenger Disneyland it is.”

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

I'm sorry I've been haunting your asks lately, but imma do it again.

I think I remember you saying you're a manga person, but can't remember if you ever mentioned watching opla. There have been little changes to character here and there - some parts elaborated on or emphasized and others cut. Is there any change you'd like to see in Buggy, Shanks, or shuggy's story compared to the manga? What direction would you want opla to take for them going forward?

haunt away, anon! i am always happy to get asks, though i don’t always have something meaningful to say in response.

i have seen opla! not posted about it much, but i do have an opla tag. it’s been a while since i reread romance dawn, but shanks feels fairly consistent between the manga and live action, at least so far. buggy, though…

i think the things opla did with buggy are interesting—as @goingbuggy said in their post about opla ep 2, the show really downplays buggy’s greed/treasure motivation and foregrounds the violent paranoia and abandonment issues. and it makes sense! the goofy “buggy’s so treasure-hungry he wanders directly into a marine base” gags won’t play well to the nf crowd, so they might as well lean in on the edgy murderclown vibes.

and on a structural level, since a show like this isn’t going to let us hear character thoughts, buggy has to be more honest in a number of ways (his crew is a place for outcasts and freaks and he welcomes luffy to join them; he says outright that he’s gonna be the pirate king! he’ll be the pirate king and then everyone will love him!!), but at the same time he’s either a bigger liar or deluding himself in others (sorry, shanks abandoned you? how. what definition of abandonment are you using). not sure how i feel about these changes, but for the moment i’m happy to wait and see how things develop.

as for modifications i’d like to see made to the characters or story…

i know they had a young buggy cast for season one, presumably to be part of the roguetown execution crowd alongside young shanks… maybe they can still make use of those guys?

i know, suggesting that opla should do the roguetown breakup flashback in season two when the anime is on season 21 and hasn’t gotten there yet (though i think it’s gonna happen soon? like. within the next month or two?? omg hbd to me) is kinda nuts, but the devil fruit/map flashback doesn’t make sense when they’ve downplayed the importance of treasure in buggy’s motivations, and we’ll be seeing buggy in roguetown anyway. so why not add some emotion to the “if you want to be pirate king so bad, how about i kill you where the pirate king died?” moment? let’s get a flashback to the last execution buggy witnessed in roguetown as he tries to execute luffy!

i can’t think of anything else just yet. opla is so far away from major events involving either buggy or shanks, i’d like to wait and see what modifications they make to alabasta et al before i start to speculate about modifications made to impel down or marineford.

[maximura]

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez story Part I | Part II | Part III | Park IV | Part V | Part VI (Words 1442, Warnings: swearing)

It’s dusk by the time most of Yunho’s friends have wished him a ‘Happy Birthday’ and headed off home. It left two figures alone near the corn fields, drinking what’s left of Hongjoong’s maize beer stash. 

Wooyoung is watching them through the back window, neither subtle or as hidden as he thinks he is. 

“Hongjoong, it’s The Guy!” 

“What guy?”

“The tall one Yunho has a crush on! The one who rides the motorbike!” Wooyoung hisses, beckoning his older brother over to spy on the scene unfolding in their backyard. “They’re talking!”

Hongjoong puts the rest of the dishes away before coming over to peer out the window. 

Sure enough, there was Yunho, sitting on one of the fence posts that surrounds the corn fields. He’s smiling and laughing at something a tall guy is saying. He looks happy. They’re a bit too far away to hear the whole conversation but even if they could, Hongjoong knows he should probably give his brother some privacy at a time like this. 

“Come on, leave him alone.” He says, dragging Wooyoung away by the scruff of his sweater. “Help me tidy the rest of this stuff.”

“What? No, wait!” Wooyoung protests, resisting the request by ducking out of his sweater entirely until Hongjoong is just holding the limp piece of clothing in his hand. 

“Wooyoung, stop watching them-“

“Oh no……he’s frowning, he looks sad, Hongjoong something’s wrong….”

It’s then that Hongjoong leans to look out the window again, curiosity getting the better of him. There’s a wide distance between Yunho and the other Guy now, and judging from the way Yunho is frowning and staring at the ground while the other Guy is awkwardly shuffling his feet, it wasn’t going well at all. 

“Do you think he got rejected?” Wooyoung asks, “Who does that? On a birthday?!”

Before Hongjoong can form an answer, the Guy is turning around to walk back into the house, no doubt to say his goodbyes. Wooyoung is yanked away from the window at the last minute and they both pretend to clean the kitchen table when the Guy shuffles in. 

