#let alone use a program like excel

[jvlianbashir]

i know that others have already commented on this but most of my high school interns are so helpless when it comes to technology that doesn't completely spoonfeed the experience that it is actually terrifying

[43501]

Enormous detailed list of Near headcanons.

Basically canon / extrapolations from canon:

A pro at spatial visualization, excellent at translating 3D images from his mind/memory to reality. Sculpts and carves all sorts of things. If there's anything that definitively proves his inhuman IQ, it's that he can use Blender without breaking a sweat (we see this in the A-Kira story).

Particular about his hair, always wanted to just leave it alone and let it grow out naturally.

Immaculate handwriting.

Autistic. Should this be in the below category? This is basically unanimously agreed on, right?

Purely headcanon / not based on anything in particular / wishful thinking:

His past: He was at another institution before being discovered and brought to Wammy's House. His memory of this is hazy, and his memory of early childhood life before that is completely non-existent. He has no idea who his birth parents are and has no desire to know.

His present: Throughout his adult life he vacillated on his feelings about taking up L's mantle. Growing up he felt like it was his only option, feeling himself unfit for a regular life with a regular job. But he never felt he was as good as the original L. Goes about his duties in a rather passionless way. Never got over Mello's death and probably never will.

Not insomniac, but an erratic sleeper. Schedule doesn't really conform to a typical 24-hour cycle. He sleeps when he feels the need and this can occur any time. Will often just fall asleep on the floor, but does have a bed (it more resembles a nest of blankets/pillows).

Diet is unremarkable (compared to say, L or Mello) but he under-eats. Has never cooked a single thing for himself, exclusively orders food or has his staff bring things to him. Not a picky eater (I mean... HTR13 suggests he ended up eating the New Year's mochi, he was playing with those things on the floor).

Owns and wears clothes other than plain pajamas (mostly t-shirts, sweatpants) but everything is comfort-first, slightly loose and made from breathable natural materials. Owns a long skirt, because sometimes that's the most comfortable for him. It earned some raised eyebrows and then a shrug when he instructed his staff to procure it.

Favorite season is winter, prefers a cooler room temp. Hates summer, has low tolerance for the heat.

Fascinated with the shinigami, wishes he could meet more of them than just Ryuk.

At his core, a sentimental and sensitive guy (after all, while he trashed most of the finger puppets he created at the end of the story, he kept the ones of himself and Mello and stored them somewhere safe). His expressions are muted and his emotional regulation is superhuman, so it's not evident to an outside observer.

Reads books for leisure sometimes but generally not a huge consumer of media. Very, very, very rarely watches any television/films and when he does, they're exclusively mecha-oriented or sci-fi (he probably likes Blade Runner and Ghost in the Shell).

Spends a lot of time on the internet, specifically on charged social media platforms like Twitter and 4chan. He reasons it's a broader part of his job, but he seems to just like observing people.

And about Mello specifically:

Feelings of kinship bordering on romantic, but he never got the chance to interrogate them. Only realized the extent of his affection some time after Mello's death. Has not felt like he has an intellectual equal in the world since Mello left it.

Has, at some points in the past, held completely ordinary, pleasant conversations with Mello. They are some of his better memories.

Believes that they would've been friends if they met in some environment other than Wammy's House/the L program. Feels a little bitter toward Wammy's over it, even though he recognizes they raised him and gave him access to a world-class education.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't talked about it. had believed you'd never have to. but then you'd been alone in a classroom with a madman and the walls had been closing in, no hope, no escape. and then it'd screamed, LET ME OUT.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: panic attacks. eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.18

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why did Frankenstein create the Monster?

Mr. Anderson sat behind his desk, marking that morning's pile of tests. Yours was underway, everyone's heads down, the room silent apart from the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional creak as someone shifted at their desk.

As soon as you'd received your copy, you'd read through the questions; simple enough. Determine metaphor and allegory, write about what's between the lines, not what's on the page.

This wasn't your first rodeo. You loved the practice of analyzing books, finding things the author probably hadn't meant to give deeper meaning to but had—for the sake of high school English. It was where you excelled, earned As and A-pluses, 10/10s, 99/100s.

Mrs. Boudreaux, your junior English teacher, had been the driving force behind your application to the English program at Berkeley. With her guidance, you'd applied in your final semester last year and already had the acceptance letter stashed where no one would snoop. Leaving Split River wasn't exactly condoned though it'd never been said outright.

Point being, you were really fucking good at English.

And yet...

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

You couldn't focus. Seeing Ms. Chung had been conflicting. On the one hand, you should be grateful. On the other...a cold sludge snailed through your veins, the memory of her passive face as she'd spoken to you from her armchair. Her office kid-friendly and bright white, finger paintings pinned to corkboards on the the walls.

Your mind kept slipping, the edges of cordoned-off memories bleeding under the tape. What you'd almost said to Simon earlier—"I'm gonna end up going after him with a—" crowbar crowbar crowbar—your stomach churned. You'd bitten the threat on your tongue and swallowed it back down before it'd had the chance to spill into the world.

Why that? Why, of all things, that? You hadn't...you'd never use...you wouldn't DO that.

Splash. "But it's fun, Sissy May! Stop being so grouchy!"

A quiet, sharp inhale. Like sucking air through a straw. It wasn't enough, but you didn't want to draw attention. You folded over your desk to lay sideways on your arm, putting your back to the class. Pen on paper, unmoving, blue dot growing as ink seeped through the pages.

Write. Do it. Write something. Anything.

But you couldn't. Half of you was pulled in one direction while time wrenched your other half in another, fracturing in impossible countermotion. Existing forward and backward at the same time.

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

Your vision swam as memories wedged themselves between the seconds, left hand singeing where it was cradled in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The pain shot from the outermost knuckle up to your elbow and struck outward in Lichtenberg figures behind your ribs.

"—the Split River police are considering this a missing person investigation—he lures her to the boiler room—blood blood blood on the walls—and you chose that person to be there—you're stuck here?"

Dialogue ran into each other, warped, distorted, a record played in reverse. Mr. Hartman's speech on Monday, your conversation with Wally, Simon's despair, and nightmares emulsified into an incoherent echo that pulsed in your ears.

"—she's stuck she's stuck she's stuck—body could be anywhere—I know this is alarming news, but we have every hope she'll be found safely—aren't friends supposed to trust each other?"

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

Question 1: Why does Frankenstein create the Monster?

Hesitant, careful, you tried not to be subtle as you sat up. Your left hand felt wet and when you looked down you saw tiny pinpricks of blood beading within the crevice of your scar. The pinpricks swelled into each other, more and more, scar tissue splitting up the middle and folding back. Blood gurgled out around the bone and spilled onto your desk. Drip-dropped onto the floor. Dribbled across blank test sheets.

You snatched your hand into your lap—don't look, it's not real, don't look—and clenched your eyes shut, dragging in quick, rabbitty breaths as best you could without making any noise.

"—if you know anything, anything at all, please come forward—he's hiding Maddie in there—I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—no questions asked, remember?—get your stuff and let's go—I'm sorry I'm sorry—Sissy!"

Your eyes snapped open, immediately trained on the supply closet door. Ominous. Unbelonging. Dry, grey wood and rusted handle. You looked down at yourself, at your hand, open wound spewing a pool under your desk. Clothes and skin stained red. Hair in tacky strings that fell to your waist, much longer than it'd been when you woke up that morning.

Blood. So much. Blood.

tick. tock.

tick. tock.

"LET ME OUT!"

The rusted handle rattled furiously, wood expanding and contracting like the lungs of a nightmare. You were paralyzed in your seat, joints completely fused, unable to open your mouth and scream for help. Tears welled in your eyes, streaked down your face, as you watched the hinges loosen and the doorframe splinter around the strike plate.

"STOP! COME BACK! LET ME OUT!!"

Suddenly, there were hands on your face, a voice in the distance calling your name.

"Go get the nurse." Mr. Anderson instructed, spooked, standing from his desk and rushing down the aisle.

"With all due respect, sir," Xavier said over his shoulder, crouched beside you, hands staying firm on your jaw, "You do it. I'm staying with her."

He turned back to you, repeated your name, told you where you were, that you were okay, that he had you and wasn't going anywhere, shh shh it's okay, I'm right here. Until, finally, thank Christ, finally, your eyes refocused and you seemed to recognize Xavier.

"I need you to breathe for me, kiddo." He said in as soothing a tone as he could given his panic. He grabbed your left hand and put it over his heart, settled his open palm on your sternum, and inhaled deeply. "Come on, May, you can do this. You're okay."

The old nickname stung like a lash, but despite wanting to tell Xavier off, you couldn't speak. Your throat was too tight, tongue too large, fuck, you were going to die. Not there. Not in the school. Not where you'd never get out.

Not like this, you pleaded. And then, all at once, you were released, gasping and wailing, toppling out of your seat and onto the floor, into Xavier's arms. He tucked himself around you, protective, safe, and held you as you sobbed.

Outside, Wally almost doubled over, uneven contractions of pain in his chest, over and over, worse and worse. Disoriented, he held himself up on the side of the bus stop.

Rhonda was ranting at Charley about secrets, Maddie's secret—Simon could see them!—and Charley was frantically apologizing and Maddie was gone—where had she gone? It didn't matter—nothing mattered, he had to find you.

"Where are you going?!" Rhonda yelled after him as he took off toward the side door.

And all he could think of to explain his sudden departure was, "I just need some space right now!"

Right then, he didn't care if she believed him. If Charley believed him. If they followed him and found you and found him with you—he didn't fucking care.

He just had to get to you.

Mr. Anderson returned with the nurse, pale and uneasy. Xavier ignored them both as he helped you to your feet. The classroom had thankfully been on its way to empty when Xavier had noticed you'd been unresponsive. Sat stiff as a board at your desk clutching your left hand, the whites of your eyes visible as you'd stared into nothingness.

"I'm taking her home." He said, brooking no argument, holding you against him with an arm secured around your waist and you were almost out, almost away from the terror that had gripped you, but Nurse Laine had to shine a flashlight pen into your eyes first.

She asked questions that you answered with curt nods and shakes.

"Are her parents home?"

Xavier informed, "Her grandmother. I've already said I'm bringing her back." Between convulsions. Had reached into your bag to fish out your phone. Punched the code in easily and found Abigail's number in your contacts. Why the hell was it still 0-6-1-1? Why torture yourself?

It was then that Wally barreled through the closed classroom door. He looked every bit as shaken as you felt. In four long strides, he was at your side, observing Xavier with more scrutiny than he gave to the scene itself.

"I want to go home," You said, weak, wet, directed to everyone in the room, but especially to Wally. Because you couldn't talk directly to him, couldn't touch him; no matter how much you needed him to be who held you, you weren't so far gone not to recognize that that wasn't possible.

Mr. Anderson spoke as Xavier guided you to the door, "You can retake the test on Monday. It's no problem." And it was both a relief and a kick in the gut.

You couldn't look at him. At the man who had abducted Maddie, hurt her, abused her, forced her out of her body.

"Sissy!"

You wrenched forward and vomited into the garbage pail beside the door.

Mr. Anderson took a single step and you whimpered, curling into Xavier as if attempting to hide from the man. Xavier looked between you and Mr. Anderson, a dark expression of suspicion seeping into his features.

"Don't worry about it." Mr. Anderson said of the garbage pail like that's what you were scared about. Like that mattered at all. "I'll take care of it. Just get her home safely."

Xavier gritted out a thank you to Mr. Anderson and Nurse Laine on your behalf and practically carried you out of there, stopping only to peek into the hallway to assess how to get you to the car without witnesses.

Minus a couple of students jogging to their next class a few minutes late, the hallway was empty.

Wally remained a stalwart presence at your other side, down the two flights of stairs and out the door into the parking lot.

Lead-rubber limbs caused missteps, scuffing the toes of your sneakers against the gravel. Xavier never let go, every stumble counterbalanced, patient as you found your footing again only to lose it moments later.

He bundled you into the passenger's seat—sideways against the back with your legs still outside the car—and crouched to tell you, "I'm going to grab my bike. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

After a hard press of his lips to your forehead, he was gone, and Wally took his place.

It felt too much like your sophomore year, Xavier swooping in to the rescue, leaving Wally in the dust. Only, this time, Wally knew you could hear him. More than that, Wally knew you'd answer when he asked:

"Baby, what happened?"

You shrugged, fragile, tired, and, "Panic attack," you said simply. "I think this whole thing with Maddie is getting to me." Not entirely untrue. Seeing Ms. Chung, that's what'd done it. Because her presence meant terrible, awful things had happened. It always did. Just like... No. You felt yourself begin to tremble, air stuck in your throat again, a tiny squeak of sorrow burping out.

Wally nodded as if he understood, but he didn't, though he so wished he did. What he'd felt, what the connection between you and he had delivered into him...if he'd been alive, the pain Wally had experienced would've killed him, he was certain of it.

Are you okay? He almost asked. Instead, he dropped to his knees and wound his arms around your waist, coaxing you forward until you tilted out of the seat and allowed Wally to take your weight. He leaned back and sunk onto his haunches so you were entirely seated in his lap, face under his chin, arms around his neck, fastened to him in a way he was beginning to prefer.

Eventually, "Something happened. Six years ago," you revealed, so quiet Wally nearly missed it.

He kissed a crown into your hairline, "You don't have to tell me, baby, it's okay."

"I want to." You insisted, but Wally felt the tension in your back when you said it.

Plastering on his best smile, he craned his neck so he could see your face, practically melting as those big, marbled eyes blinked sweetly up at him. "Some other time, then, huh?" He suggested and was pleased when you agreed. A little nod and then you nuzzled yourself back into his throat with a sigh. Cute as a baby bird.

He wasn't sure if this was the right time—fuck, he knew it wasn't—but keeping secrets wasn't in his repertoire when it came to you. Slowly, a hint of trepidation, he said, "You were right, pretty girl." And you shifted, leaned back enough to look Wally in the eye as he clarified, "Simon can see Maddie."

Your eyes widened, "He's like me?"

Wally shook his head, "No. He can only see Maddie."

Holy crap, your brain wasn't equipped to process that nugget of information right now, though you tried so hard to. It confirmed that Maddie was in an In Between. A bittersweet answer to one of several questions that you could check off the list. Your gaze skated back to the school where Mr. Anderson was likely still in his classroom.

He hadn't seemed like a cold, calculated kidnapper as you'd collapsed on the floor. He'd been grey with fear, worry; had seemed so genuine in his concern and desire to help you as you fell apart in Xavier's arms.

"What happened to her, Wally?" You choked, the question squeezed out of you like toothpaste. "Why is this happening?"

Wally cupped the back of your head and held you close, his mind spinning as well. Everything was spiraling out, had been since Maddie's arrival. Like all her differences had disturbed Split River High's metaphysical equilibrium somehow. It scared the shit out of him, but he wasn't going to tell you that. Not now, especially, as you held him like he was the only thing keeping you together.

"Baby, I felt you." Wally breathed, "It hurt so much, I—" Can't finish that sentence, your eyes so big and apologetic, as if it was your fault. "I wanna help. I wanna be there for you."

"I know." You said and offered him your best smile. It served to calm his nerves a bit, even with the pain at it's corners. "Hey," You started, tone swinging up to something slightly positive, "At least we learned something useful, right?"

Wally huffed a dry laugh and nodded, "Yeah, baby, we did."

Then, chewing your lip in that way Wally was coming to know meant you were formulating a plan, you announced, "I should go talk to him," about to stand.

"Not now," Wally said, firm and serious, his arms tightening around you. "It can wait. It's not like any of us are going anywhere."

Xavier returned just as you were getting ready to argue. He set about preparing the car so he had enough space to deposit his bike in the trunk. Once finished, he climbed into the driver's seat and tapped you lightly on the shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

Contrary to last night, when you'd slammed back into your body at speed, you seemed to simply rouse as if from sleep.

"Get some rest, pretty girl," Wally said and stood, dusting off the knees of his sweatpants. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

You answered with a smile since Xavier was watching; refusing to start the car until you'd positioned yourself properly with your legs in, seatbelt buckled, and the car door closed.

As Xavier drove out of the parking lot, the warmth of the connection between you and Wally fell away like a cloak slipping from your shoulders.

Xavier didn't hesitate to reach over the console and take your hand as if he could sense you needed the comfort. He squeezed and promised, "No questions asked."

You kept your head turned toward the window, heavy on the headrest, and squeezed back.

💀___________________________

PART SEVENTEEN - PART NINETEEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[crazylittlejester]

rambling out some thoughts about my modern au war for anyone who wants to hear em (as an apology for not writing anything for that au in a Hot Minute. also sorry for spelling mistakes im dyslexic and the brain fog is Bad today)

ive been seeing a lot of that tiktok trend with skaters dropping to their knees on the ice to ‘the winner takes it all’, and not only would my modern au War absolutely have done that trend, I genuinely think that whenever he’s feeling some big emotion he will choreograph something to a song he’s actively obsessing over, record him skating, and post it, because thats like the only way he has to express himself. thats how he communicates and that is quite literally the only way he knows how to tell people he’s upset or pissed or grieving because he cannot say those things in words

i haven’t talked about him in a while so “lore drop” to anyone not super familiar with this au lmao, but he did NOT come from a good home. he was not raised in good environments (between home and strict ballet studios that taught him that it is more important to be perfect and excel and progress than it is to properly take care of your body and learn its limits) and he is very bad at verbally communicating how he feels (partially because its hard for HIM to properly dissect the issue himself at this point). Like he’s gotten better at it because Twilight and Sky have been putting in WORK for the past eight years, but it’s still hard for him a lot of the time and skating is his outlet. It’s ALWAYS been his outlet, he throws every feeling he’s ever had into every single performance he gives and that’s what makes him so mesmerizing to watch because there is so much genuine realness from him behind WHATEVER he does. like yeah he does have natural talent and he is flexible and his lines have always looked good because of his build and coaches instructors and judges have always liked him for that, but what made him a world champion and what consistently won him gold medals was how terrifyingly powerful and impactful his performances were because he made people feel whatever the fuck he was. ability to do the jumps and turns only gets you so far, the life you breathe into your art takes you the rest of the way

he was so used to being ignored and neglected as a kid that his brain came up with the conclusion that it has to let out EVERYTHING it’s feeling when War finally is the center of attention in his performances and nobody’s looking away and people CANT ignore him. he has their attention, they HAVE to listen, they have to SEE him. and the performance that won him the equivalent of an olympic gold medal, that last performance he ever gave that he quit skating immediately after because of his coach (Cia) will absolutely end up going down as one of the most emotionally powerful programs in Hyrule history because he threw everything he had, everything he is and was, into that. all his anger at feeling helpless, all his anger at not being able to admit what happened to him or even seek help, all that sadness and loneliness and isolation he carried with him for so so long, and he put that out there in front of the entire world as basically a cry for help and while that alone obviously could not tell people what exactly was wrong, that performance DID end up getting him the help he needed because another coach (Impa) recognized there had to be something going on

as terrified as he is to ever return to skating because of what happened and because of the toxic mindset he’d had that he just FINALLY broke out of, War genuinely cannot live without it because it’s been so important to him for so long, it’s his outlet, and losing it forever would destroy him. dance is similar, but its just not the same to him and he misses it so badly and thats why his dumb ass hits the rink for a few hours every day on top of everything else because he can’t let it go

and the rare tiktoks from him where he’s skating out his negative emotions (and not just being silly and fucking around to lady gaga or whatever) still have quite the punch to them. he may not have a coach, but he’s maintained the same level of skill he had when he left because he still practices, and ofc his ability to put life into his performance is never something he’s struggled with because he feels so so much and he has no other way to release overwhelming emotions but through art

there are people in the skating community who do genuinely mourn losing him to retirement, there are so many people who want him to come back

i like showing the silly sides of him in this au (like the side of him that saw the weather was warm for the first time in months and decided to wear a crop top to class and not bring a coat just for it to rain and he was miserable, or the side of him that almost had a heart attack and died when lady gaga released a new album) because the whole au is supposed to be a bit silly and just fun, but he has sooooooo much more going on and so many other layers and i (insane) have put way too much thought into him and this au lmao

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (32)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suggestive content

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

< last chapter | masterlist

Jin still hasn’t quieted.

He’s not as wild as he was when the clamor of the shattering glass and the blaring intercom set him off, but you can hear him thumping against the door, rasping hungrily in the darkness of the supply closet.

You sit next to Jimin, letting him lean his weight against you, listening to the oldest member of your acting team succumb to the ravenous will of the parasites that infest him.

In the absence of the noisy, energetic presence of the others, your thoughts are left to darken heavily with the cruel and careless murder of your team.