“Um, thanks for inviting me, um Mr Kim, I’ll get going now.”

Hongjoong ignores the overly formal address and does his best to put on a polite civil face and ask if this punk ass kid who just broke his brother’s fragile heart would be okay to ride home. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. My new girlfriend would kill me if I drank too much anyway.”

Oh. 

It’s a pointed remark, too specific to be casual, but casual enough to masquerade as some kind of explanation without having to do any of the hard work. 

They wish him goodnight and thank him for coming to what would be a day that Yunho probably just wants to forget. 

As soon as the front door closes and they can hear a bike tear down the dirt track of their driveway, Wooyoung throws his tea towel down in defeat. 

“He’s going to hate us for throwing this party isn’t he?” The teenager asks miserably. “He didn’t even want to have it and now he’s sad. Should I go out there and cheer him up or something?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, planning to go comfort his brother himself, but before either of them could move, they notice there was still one more kid here. 

***

“Hey, you okay?”

Yunho is relieved when he recognises the voice and knows it isn’t attached to any harm but he just doesn’t want to talk. The heavy silence stretches on for too long and it's only out of courtesy that he finally makes a noise to acknowledge the question, stopping short of elaborating with an actual answer because he doesn’t have one. 

Wooyoung and Hongjoong had insisted on throwing him a small 18th birthday party at the house and spent the day rigging up fairy lights near the back cornfields. They told Yunho to invite his classmates and friends, and he did so obediently, but now he wishes he just said no like he had wanted to.

It wasn’t all bad, he got some cool gifts and it was nice to see his friends before they all parted ways on their journey into adulthood. Hongjoong had somehow gotten a crate of maize beer and their Uncles sent over vintage snacks that nobody had seen in about five years. 

As the sun set rusty orange and the music slowed down into something more comfortable, the initially chaos faded away into a mellow buzz. Or maybe that was just because most of the maize beer was gone by then. 

His place in the world was beautiful at that exact moment; warm and sugar cozy, surrounded by familiar friends, comfortable in his familiar environment with the reassuring rustle of corn stalks in the background. He could see his two brothers inside the kitchen, no doubt bickering about whether or not Wooyoung was allowed to drink any maize beer when it wasn’t even his birthday. 

Yunho could be forgiven for feeling optimistic and hopeful. 

A fool’s hope, it turned out to be. 

He had never been friends with Yugyeom. They weren’t even that close. But the tall classmate had helped Yunho in woodworking and home economics class enough times for a deep-seated-one-sided crush to develop. In hindsight the friendliness was just a misinterpretation after all. 

When all the other boys and girls started going on dates, he had wondered why he wasn’t doing the same. Rumours and gossip of who-was-dating-who barely registered on his radar, partly because he was busy grieving his parents, but mostly because he ate lunch with Mingi and Wooyoung most days, and those two nerds were always talking about anime and video games. 

Maybe if he had paid some attention, he’d have known that Yugyeom had a new girlfriend and maybe he would’ve stopped himself from asking and maybe he wouldn’t have completely humiliated himself at his own birthday party. 

But he did. 

It was small mercy by the grace of the Universe that no-one else was around to see it. 

But here he was again, in the exact same place with the same people. Somehow always feeling like an outsider looking at other people living the life he wishes he could live too. 

There’s a slight creak on the wooden fence post as another body sits down next to him, facing the other way, towards the vastness of the cornfield that seemed to stretch on forever in the evening dusk.

The sky was a deep blue now, it was still too hazy to see many stars yet and the thought makes Yunho feel lonelier than ever but at least the fairy lights were still on and provided just enough to illuminate the familiar angles of the presence beside him.

“You want to talk about it?”

Yunho shakes his head. “How much did you see?”

“Not much. I just came out to say goodnight but he was already talking to you and the next thing I know, he left and you’re still out here.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Okay.”

There’s a long pause where they just sit in silence. It's not completely uncomfortable but Yunho wishes the day would just end already.

“Since you’re already depressed, it won't matter if I make it worse right?”

“I guess...”

“Okay, so I found that limited edition Batman comic you wanted-“

"What-"

“-but your brother opened it by accident. So he already read it. Sorry.”

Maybe because his thoughts were shaken up so violently inside him, maybe because he was so confused by the emotional whiplash, maybe because he just doesn’t really give a shit anymore, maybe Wooyoung being a menace was so reassuring in its predictability that Yunho lets the laughter bubble out of him all ugly and loud and cathartic. 