Only a few hours ago, you’d entered the building with them, cheerfully discussing your plans for the evening, your excitement for one of your biggest programs ever, issuing reminders for their specific roles and instructions for your more dramatic actors to maintain at least some adherence to the scripts.

Jin and Hoseok had been the target of your warnings. Known for unplanned improvisations and escalations of the atmosphere, the two older actors had playfully listened to your rote threats before heading off to their designated stations with no intention of heeding your orders.

They were excellent actors, good men, phenomenally skilled at working a dynamic environment. No matter how off-script they decided to go, you and Namjoon had full trust that they would remain faithful to your storyline and representation, even if it was in their own capacity.

Now they’re both gone.

Almost all of them are gone.

How is it possible that you lost the majority of your family in one fell stroke? How could you have known those were your last moments with them, and that mere moments later they would face their terrifying and horrific fates alone?

Heart swelling with sorrow, you reach for Jimin’s hand and squeeze it tight. He stirs wearily, turning his head against your shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Chim?” You ask him softly, running your free hand through his hair.

He groans and lets out a labored breath. “Feels like someone’s sawing my leg off.” He mumbles. “God, why does it hurt this bad?”

You push away the reflexive fear that maybe something survived in him, continuing its greedy ascent up his body, and brush his dark hair out of his face. “You’ve been eaten alive, dude. I’m amazed you’re still conscious, if I’m honest with you.”

Overhearing your conversation from where he’s pacing near the shattered window, Yeosang glances to you before grabbing the first aid kit that you had used so long ago to patch up Wooyoung’s arm.

“What do you think we should do when this is over?” Jimin asks softly.

When you’re silent, heart racing, he gives your hand the lightest squeeze.

“Please talk to me.” He whispers. “It hurts so bad, I just need to talk about something.”

Yeosang rifles through the first aid box, spilling bandaids and antiseptic pastes all over the floor. He finally comes up with a handful of those pitiful packets of Tylenol, bringing them to Jimin. “It’s pretty worthless, but if you take four or five of them it might take the edge off.”

You remember the water bottles that you’d packed into your duffel bag, and struggle to reach it where it’s still slung across your back. With Jimin leaning against you so much, you can’t work your free hand around to grasp the zipper. “Yeo,”

He meets your eyes, brows lifted in question.

“There’s water in my bag. Can you get one of them out for him?”

He drops the Tylenol packets on the desk by your knee and moves around behind you to unzip your bag. You hold yourself still as he rummages through it, pulling out two bottles, and closing the zipper back up.

“You can focus on your songwriting.” You suggest to Jimin. “You always said you never had enough time to pursue it like you wanted to.”

Yeosang comes back around in front of you, breaking the seal on one of the bottles and setting it down so he can rip open the Tylenol packets.

Jimin shakes his head against you. “I’d rather do this. I mean, fuck, not this. I don’t want to give up the acting. The choreography and the stories and the characters. I don’t want this to be over.”

Your gut twists to think of him waking up when this is all over, wanting to just get himself ready and head in to work as he always does, only to be hit with the realization once again that it will never be the same.

It will never be the way it was, not without your team.

“You can still act.” You tell him gently.

Yeosang cups the handful of tablets in his palm and brings it to Jimin’s lips, instructing him quietly to take them. Jimin lets him drop the tablets into his mouth, and struggles to lift his head so Yeosang can put the bottle to his lips and tip him enough to swallow.

Jimin downs the pills, coughing, and asks for more water.

As Yeosang helps him, you try to come up with something encouraging, anything hopeful. “The company is still out there, if they don’t decide to shut down after this. They’ll put you on a new team, and they’ll probably give you permission to use some of our old programs.”

Jimin groans again, and you feel his bad leg twitch against the desk. “We could start a new company,” he murmurs. “Me, you, Joon, and Rosé. We can start from the ground up, make our own rules.”

In the moments that pass as he takes a few more drinks and gasps with exertion, you meet Yeosang’s eyes. He’s already watching you, waiting for your response, knowing you have no plans of going home and starting your own company—knowing you’re going to lie.

You break your gaze away, unable to carry the weight of his disapproving stare. “We should start our own company.” Your words are hollow. “We’ll be even more successful. We’ll put those old bastards we work for out of business.”

Jimin huffs a vindicated laugh. “Hell yeah. We can do all those programs they never let us do.“

You can’t fight your wry grin. “They don’t let us because they’re expensive and dangerous.”

“What programs aren’t you allowed to do?” Yeosang wonders, opening the second bottle and handing it to you.

You gratefully drink, your body relaxing as the cool liquid pours down your throat. When you’re finished, you hand the bottle back to him and gesture for him to drink from it. “It’s mostly based on locations and equipment. We wanted to do some on a ship, like one of those old war boats that they’ve turned into historical museums and hotels. We had some ideas for actual overnight programs, ones that last like a weekend at a campsite or in a hotel—extra scary and immersive for clients, but extra expensive and more liability. The company didn’t go for it.”

“They sound like fun, as long as they don’t involve actual crimes and horrors.” Yeosang says, sitting on the desk on your other side. On the narrow surface that is now holding three of you, his thigh is pressed against yours, your shoulders glued together.

“Yeah, they were gonna be sick as fuck.” Jimin agrees. “We can do all of those programs with our own company.”

Your smile turns sad. “Yeah,” you whisper emptily. “We’ll do all of them.”

You can’t even imagine it; writing stories and training new scenes and applying for new licenses and permits. You can’t sit in a studio late at night, comfortable with half a dozen empty energy drinks and takeout boxes, curled over your computer where the ideas and inspiration just come and come, filling you with vocational bliss.

You’ll never have that again. How can you write fun horror stories, knowing what you’ve done? How can you write deaths and killings, knowing you’ve committed your own with your bare hands? How can you write courageous heroes and innocent victims for yourself to play, knowing that when you were faced with actual fear of death, you caved to basest human instincts and chose to save yourself at the expense of someone else?

How does anybody write horror stories with normal people killing to survive, and writing them as though the characters can just deal with those experiences as though it all just happened in the fog of war and they can just get over it?

Your stories are garbage; woefully unrealistic.

You lived one in real life tonight, watching people you’ve known and loved with all your soul turn into impossible monsters, facing decisions like having to axe familiar faces to death, using the bodies of people you’ve worked with and cared for to shield yourself from a terrible death.

It’s not as easy as just running and panicking and hoping you survive.

It’s a wicked corruption of good people. It’s a destruction of everything you used to be, every thought process you’ve ever had, a mutation into someone you don’t even recognize—someone who has forced a human being to be carnally ripped apart in order to ensure your survival.

You were supposed to be better. You’re raised and taught and disciplined by society and moral values to get through life peacefully, without ever entertaining the idea of strategizing through acceptable loss of life.

You were never supposed to rationalize the loss of humanity and essence of someone becoming an emptied out monster so that you can feel better about allowing a person to be brutally eviscerated.

Unaware of the existential undoing of your soul, Jimin tries to adjust himself to a more comfortable position. “I still vote you as captain in our new company.” He remarks. “Sorry, but I’m not built for leadership. I’m all about breaking rules and shirking responsibility.”

You snort. “I don’t need to be told that, Chim. But for what it’s worth, I think you’d be a better leader than me.”

He scoffs. “There’s no way. I’d suck. All of the decisions and pressure you and Joon deal with would suck the fun out of it for me, and we’d all crash and burn. This captain would sink his own ship and go down with it.”

“I couldn’t do it either.” Yeosang says. “It’s too much pressure, doing what Hongjoong does. I show up for recordings and shoots and practice sessions, and that’s it. I clock out when it’s done and go home, and he stays all night and grows grey hairs just working to keep us afloat.”

“Yeah, see? He gets me.” Jimin wheezes a pitiful laugh. “No offense, Yeosang, but I wouldn’t have voted for you anyway. You seem like the following type.”

“None taken, I’m a singer. Kind of already have a job.” Yeosang shoots back, and grins at you.

Your responding glance is lackluster, but you smile anyway. “Yeah, you guys are probably gonna get out of here and lock yourselves in your studio as far away from horror programs as possible, right? I don’t expect a good review after this.”

“Hey, we were promised zombies. We got zombies.” He responds reasonably. “Technically, that’s not a breach of contact.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Please, they’re not going anywhere.” Jimin retorts. “We’re friends for life now. Friends who fight zombies together stay together.”

“We’ll get that on a tee shirt.” Yeosang promises.

“And besides, you guys are all cutesy and coupley now. I’m expecting to see a lot more of you, at least. Unless you guys are just decompressing in the heat of the moment and you friendzone each other once the adrenaline fades.”

You elbow Jimin lightly. “Mind your own business, asshole.”

But Yeosang doesn’t seem nearly as put off as you expected. “No, I’ll be around.” It’s his turn to elbow you. “I was promised Jeju Island. And I fully intend to meet Ponk. I’ve always wanted a cat.”

You elbow him back. “You were promised no such thing.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re right, Jeju Island was my idea. I’ll take full credit for the trip, you’re welcome.”

“Jeju Island?” Jimin muses. “That sounds nice. Look at you, already planning romantic dates.”

“Can you not insert yourself into this?” You grumble. “The two of you are insufferable.”

“Oh, this is nothing.” Jimin teases. “Remember when we had GOT7 last month? They wanted a ghost episode to put out after their comeback.” He explains to Yeosang. “Actually, Mark wanted killer clowns but the rest of his group weren’t vibing with that.”

You groan just thinking about it.

“Remember when Jay kept flirting with you and Hobi kept trying to push you together?”

Yeosang raises his eyebrows at you. “Isn’t he kind of old?”

You fix him with a deadpan look. “He’s my age.”

His eyes go wide. “I was kidding. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re old—I didn’t mean—”

“Enough with the flop sweat.” Jimin scoffs. “She’s 26.”

At Yeosang’s flushed frown, you just grin. “I was kidding.”

He groans, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t do that, I felt so bad.”

“He is only a year older than Joon, though, so don’t let him hear you say that.” You inform him, laughing.

“Anyway, I’m just saying, this is tame compared to that. Hobi was shipping you hardcore.” Jimin glances up, finding the tense line of Yeosang’s lips, and smirks at you. “I guess he didn’t realize you’re into younger guys.”

When you go to jab your nails into your best friend’s ribs, Yeosang intervenes.

“GOT7 is cool. We really like them. We’ve met Jackson a few times, he’s really awesome.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and he notices.

“You don’t like Jackson?”

Hurrying to correct his assumption that you have any contempt for one of the nicest client groups you’ve ever had, you shake your head. “No, no, I’ve been a fan of Jackson’s since they started—”

“He broke her heart.” Jimin supplies helpfully.

Once again, you are left in a storm of misinformation. “No he didn’t, don’t say that. You make it sound so dramatic.”

Yeosang frowns at you. “What happened?” He’s curious, probing, but pulls back hesitantly. “I mean, you don’t have to say. Sorry, I was just wondering.”

“No, honestly, he didn’t break my heart.” You laugh. “Jimin makes it sound like I had feelings for him or something, but that’s not what happened. He came with them and he was incredibly kind and they all enjoyed our program. They were a great group.”

“She’s looked up to him for like forever.” Jimin interrupts. “She was always talking about his writing skills and how much of a gentleman he was.”

“He still is, stop making it sound like something happened.” You grumble, jostling your shoulder beneath his head.

Yeosang is only more curious. “Did he do something?”

“No!” You’re appalled by the insinuation. “No, he was a perfect client. A perfect gentleman.” You glare at Jimin.

“Yeah, he spent all night protecting Sugar’s character and making her all star struck—”

“Jimin, shut up.”

“And then once the program was over and we were all having a celebratory dinner to thank them and send them off, he turns to her and tells her he can’t stand introverts.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, groaning. “Oh my god, Jimin, you’re the only one who cares about this.”

“Yeah, like you didn’t shut down like he stabbed you in the chest. Remember what he said to you? ‘It’s like there’s nobody there. It’s like talking to a wall.’” He leans over you to peer at Yeosang, who still looks disquieted by the conversation. “She stopped talking about his media appearances. Next time I went to her apartment, she’d put away all of her GOT7 albums and PCs. I later learned that she sold them. Imagine a career professional in the field of entertaining kpop groups selling her albums from one of our biggest contracts.”

“Jimin,” your tone is low, warning. It had been a disheartening moment, to spend your entire adult life being an involved fan of an idol and then to finally meet him and spend a thrilling program with him, only for him to end the evening by telling you personally that he hates your most fundamental trait.

But you hadn’t been in love with him. You hadn’t even had a crush on him. He’d been an inspiration for your work, and a motivation to get your team to a high enough ranking to attract his group, but he hadn’t broken your heart. And yeah, you had sold his albums and inclusions, and the interaction had made that choice easier, but you’d needed to pay your rent that month.

You’d had to sell something.

Avoiding both of their eyes, you fix a long suffering smile on your face. “The entire group was professional and polite, and they gave us a flawless program experience. And Jackson was exactly the way he seems to fans. It was an awesome experience.”

“She deflated like a fucking balloon.” Jimin grumbles. “I still don’t know how he could spend the entire night with you, giving you all that airbrushed fan service, and then turn around and basically tell you he hates you. Bastard.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, he didn’t. He’s the most extroverted person we’ve ever met; obviously he jives the most with other extroverts.”

“You liked him?” Yeosang wonders.

“No!” God, your night has somehow gotten worse. “No, I didn’t like him. Like Jimin said, I look up to him as a creative professional. But I never liked him and he didn’t break my heart. That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me that you going from being ecstatic about a successful program, the way you’re always giddy about a client group enjoying the work you write during an unhealthy amount of all-nighters, to leaving the restaurant and riding home in utter silence wasn’t you getting your soul crushed.”

“I’m an introvert.” You retort. “We’re quiet people.”

“Not about your passion.” He gripes. “You turn into a fucking five year old hopped up on sugar when it comes to your programs, but that night you looked like your dog died. Broke my fucking heart. I could have strangled him.”

“Jesus, Jimin, he’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Why are you talking about him like he’s your arch enemy?” This isn’t the first time you’ve heard Jimin complain about the discouraging interaction, but he’s never been so pissed about it.

You had no idea he’d gotten so fired up on your behalf about it.

“Because he insulted a foundational part of you.” Yeosang answers carefully. “I also hold Jackson in high regard, and I’ve always respected him, so I get what you’re saying. I’m sure he wasn’t trying to be a dick. But I would have been pissed too.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Yeah. See? If Yeo had been there he would have helped me beat the crap out of him.”

That makes you laugh. “Jimin. Yeosang is also an introvert. He’s bothered because he would have been included in the remark too.” The idea of your best friend and this very popular public figure attacking another international superstar over a silly comment strikes you as hilarious.

“No, I just don’t understand how he could have seen you work and act and play out one of your stories and still say something like that to you.” Yeosang returns simply.

“I’m an actor.” You can’t believe you’re even talking about this right now. “He probably didn’t even know I’m terminally introverted.”

“Exactly.” Jimin throws his hands up.

“Yeah, exactly. Even if he didn’t know you’re an introvert, he talked to you like you have some kind of personality disorder that he couldn’t even realize you had.”

“Alright, whatever. It wasn’t even a big deal. I was tired. I wanted to go to bed. You know how exhausting our programs are?” You sigh, hoping you’ve finally grasped control of the subject. “Don’t meet your heroes.”

“I say fuck him.” Jimin.

“That would be counterproductive.” You say cheekily.

“Enough about him. I can’t believe you have an idol right in front of you and you’re talking about some other guy.” Yeosang chides playfully.

Your jaw drops. “I’m not the one who brought it up.”

“Forget about him. I hope you sold all of your albums. You’re an Atiny now. I’m the only idol you need.”

While Jimin chortles with laughter, lurching off of you entirely with the force of his mirth, you whirl on Yeosang and jab at his ribs. You’re both stunned and thrilled to find him jerking away from your fingers, launching himself off the desk in a flurry of low giggles.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “He’s ticklish.”

“Nope!” Jimin stops laughing immediately. “No tickling. No touching. No physical flirting. I’m still here. I don’t want to puke right now, so knock it off.”

You ignore him, still staring at Yeosang in evil delight. “Come back here; don’t walk away from me.”

He’s clutching his ribs, lips spread wide in toothy laughter, shocked by your rush of confidence. “I don’t want to.”

“Please, god, don’t do this.” Jimin groans.

“You’re gonna be all smug and haughty—‘I’m the only idol you need’—who raised you? Get back here.” You beckon him back to your desk, finally enjoying being at the giving end of the teasing.

“Christ, kill me now.” Jimin grumbles.

The singer just shakes his head and scoots farther away. “No, I don’t want to.”

“Yeosang,” You lift one eyebrow.

“This is new,” he laughs. “I like this; why are you mad at me?”

You’re not mad and he knows it, but you’ll be damned if you just sit there and take their teasing in silence.

“Listen to your Noona, Kang Yeosang, before she drags you back here by your ear. You should see her put Taehyung in his place.” Jimin mutters. “Scary mother fucker.”

“Jimin, lay down and be quiet.” You hop off the desk, gaining ground on Yeosang as he stumbles back with surprised laughter, trying to hold you off. “Go on, Yeosang, keep talking. See what happens.”

He covers his ribs as you reach for him, dancing away from your fingers. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry—” he breaks off with another throaty giggle as your nails scrape his sides. “Noona, please—”

“Ha, made him call you Noona.” Jimin pumps a fist.

You’re going to have an aneurysm. “Don’t fucking start with me, Park Jimin. I am tired and in pain and I’ve had enough of your shit.” There’s no venom in your tone. You’re just happy to have a few stupid minutes with the people closest to you.

You turn a fierce look on Yeosang. “Go sit down.”

He ducks back to the desk and plants himself next to Jimin, face flushed with laughter. He stares up at you as you glare, arms crossing over your chest.

“Oh god, now I know you guys kissed. Please don’t do it again. Not in front of me, I beg of you.”

Yeosang’s mock nervous expression morphs into a smirk.

Your face heats with a flaming blush, and you can hear yourself sputtering wordlessly.

Before you can attack either of them, the intercom screeches back to life, and all joy seeps out of your body.

“Stop disabling the cameras. You are still under military control. I repeat, you are ordered to stop.”

Yeosang’s face falls.

“The gymnasium doors have been unlocked. Do not continue to attempt to escape. If you exit the school, you will be fired upon.”

In the moments that follow the intercom squealing offline, you can hear the echoing screeches of the once trapped hoard of zombies now filling the building.

Horror spurs you into action, bolting for the classroom doors as Yeosang throws himself to his feet and follows. Just as you grasp the handle and start to drag the door along its tracks, Jongho bursts into the room, panicked and panting.

“They’re out. All of them. They let them out.”

The zombies are free, and your group is spread throughout the school, whereabouts unknown, again.

< last chapter | masterlist

tag list : @mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @noukstmblr

[horizontwinflames]

Horizon AU: Twin Flames - Aloy, Beta and Elisabet (Zero Dawn Act) final concepts

*texts' transcriptions under the cut after the images*

Nora Beta's design was made by me.

REPOST, EDIT/USE OR FEED MY ART TO AI ISN'T ALLOWED

Read about Isaac, their machine companion [here]

This was... so much work... *falls off* (talking about write all of this story in the past... 5 months omg)

This AU has an ongoing fanfic! You can read on Ao3: [LINK]

Text transcription:

Aloy

172cm/5.6' - 21 years old

In this AU, Aloy is much more aggressive and socially distant than in canon. Although she grew up alongside Beta, so she knows affection and manners. Only Beta and Elisabet know Aloy’s true self: a gremlin, curious, funny, and loving person.

Her aggressive behavior towards other people is a mask and a defense mechanism. She developed such behavior due to how often she had to defend herself and her sister from bullies (and machines too), never allowing herself to lower her guard, also adding how much she internalized the pain from the shunning. Now that she is free to explore the world, she's willing to learn how to manage this behavior with her sister's help to stop fearing the world they want to explore.

Because she's been bottling her negative emotions for such a long time, she has a contained rage she has yet to learn how to use to her advantage. An easy way to trigger her is if Beta gets really hurt (either physically or emotionally).

Beta, her younger sister, is the most important person in her life. Aloy is willing to do anything to ensure her welfare and happiness, even if that means getting herself hurt or worse. Beta is the only person who can get Aloy to speak out her true feelings and thoughts and be a compass to help her how to handle negative emotions better.

Raised on the Nora ways of hunting, Aloy is an excellent hunter in this AU, just like in canon. But here, she’s also a ferocious brawler, and she does not only fight humans in hand-to-hand combat but also small machines. She has an unbelievable resistance to pain, is way more muscular, and is a bit taller than her canon counterpart due to her rather different physical training.