The release felt good. 

“That little shit.”

“At least he had a good birthday, even if it was meant to be yours.” 

Yunho chuckles sadly. “One of us should have a good one I guess.”

There’s hesitation before he hears the clink of glass. “Well, you can still have a good one if you want. Do you know how hard it was to smuggle this past your brother?”

‘This’ turns out to be a small bottle of maize whiskey. Yunho stares at it in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you get this?”

“You really don’t wanna know.”

A gentle breeze ruffles by them and when Yunho finally looks up, for the first time since they started talking, Mingi is grinning mischievously at him, so bright and sparkling in energy, despite the blue darkness that surrounds them, that Yunho can’t help but smile back. 

"...thanks."

“Happy birthday, loser.”

[malcolm-reeds-pineapple]

Blorbo From My Shows Wrapped 2023

And rating them on a scale from 1 to 10

Nathan MacKinnon: listen okay he comes around every year around hockey season. This year I’ve gone especially deranged for him and made a fucking top loader for one of my hockey cards of him. He mostly gets points for being Nova Scotian and also looking like he has sustained multiple blows to the head. He is also incredibly fucking shaped. Anyway solid 7/10 - loses points because he’s been stripped of all personality by the NHL in order to be more advertiser-friendly

Vinsmoke Sanji: alright okay I’m a fake fan because I’ve only seen the live action but sweet Christ I want this white man. From the moment this absolute womanizing jackass graced my screen I have been in love with him. He makes me giggle and kick my feet like a middle schooler at a sleepover. He truly is Blorbo From My Shows in the best possible way. 10/10 I think this man is so hot.

John Sheppard: I started watching Atlantis recently and I kind of thought I was gonna hate it because no Daniel and Daniel had been my primary brain rot since I was 9 but John won me over. I love his sense of humour and his relationship with McKay (aaaaaaa Canada Mentioned!!!!) but I also find his insubordination extremely hot like yes babe!!! Disregard your orders to commit intergalactic war crimes!!!! Also I love that we get Sheppard Scruff a lot because believe me that instantly casts a hex on me to lose all thoughts!!!! Foaming at the mouth for him!!! Anyway 8/10 - loses points for being a pilot bc my dad was on the ground crew and my genetic memory is telling me that all pilots are bastards

Tony Markovich (that fucking cop from shameless): listen okay hear me out hear me out……………….. alright I got nothing, I can’t even defend this one. First of all, I’ve only seen the show through tiktok highlights. Second bbg this man is a cop what’s wrong with you??? He mostly gets points for looking like a handsome young man who my mom would love if I brought him home. Like Tony just looks sooooo boyfriend shaped to me?? Like if I brought him home and he told my mom that he volunteers coaching basketball and that he likes to spend his off time cooking with his mom, my mom would literally bawl her eyes out because I’ve brought home the man she’s always envisioned for me. 6/10 - loses points for being a cop and also being too fucking vanilla to even think that his handcuffs could possibly be used for sex.

Ray Stantz: alright so he’s also the type that I would 100% bring home to my mom but unlike Tony, I respect his career. This guy is soooooooooooo husband shaped like he looks like the kind of guy who mows his lawn on a Sunday before the kids wake up so he can teach them how to ride a bike as soon as they finish breakfast. He’s also just so sweet and cuddly in canon and I want him to infodump about all his interests at me. I also like that his so squishy and I just wanna be the one who helps him get the ectoplasm out of his hair while he tells me about poltergeists and stuff. 10/10 - he’s so husband shaped he loses points for NOTHING because he’s EXACTLY the kind of man I want

Daniel Jackson: listen okay we all knew this was coming I don’t even need to say anything. I know this man has not only been living in my head rent free but he also lives in yours because you follow me and you have 0 choice in the matter. I’m not elaborating just go thru #yeet me into the void on my blog and you’ll get it. 15/10 he’s the fucking blueprint.

Jack Ransom: i apparently cannot exist without a white man from Star Trek bouncing around my skull so Ransom makes this list. I love blonde himbos and like the thing is that I know he’d call me a fucking slur but like his superiority complex does something to me idfk I should send this post to my therapist because evidently I need fucking help. 8/10 - loses points for being a cartoon, gains points for his obvious brat taming kink.

Anyway thanks for coming to the annual Blorbo From My Shows Wrapped: a post that if it got forwarded to anyone in my family I’d simply fake my death and disappear. However, my tumblr followers are my priest and this blog is my confessional.