She followed her sister in her curiosity about the Old World, so Aloy started in this AU with much more knowledge about said subject. Just like her sister, she was also indirectly taught by Elisabet herself (through their Focuses) about programming and machines.

Beta

168cm/5.5' - 21 years old (possibly)

In this AU, Beta grew up alongside Aloy as an outcast. She is a skilled fighter and hunter like her sister, much more social and confident than in canon. Although, her confidence ends when she finds herself alone or in a discussion with another person.

Beta had a lot of health issues in her childhood and was way weaker than her sister for a long time. She has always been a scared child, afraid of confrontations face to face with bullies or machines, which led Aloy to protect her all the time they were away from Rost. Her dependence on her sister to protect her always bothered her, as she never liked to see her sister getting hurt, especially on her behalf. Now that she is free to explore the world, she wants her sister’s help to become strong and overcome her fears from childhood. She wants to fight by her sister’s side, not behind her anymore.

She enters a state of silent panic when under unbearable stress, becoming just as aggressive and violent as her sister normally is. The easier way to trigger this behavior is if she sees Aloy in a life-and-death situation.

Aloy, her older sister, is the most important person in her life. Beta is willing to do anything to ensure her sister’s welfare and happiness, even if that means getting herself hurt or worse. Aloy is the only person who can talk some courage and confidence to Beta. She’s also the only person Beta trusts for her safety, allowing her to let her curiosity go wild, especially when it comes to studying machines.

Beta was raised in the Nora ways of hunting, even if a bit later than her sister. But because of her said above issues, she developed a more stealthy and trapper way of fighting. She’s weak to pain and will always try to keep her distance from her target(s). 

When she met Aloy, she was out of memories, not remembering how she got into the underground bunker. She’s not even sure if “Beta” is her name, but she did have some knowledge about the Old World. The only thing she’s sure about is that bad people are searching for her out there.

Elisabet Sobeck

168cm/5.5' - Mid to late 40s

In this alternative universe, Elisabet is being kept alive in a cryosleep state by the Zeniths for a reason she has yet to find out. She can communicate with Aloy and Beta using a holo-avatar through their Focuses because of the “vivid dream state” her unconscious mind is in. Her holo-avatar has two forms: an orange jaybird and her real self.

Although, because of her frozen slumbering state, she can’t recall all of her memories. But she’s slowly being “defrosted,” and it’s a matter of time until she can remember everything. For now, the rising danger called HADES and things related to the Old World and Machines only give her some feeling of familiarity or some random information(s). 

Elisabet has been in contact with Aloy and Beta since they got their Focuses when they were kids, but she could only directly communicate recently. She has acted as an omnipresent guardian, watching the sisters and helping them by controlling their Focuses when necessary. She taught them about basic programming and machines that way.

She has an unexplainable motherly care for Aloy and Beta, which makes her (and the sisters) believe she's their mother- aside from the extreme visual similarity. She doesn't remember how she became a mother yet, but she'll do everything she can to help and protect her daughters.

[tough-girl9]

Dear Data

Summary: When Geordi learns that Data has been forced to resign from Starfleet to avoid Maddox's experimentation, the Enterprise's Engineer writes a heartfelt letter to his android friend about everything he's feeling.

Posted on both AO3 and FFN

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

Dear Data,

I still can't believe you're really going away. I keep thinking this is all a nightmare that I'm sure I'll wake up from any minute, but I keep not waking up. It keeps staying real. Awfully, unfairly real. You're really going away.

It's so unfair, I want to scream. I want to throw my hyperspanner across Main Engineering. I want to give that puffed-up idiot Maddox such an earful of everything I think of him that his damn skinny head will be ringing for weeks. I want to rage at everyone who was stupid enough to let this happen.

You're one of the best Starfleet officers I've ever had the honor to work with, if not the best. And I don't just mean your super android abilities. It's in how deeply you care about our mission, the thoughtfulness you put into the details of every project you work on, the devotion to nothing short of excellence in everything you do. It's the love you have for your job (yeah, Data, I know you can love). I've become a better Starfleet officer just by working alongside you. The Enterprise is losing so much with your departure, and I can't believe anyone would let this happen.

But I'm not just losing a great co-worker; I'm losing a friend. That might be what hurts the most. It's not everyone who gets to work alongside a dear friend, and I guess I took some of that for granted. I love my job, you know I do, but working with you made the days fly past. I'm realizing just how much I'm going to miss. I'm going to miss how easy it was to talk to you: how I could say something that would leave most people staring blankly at me but you would instantly understand. We were both Perceivers and that's something I'm going to be damn hard-pressed to find again. I'm going to miss your questions about sneezing and sleeping and life and death that made me think more about my own humanity. I'm going to miss watching someone use a colloquialism in front of you and smiling to myself when you immediately turn to me for an explanation. Damn it, Data, I'm even going to miss your never-ending string of awful jokes.

I keep thinking of all the things we'll never do together now. The dozens of ideas we had for future Sherlock Holmes adventures that'll never happen. The plasma flow regulator recalibration that we were going to work on together next week that I'll be doing alone now. That "game night" you were hoping to plan to test out all those 20th century Terran board games you found patterns for in that old replicator program you were fiddling with last week. I know everyone on the Enterprise is missing out – and everyone else in the galaxy whom you'd have been able to help if you'd lived out your career – but I feel like I'm the one who's losing the most. Maybe that's selfish of me, but I feel what I feel.

I know you're not dead, that you're just going away, but it still feels like I'm mourning a thousand little deaths all at once.

I know there are ways we can keep in touch, but it won't ever be the same again.

I hope you're able to find another path that feels as right for you as this one did. I hope you're able to get that teaching job that you were considering and that it brings you the same level of fulfillment that serving in Starfleet did. Most of all, I hope you're all right – out there in a world that sees androids as nothing but machines who can be ripped apart without compunction. I wish the whole world could see you the way I do – white glow and all – and recognize the wonderful person you are underneath that synthetic skin.

I just want you to know, I'm glad to have known you, Data. Even if it had to end like this, I'll never regret the year and a half I had to get to know you and work alongside you. You're the best friend I ever could have asked for. I really thought I'd grow old working on this ship with you, and I hate that everything had to be cut short far too soon. But no matter what, I'll always treasure the time I did have with you, being your friend.

I'm angry for you, Data, and I'm sad and I'm hurt, but more than anything, I'm so glad you were stationed here on the U.S.S. Enterprise with me. Take care of yourself out there.

Love,

Your Best Friend, Geordi

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

A/N:

I wrote this little one-shot about a year ago, when I found myself in Geordi's shoes in real life. A wonderful co-worker and dear friend whom I'd worked extremely closely with for over four years was very suddenly and unfairly bullied into resigning, leaving both her and me unable to do anything about it. This one-shot was just as much my way of processing my own sudden rage, feelings of crippling loss, and deep sense of unfairness with it all just as much as it was about Geordi and Data. And unlike Geordi and Data's story in "The Measure of a Man", my story didn't have a happy ending.

This story is dedicated to Jenn, the best Teen Librarian I've ever gotten to work with. This story is dedicated to all the program ideas we never got to do together, the stories we never got to share, and the time that was cut short far too soon. I'm glad I got to be your Geordi while it lasted. Live long and prosper.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

A New Horizon

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader

genre: underlining angst(?), fluff

requested: yes

nikolai masterlist

Y/N had known Nikolai Lantsov for as long as she could remember. Their childhoods had been intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree, bound together by the rigid expectations of noble birth and the untamed wildness of their spirits. When he had enlisted in the army, she had followed, neither of them willing to let the other face the horrors of war alone. And when he had cast off his princely skin and donned the name Sturmhond, she had been at his side, wind whipping through her hair as they carved legends into the sea.

For years, they had been happy in the only way they knew how. Sailing across the True Sea, chasing adventure, stealing from the greedy and giving to the desperate. Their lives had been a whirlwind of mischief and danger, but always, they had each other. Y/N had never questioned it before—this life, this purpose. But now, beneath the glow of lanterns swaying in time with the ship’s gentle rocking, she found herself staring into the darkness beyond the deck, feeling a pull that had nothing to do with the sea.

She had spent her entire life following Nikolai. Not because he asked her to, but because she had never imagined anything else. The army, the sea, the battles—none of it had been her dream first. It had always been his. And she had been happy. But was happiness enough?

The letter in her hand felt heavier than it should have. She had read it a dozen times, tracing the elegant script over and over until the words had etched themselves into her heart.

Ketterdam University had accepted her.

It was absurd, really, the way her hands trembled. She had faced Fjerdan raiders, infiltrated Kerch trade ships, and fought alongside Nikolai when the odds were impossible. And yet, the thought of telling him terrified her more than any battle ever had.

Would he be angry? Would he try to convince her to stay? Or worse—would he let her go too easily?

A familiar voice broke her reverie. “You look like you’re either about to stab someone or jump overboard.”

She turned to find Nikolai leaning against the ship’s railing, arms crossed, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. Even in the dim light, his sharp blue eyes gleamed with mischief, though she had long since learned to see past the bravado. He knew something was wrong.

Y/N exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the letter before she unfolded it and held it out. “I got accepted into Ketterdam University.”

His smirk faltered for only a fraction of a second, but she caught it. He took the letter, scanning it with the careful expression of a man examining battle plans. “Ketterdam,” he mused. “I hear they have an excellent program in…well, everything. The best minds in the world.”

She nodded. “I want to go.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the creaking of the ship and the distant sound of waves against the hull. When Nikolai finally spoke, his voice was softer than she expected. “You’re afraid this will change things between us.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked, and it came out more fragile than she had intended.

He was quiet for a long time before he said, “I always knew you had a mind that could reshape the world, Y/N. I just never thought you’d want to do it anywhere but at my side.”

The words sent a pang through her chest. “I never thought so either.”

Nikolai studied her, then smiled—not the sharp, charming grin of Sturmhond, but something smaller, sadder, and undeniably real. “You’ve given me more than I ever deserved. We both know that, so I won’t be the reason you hold yourself back.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “So you think I should go?”

“I think you should do what makes you happy,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And if Ketterdam is where you find yourself, then I’ll be the fool cheering you on from the other side of the world.”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and in that moment, she knew. She would always love Nikolai, always be drawn to the chaos and charm that made him who he was. But she could not live her life in his shadow any longer.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

He grinned, though there was a crack in it. “And I’ll make sure you do. But don’t worry, I’ll send letters—mostly complaints, terrible poetry, and the occasional death threat if you forget about me.”

She laughed, though her throat was tight. “I wouldn’t dare.”

The sea stretched endlessly before them, vast and full of unknowns. But for the first time, Y/N wasn’t afraid of stepping away from the life she had always known. She was ready to chase something new.

And Nikolai, as always, would let her fly.

[yuyan]

To my darling

A/n: Merry Christmas and have a happy new year! I hope you enjoy it @pavo-ocell-me! This was a very fun event that I loved taking part in @2023gisecretsanta

Pairing: Lyney x gn!reader

Tags: Pure fluff! Modern au, implied school/college setting, penpals, pre-established relationship, reader is learning French, where reader lives doesn't have snow, one curse word just one ^^

"Take intermediate French they said. You'll be fine they said," you muttered to no one in particular as you read the Google translation over and over again. "My French teacher is going to kill me."

You rubbed your eyes, peeking out of makeshift pillow your arms made. Standing tall at the front of the class with a booming voice was your French teacher. She held a small, clear glass jar with folded bits of paper inside in one hand while placing a stack of letters on her lectern with her other.

"Speaking with natives is an excellent and necessary way to develop your language skills (unlike this soon to be 30 minute speech) so due to the cancellation of the exchange program for this year and the long dragged on meeting, we have decided to give you all pen pals!" she announced. Her arms held a wide stance, awaiting for something you were unaware of.

Some whispers and small squeals echoed through the lecture hall. Others groaned and put their head on the desk, waiting for celestia, perhaps even an archon to take them. You did neither.

"I wish I could turn back time," you sighed. After contemplating for an hour whether your teacher would ever find out that you used Google translate to write half your letter or not, you started handwriting it on a stack of fancy paper you really shouldn't have been able to afford. "Shell never know. It's not like he can tell her anyways."

As you dragged your pen along the piece of paper, you remembered the speech about how necessary this was, the small piece of paper you pulled out of the bag and the letter that came with it. With a small smile playing on your lips, you signed off and stuck the small paper that read "lyney" just below your name with a paper rainbow rose you made yourself. It had its imperfections but it's similarity to the fresh ones he sent you left you content.

"Oh my god why did he reply so fast?" you asked yourself. Not even 3 days later and you received another letter from lyney. You traced the grooves of the red wax seal made you shiver. He wouldn't ever know you used google translate right? With pursed lips, you opened it. Perfume immediately muddled your senses as you opened up the envelope. Your peers hadn't even sent their first letter, let alone receive their second.

As you skimmed over the letter, you took down some notes like where he's from–which was so uncessary–what he likes to do and some of his contact details. You hummed, giving yourself imaginary pats on the back for reading a whole three sentences before typing the other two paragraphs into Google translate. You really needed to switch classes, desperately.

It was only then you spotted that a sentence in french came out the same in the translation. "You really shouldn't be using Google translate for these letters," written at the very bottom. Well fuck.

"You are friends with your penpal? Well that's lovely (name)," your French teacher clapped with bright sparkles in her eyes. It blinded you for a second and you had to look away before you lost the ability to see forever.

Instagram

(potato_name):lyney sent a reel.

(potato_name):lyney sent a picture.

(potato_name):lyney sent you a mes...

I didn't use Google translate for this one. Are you proud of me? You wrote at the bottom before slipping the letter into its envelope and sealing it with the new wax stamp set you bought recently.

You rushed back home. You winced at the clatter of your laptop in your bag hitting the floor, deciding it was a problem for future you. Ripping open the envelope and skimming through the letter, you read at the very bottom 'I am proud of anything you do, mon Cheri."

A smile broke out onto your lips as you neatly kept it away in a small box your mother got you from Fontaine when you were little. The small box was made of white marble with gold outlining its edges and gathering in a few swirls in the middle where the golden clasp rested.

The Sun shone brightly despite it being the middle of December. Rays of Sunlight squeezed through your closed curtains and you wondered if it was snowing in Fontaine right now. Did Lyney like playing in the snow?

Letters became less and less frequent as your peers lost motivation in writing long drawn out of paragraphs with nothing but small talk. A year and a half had passed yet your teacher held a strong morale despite the head of languages not enforcing this penpals program anymore. Even they must have gotten tired of the back and forth.

A few days until Christmas holidays. Opening your phone, you checked to see if lyney had texted you anything. Nothing...

Your eyes kept glossing over your texts from Friday 11am. Its been a week. Pictures of him and his two siblings who added you back on Instagram. Even Lynette had texted you today, showing some new tea she bought from inazuma last week.

Lynette

My brother has been writing non-stop for the past few days. Are you guys still doing the penpals thing?

You

No, maybe he is writing to someone else?

Your stomach dropped as you reread your message. "Writing to someone else...I need fresh air." You took your phone and wallet and headed out the door.

"Where are you going?" your roomate called out but you were already heading to the lift. You ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it out of your face with a sigh. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter but this is the fifth time you've checked your phone this morning and its been a week with only a read tag.

"I seriously need to ban myself from my phone."

Lynette

Oh...nevermind. I'll ask him then.

Sent Friday 10 : 39am

"The christmas carnival was so much funner this year," your friend said, laughing. Then one hiccup escaped from her mouth. And then another one. Until you and your other friend bursted out laughing. "Not funny!"

"Yeah yeah. I still can't believe (Name) won that plushie from that shooting stall," your other friend said. He tossed another chip in his mouth, after finally calming down from his laughter.

"I'm surprised too. Those games are typically so rigged, I mean did you see the look on the owner's face though?" you said.

Holding up the little classic brown teddy bear, you admired it at all angles. Its red bow had a little bell hanging from the centre, jingling as you walked.

Its silly smile matched yours and then you noticed it. The small teddy's bowtie resembled the one Lyney wore in one of the pictures he sent. And the small envelope the size of your palm that the teddy held was a real one made of paper.

"(Name)? Whats wrong?"

"Nothing! I just realised my parents wanted me back at 10 and well its 11 so I have to go," you said with a bright smile, "Bye!"

"You live in a dorm though?" your friend countered, "(Name)!" But you were already walking out of the festival gates.

Picking out the small envelope, you brushed your thumb over the grooves of the wax seal. The same wax seal that you used for the last letter you sent. Did he really get the same stamp?

A mini rainbow rose fell out. The vibrant colours provided a stark contrast to the humid summer night. One letter. Five words. I love you, Mon cheri.

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped the letter, fumbling with it for a bit. Taking in the cool nighttime breeze, you looked up only to see the person you hadn't talk to in a week standing only a few metres away from you.

Lyney held a bouquet of vibrant rainbow roses in one hand and the other behind his back.

"How are you..?" You took as step back, your gaze falling to the floor then back up at him again.

"I told you I'm a magician in one of my letters didn't I?" Lyney started, "I would appear anywhere if it was to be with you."

[bibibbon]

Hi, so about my besties au...thanks to many excellents metas, I will try to change some chapters bc I think the pussycats are problematics or something closer. Pixieboob was weird with Izu, while you could chuckle as "lol she is an old woman who thinks she is still young" is creepy how we do have a second time a female hero is being creepy with a teen

(in besties au she will not be a girl's girls and see Izumi as competition)

But here my question: what the pussycats were meant to teach the students?

I know Mr. Sexyman ruined the program but...what was the program? Bc send kids to the camp was a bad call even if Mr. SEXYMAN didn't want to recruit BK. (Shiga attacked UA and it was thanks to a miracle, Izu and AM that nothing worse happened...I could give credit to Aizawa but he should have died or face worse)

And then we can add further....what the pussycats do as heroes? Someone said unsure if is canon or not ...how they are rescue heroes (the split of heroes makes no sense to me bc heroes would all try to save and rescue others) and what is the difference?

What the pussycats can teach that requires everyone to go to a camp? UA is a big place that has fake cities.

Someone (thr0) gave the idea how the pussycats were being accommodated towards Kota as he is not happy about heroes...if it's true, it's commendable they aren't forcing him to go but ...well, why insist in calling them?

Yes in Japan, idols are a big thing.

MHA is set in japan

But aside that...what are the pussycats?

Also, to finish: remember that line when one of the pussycats said "we have an even number of students, someone will be alone" and Izu, ofc, is alone. (Not blaming them for this that's on A1 being shitty) But ...it strikes as odd as defeats the purpose of teaching and let the kids bond (if that was the idea)

Say in A1 has 41 students (I don't even know how many kids there and I don't care) and the pussycats were expecting just 40. Well, make 2 groups where group A has 20, group B has 21. Everyone is included.

Again, what the fuck they were supposed to learn?

Hi @mikeellee 👋

It's definitely a great idea to play around with your characterisation of the pussycats especially because there is so little to them and they could be used to further improve the world building of mha.

The pussycats being problematic could be a great plot point having them be another example of the deep flaws of hero society. The pussycats are a hero group but they are also entertainers. They are entertainers first and heroes second and in my opinion that's evident in the way they present themselves with costumes that seem to be for show and nor suitable for fighting.

However, that doesn't mean that the pussycats can't fight or don't have valuable quirks like Tomoko's quirk search which was so conventional and valuable that all for one had to get his hands on it. The pussycats must of also been powerful to have held a title and job as heroes for a good number of years but maybe this is might be based on their public relations then their actual hero work.

That's to say the pussycats are problematic whether that be one of the members acting weird towards the boys in 1A but reducing it all to a mere gag.

While I do understand that this just like midnight's behaviour is all apart of their hero image and and act its worse that heroes who are in the 18+ category or well near that category would still do and say things like this to minors.

You also have mandalay and her questionable guardianship of kota. It's nothing like the others but I don't think that mandalay gave kota the support he needed and if that it due to her job ad a hero that further emphasises the point of the tough conditions there is to being a hero and the toxic standards.

Ultimately, making the pussycats have problematic elements that are highlighted within their character is a great idea.

Moving on to your second enquiry the ua training camp arc was supposed to do exactly that train the hero students by having them figure out their own weaknesses and letting them figure out what they want to focus on. While there are skills where everyone can develop like agility and strength which have been tested and were tested the moment they arrived.

The other days were spent on quirk strength and each individual stretching themselves to develop a better stamina.

Now you might say but why were the wild wild pussycats the ones to help them with this? And all I have to say is that I think that they are the ones in charge of the forest and they were probably the most available heroes at the moment to take care of the students.

I still think that It would of been better if each individual student got to try and get work experience in a hero agency through the summer and those that couldn't would be able to attend the summer camp. However, that wouldn't work or help the plot so it's understandable that this route wasn't taken.

1A has 20 students and 1B has around the same number. The mha summer camp could of been great to show the classes bonding and having 1b maybe understand what 1A went through and that they aren't stuck up at all. I think even if izuku was left alone it would of been nice to pair him up with someone from 1B like yangi who thinks he is creepy and cool and we could have them interact or just have izuku bond with 1B. That's not meaning that he isn't bonding with 1A but we need more 1B content in my opinion.

[kusaka6e]

RISKY

prohero bakugou x fem!reader

sfw

hi :) sorry for being so inactive i’ve been dealing w the loss of a family member really close to me and i’ve just had no motivation to write so if this sucks pls just bare with me :,)

———

when you entered the hero charts in japan, you didn’t know what to expect. your quirk had manifested much later than expected, but you seemed to be able to use it very well. you excelled in your hero studies programs in high school, but your home country was extremely sexist towards female heroes. so, you headed for japan.

you’d been living there less than a year, but couldn’t imagine your life any other way. you’d become extremely close with kirishima when you started working for his agency, which forced you and bakugou to be close. truth be told, you two couldn’t stand each other at first. you were both headstrong, stubborn, very stuck in your own ways.

but, he grew on you. not like you’d ever tell him that, but he did mean a lot to you. you two looked out for each other in battle at work, and went to war trying to out-drink each other when you went out with the rest of your friend group. even though sometimes he would unexplainably give you the silent treatment or be extra irritable with you at any given moment, you didn’t think too much of it.

so when you took a flying leap off the top of a skyscraper going after a villain, it really pissed bakugou off.

you, him, kirishima, and izuku had already been on the lookout for an anonymous criminal behind a child-trafficking scheme in the city. there was a call reported from a large medical complex building, to include a daycare center and pediatrician’s office on the floors there.

bakugou, izuku, and kirishima were handling most of the rescue aspects. thankfully, you’d all responded quick enough that no children were kidnapped or severely injured. meanwhile, you were chasing a criminal up the floors of the building, determined to get answers out of him.

“what are you doing with those kids?!”

“i-i don’t know, really! the boss just sent me here to get them!”

and he was adamantly refusing to name his boss. so when he attempted to jump off the roof of the building, you went after him without a second thought. you were wrestling with him as you both hurtled towards the ground, swearing you were either going to get answers or die trying.

bakugou saw all of this happen from ground level, using his explosions to get to you as quickly as possible.

the villain manages to clock you in the face, blurring your vision and disorienting you.

“deku!” bakugou grabs the villain by the arm, throwing him down to deku and blasting himself towards you, keeping an arm around you as he lowers you both down to the ground.

he rushes you back to the agency, the medic team examining you thoroughly. they determine that you don’t need any further medical attention, just suggesting that you rest for the remainder of the day.

you take an extra long shower in the agency locker room, surprised to see that you’re not alone when you enter the co-ed section of the locker room. bakugo is sitting with his head in hands, donning a red riot t-shirt and sweats.

“surprised you’re still here.” you open your locker, putting your suit into your duffel.

“i wanted to make sure you didn’t try to pull any stupid shit again.”

“again?”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

his jaw clenches, making you raise a brow as he huffs in exasperation.

“that shit you pulled earlier! why’d you jump off the roof?!”

“oh, that.”

he stands, walking closer to you as his face heats with anger.

“oh that, like you couldn’t have died?!”

“and what if i did? that’s kind of in my contract.”

your nonchalant attitude is only infuriating him more, knowing you’re striking a nerve.

“and what if you did, seriously?? the people who care about you would be absolutely crushed and you fucking know it! stop trying to act so careless!”

“and just let that guy get away and put even more kids at risk? i don’t think so.”

“then why not send me or deku after him?! our quirks let us fly, yours doesn’t you idiot!”

“because i don’t value my own life over doing my job or those of children?! why are you acting like this?!”

“because you are trying to downplay the stupid ass decision you made! just because you’re a hero doesn’t mean you turn everything into a suicide mission!”

“and if i did die taking that guy down, who fucking cares?!”

he lets out an infuriated yell, punching a locker a few doors away from yours and completely caving in the door.

“kirishima cares! so does fucking deku, and mina, and god damn dunceface! i care, for fucks sake!”

“listen, i appreciate you all a lot. but im not gonna put any of that above saving kids, bakug-“

“katsuki.”

“what?”

“you call me katsuki.”

you pause, raising at eyebrow at his demand

“just because this is your job doesn’t mean your life loses all its value! you don’t become disposable just to save other people!”

“i’m not yours to put that much value to, katsuki!”

“what if i wanted you to be?!” his eyes widen, realizing what had just come out of his mouth.

“then fucking act like it!” you wear a similar expression, staring at him wide eyed.

you’re both breathless and red in the face, staring at each other as you both process what’s been said.

in one move, he sweeps you off your feet, wrapping your legs around him and sitting you on the counter in the lockerroom under one of the mirrors. your hands are exploring all over his upper body, one settling in his hair as you pull him impossibly close to you.

“you’re the biggest brat in the world, you know that?” he mumbles against your lips.

“you love it.”

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

[livestosteal]

@etruatcaelum liked for a starter!

There were surprisingly few things for a man not interested in constant combat to do around Evernight. Well, for a given value of 'few' he supposed. For Arthur's personal tastes, it was occasionally more of a pain to do much more than his most lazy pursuits. Reading and coding were always excellent timekillers of course, but...well.

Today at least, it was the forge that beckoned him.

For a man as - admittedly - slender and cerebral as Arthur was, it was perhaps some surprise that he didn't just code or build some device to do such things for him when the itch got under his skin to make something, but of course, therein lay the catch: one could import or build whatever was desired, of course, but somewhere down the line it had to be made. And who knew better than he the things he needed, in the exact specifications?

Besides, when one got right down to it, there was something to be said for there being some satisfaction in the act of swinging a hammer at glowing red metal until it took the form that was desired. If absolutely nothing else? It was cathartic as hell.

Sweat soaked the scientist's loose shirt even as a soft tone interrupted the steady rhythm of his hammer to the bright orange slab of metal, and he half-turned to his worktable. His scroll buzzed again, and with a groan Arthur wiped the sweat from his eyes and paced over irritably.

Anyone at Evernight was likely well aware of his location and would have just poked their head in if they needed him - though, perhaps Salem might use some other method. No, the only person he could think of who might need him and would be using his scroll, was Cinder. Or, he supposed, one of the whelps that followed her about.

He opened it just before a fourth buzz might have sounded...and blinked. More out of sheer surprise than expecting it to work, he flicked the device shut, waited a moment...then opened it again. Indeed, the same banner notification from on of his surveillance programs flashed across the screen.

A low laugh started to slip out of his raw, parched throat, even as he cursed softly.

Whatever Cinder had done in Vale...he was not getting blamed for them having no signal now. His little virus was a masterpiece of course, truly a marvel of his own creation, but it didn't even have the means to bring down communications like that, let alone- stars above, had she somehow gotten one of the towers destroyed? The notification certainly seemed to think so, and he'd coded that program himself. The program could be faulty, he supposed, but-

How, by the moon and stars, was he supposed to do half his work without access to anything or anyone beyond their little localized pocket? Ugh...a problem for later. The notification had apparently been going off longer than he thought, too, because the timestamp was almost half an hour ago.

He barely registered the sound of the forge/workshop's door being opened, but he snapped his scroll shut and set it aside before moving back to his current project. It was only when he glanced up that he hummed, moving to put the cooling metal back in the sweltering heat of his forge.

"And what can I do for you? I doubt you came all the way here to see me smithing." Though, he supposed, weirder things had happened. Not even around Evernight, he'd...seen a lot of weird things in life.

[cadet-aviator]

Into service (1)

After we had done the paperwork, and Dad had mailed it off, things were pretty normal, for while, but I was excited, and curious, and apprehensive, not knowing what was in store for me, what kind of family I was going to be living with, what the Cadet Program would decide for me.

‘Pretty normal’ meant, of course, living with tons of work, at home, at school, in the cadet training, really strict inspections every day, several times a day, at home, at school, at cadets. 

Dad was a bit relieved, now the arrangement had been settled on, he felt less guilty when he had to leave me alone with Mrs. Lee. I did notice, however, that the arrangement was also a bit of a defeat for him. He felt he had been forced, more or less, to allow me to do my own thing. There was no reasonable objection to it all – I worked hard, I was never in trouble, and I was clearly happy with it – but it didn’t sit well, with him. 

It was akward, at times. There was an evening when I came home after drill, in my 'greens', and I found Dad watching TV - 'Hello son, how was drill?' 'Fine Sir, what are you watching?' 'O, some documentary on WWII' - and then he continued to watch, forgetting that he needed to order me to sit.

And so I stood for twenty minutes, as he was watching that - nothing unusual for me, just standing at ease, hands behind my back – and only then he noticed: 'O geez, son, please sit down.' 'Thank you Sir.'

It was awkward for him, mostly. I remember just feeling like an obedient cadet, following the rules.

He once suggested we take another trip, like the one to Thailand, ‘just us’, but now I had to let my cadet obligations take precedence. 'Sorry Sir, I have to serve at the officers’ mess on Saturday, and I have chapel duties on Sunday, Sir.’ 

I felt ready. I couldn’t help feeling proud of who I was. After all, I had done it all myself, I took care of my own laundry, I polished my shoes, I did everything I was told and I had been a perfect boy for everybody – teachers, officers, fellow cadets – and even for my Dad.

The best word for it is ‘pure’. I felt pure, as in ‘clean’ and ‘unsullied’ and ‘real’; I saw myself in the mirror, in my school uniform, and I would feel happy to see the perfect knot in my tie, the sharp crease in my sleeves, the shine on my shoes. 

And I had another feeling – a bit more indistinct, perhaps: I wanted to be seen, valued – even appreciated. I won’t say ‘loved’, because that was clearly something between me and Dad – but he wasn’t able to truly recognise the level of discipline I had become accustomed to. Only the best officers in the Army and the Cadet Program could really see that.

It was that desire which made me want to leave and live close to the Army. The punishments and the inspections encouraged me, they humbled me, they touched that nerve in me that made me want to compete and excel. 

I remember talking to other cadets about it. No one had been in my position before. I took one of them along to the shops, to buy new shirts, new ties. They laughed: ‘But you look fine! We all think you’re bloody perfect!’

‘Yes, well, thanks, I have a feeling the bar will be set higher, soon. And these ties have had a lot of wear already.’

You might think that the constant scrutiny had put me on edge, and it did, but I don’t remember it as stressful at all. It was something like running down a narrow corridor as fast as you can, without touching the walls – and when you did touch them, you felt bad about your lack of focus. 

The Army compound was quite large; there was a whole section with colonial style houses, even villas, one of which I had visited when I was invited to tea with the Admiral. Most of the higher ranking officers lived there.

It was nice, old-fashioned, lots of greenery and gardens. I walked through the are whenever I could, wondering if I might be posted with a family there. 

I would find out soon enough.

[nautiscarader]

Announcing my semi-retirement

This is a post I have been putting of writing for quite some time, and I make it with heavy heart... But first, tl;dr!

Most importantly, Don't Panic!

No, I'm not going anywhere.

I am also not deleting anything.

I simply don't want to give you false expectations about my activity here. I will keep writing, just at my (very) own pace.

Right, do we all have towels, and some refreshments of your choice?

Cool, let's dive right in - it will be over soon.

(oh and usual minor content warning regarding health stuff applies)

...what have I just said? I am not going anywhere! ...or at least not by my choice.

Yeah, in the past 10 months I have disappeared without a trace to the point that some of you thought I have snuffed it. 2.5 months, two weeks here or there, month and then another month out of nowhere...

The sad truth is that my illness, multiple sclerosis, is spreading, plus I have some other health issues that do need looking at occasionally. In fact, I might be going to some new clinic in September/October, but that's TBA.

As a result, I have become steadily more and more unreliable when it comes to delivering prompts, or even basic asks - and I cannot let that stay. Not to mention the length and quality of my works got hit by that - some of you have noticed that and pointed out/asked me about it in the most delicate way - and I thank you deeply for that.

me_irl

And I can already hear you...err...type: "We don't care! Take your time!" Guys, I have taken so much time that the Time Lords will soon be on my ass asking for it back with interest.

I... simply don't want to give you guys false hope and expectations.

I believe I heard it in Hank Green's cancer vlog that once such illness hits you, it "becomes your job". So think of it like that. Me having a really taxing job, often requiring my presence at inconvenient times.

Or maybe think of me going on holidays! To... hospitals...

So that is it, from now, I free myself from the shackles and obligations of prompts and writing weeks... though of course I have been falling out of rhythm for a loooong time, so... I think it is fair to say you are already used to it...

I will keep writing and publishing stuff... very occasionally, though. And I may one day just decide I am feeling strong enough for some quick round of prompts. In fact I will be updating some prompt hubs with old tumblr asks, so keep an eye on that.

Aaand of course I am not leaving you alone!

I can wholeheartedly recommend @fereality-indy, @animation-recaps-by-sean, @noblechaton, @billythsquid, @noblesnook, @thatguywiththefaceog and so many more writers here and on Ao3 - feel free to browse my bookmarks there!

Oh, and speaking of Ao3, don't forget it that it has excellent backup function! As for tumblr, there is tumblrThree, a program to back up any blog, if you are afraid of someone disappearing! You can download mine! it only weights...

...seventy-seven gigabytes, that is a lot of lolcats.

Anyway, that is it. Honestly, not much is going to change. I have been barely writing, and I will continue to do so - it's just I now have medical papers as an excuse.

Thanks to all of you for understanding and for your many messages of concern and support!

Oh, one more thing - H-Hotel!

Feel free to invite your own crazy crossover couples there and use this gif, I mean it, just credit and tag me.

...the only thing is, there is this huge boiler in the basement, and someone will need to check if it doesn't overheat. And since it runs on stardust, it would be bad for the multiverse if it exploded.

But I'm sure you will remember.

Anyway, see you later!

[optimisticgray-backup]

It has been a few days, I apologize for the delay. Both shadow ban and real life have hold me in a tight grip.

✨In another life, Chapter 5✨

personal note: as my main account is still shadowbanned, make sure to follow this one, bluesky or the subscribe thingy on AO3. Thank you for your support and kind comments 🫶

summary: Let's get the story along, have fun with Astarion and drool at Gale for a moment, shall we?

darling tags: @waterdeepwife @worfs-glorious-hair @dekariosclan @astarioffsimpmain @sweetgemberry @jeneralmischief (Let me know if you want to be on/off this list)

content warning: Spoilers. All of them.

word count: 4,2 k

AO3 Link

„I’d recommend bardic training - at least the fundamentals. A foundation, if nothing else.“ Gale inclines his head. „I have some rather excellent literature on the subject, should you be inclined to peruse it. The Weave sings through you, it would be a shame not to refine so natural a gift.“

„You are going to have me learning every school of magic at this rate,'” you grin as you begin to eat. Tonight’s stew is awesome, one of his best cookings so far. The others seem to agree, they shower him with praise.

The silence that follows, as everyone enjoys their meal, is a bit more relaxed now - still not fully companionable, not yet, but a step in the right direction.

„This is a personal matter to you,” Lae’zel observes as you collect the dishes and clean them with a quick cantrip - because you can now. You hand the bowls to Gale, searching for the right words, and slump back down onto the log.

„What do you mean?”

„Your choice of song.”

„It is. But I assume it is for all of us.”

„How so?”

„Well, I didn’t exactly plan to be teleported into Faerûn, have my life uprooted, be infected with a mindflayer tadpole and walk around with a group of people unknown to me,” you smile dryly. „Yet, here we are. I cling to what I know and understand through music.”

You look around, taking in each of them, and something shifts in your chest.

You thought you knew all their characters, all their flaws. You spent countless hours exploring dialogue options and building their story, ensuring they each got their good ending.

Multiple times, in fact.

But sitting here, among them, you realize you don’t know them at all. They are living, breathing people now, not just programmed characters with pre-defined lines of dialogue. They have their own stories, their own jokes, their own gestures and quirks that make them who they are.

It is all so much more than you ever imagined, and you feel a spark of excitement for it.

If this is your life now, if you have to make it all the way to Baldur’s Gate, you might as well enjoy the ride and actually get to know them - not just the versions of them you played in a game.

„And I know nothing about you,” you add. It feels like the right thing to say. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a lie. They can never know what you know.

They are not the same.  Well, they are - but they are also much more than the digital versions you once controlled.

„All we have is each other, now. So, I figure we work with what is available. Halsin is a chance. Your creche is,” you nod at Lae’zel,

„I have to do this for you and the only way now is through,” you sing and smile. „There is no going back. I don’t know how to get home. It’s just another question on an excruciating long list of questions that is not really the main focus right now.”

You shrug, reaching for the wine. „We’ll make it work. We have to.”

„What are you referring to?”

„What is the alternative here, Gale? We break up and do this on our own? To what end? You cannot kill the goblin leaders alone. None of us can. So, we do it together. It’s why we decided to stick together anyway. ”

Wyll raises his glass, clearing his throat with a strained but genuine smile. Despite his punishment, he still carries the strength to smile, and you feel a warmth bubble up inside. Maybe you should follow his example.

„All we have is each other!”

The other cheer in and you smile. It’s not the first honest smile since you woke up here but it’s the first that deeply warms your soul.

The fire flickers, the wine flows, and you let the warmth of the moment settle over you.

You think of this smile after your first kill.

It’s just a goblin. The sword Wyll chose for you drives into its chest, and the blood spills as you pull the weapon back. The gurgling sound rips through the air, its last breath wheezing painfully, and you thought you would handle this better.

You feel its surprisingly hot blood on your hand. You hear its final breath, ragged and wet, as its lungs fill with blood, its body convulsing before it falls still.

And all you can do is stare.

You have killed a sentient, breathing thing. For the first time in your life.

„Get down!” Karlach shouts, but the command is distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears. Your mind registers the order, but all you do is fall to your knees, more out of reflex than any clear thought.

You stare at the dead body, unable to process what just happened, unable to comprehend the reality of it.

The first thought that enters your mind, the first thing that grounds you, is the feeling of your smile. The one you had around the fire on the first night you sang for them. It had felt so pure, so genuine - a warmth, contentment, a moment of belonging.

And now, this. A violent, life-ending act, one that, despite its necessity, feels so foreign. As if the moments of peace you’ve found here, of warmth, were never meant to last.

But your mind wanders back to the smile. The connection you felt with them. It had taken so many days to find your place here, and yet, you know the journey is just beginning.

A hand falls on your shoulder, and through the fog of your thoughts, a voice cuts through. You blink, clearing your head.

The world around you is quieter now. Shuffling feet, the rustling of leaves, the distant song of birds. Scratch’s warm nose brushes against your cheek.

Are you alright?

You look at him, and something inside you uncoils. The dog's face watches you attentively, and without thinking, you pull him into a hug. You don’t know what else to do.

I will be. Soon.

When you pull away, Scratch gently licks your face. You look up to find Gale standing above you, his hand having fallen from your shoulder. He offers you his other hand, and with a deep sigh, you take it, letting him help you stand.

He doesn’t speak, but his gaze is steady, watching you closely.

„Hey soldier, you up and running?” Karlach yells from across the battlefield. You nod, wiping your hand over your face, only to realize you’ve smeared goblin blood across your skin.

„Allow me,” Gale says gently, stepping closer and cleaning you with a cantrip.

„I shall venture the bold assumption that this,“ he gestures toward the goblin, „was your first.“

You nod. „I am alright, Kalla, thanks!” you yell but your voice sounds meek.

„Kalla? Hell yeah!” she cheers, grinning from ear to ear while she continues to search the goblins.

„If it offers any consolation, you acquitted yourself well.”

You force a smile, reaching up to tap his shoulder. „It means a lot. Thank you.”

Gale blinks, clearly surprised, but says nothing.

„I’ll get used to this,” you say, your voice steadying after a long breath, „I have to.”

„At the very least, you managed not to retch on my robes. Well done!” Gale’s voice is light, teasing, and when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see a wide grin spreading across his face.

You laugh. It’s a release, a sudden burst of air from your lungs. The underlying tension that had been coiling in your body seems to unravel in that moment. You laugh and laugh until you can’t breathe, only to burst into laughter again when you see Gale’s pleased expression.

„And what, pray tell, has the two of you in such cheerful spirits, hm?” Astarion comments from behind, and before you can stop yourself, you pull him into a hug, cradling his neck.

Surprised, Astarion wraps his arms around you.

„Thank you,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. His arms tighten around you in response.

„Are you certain you are alright, darling?”

You grin, though your head still feels a little light. „I am. Let’s wrap this up and try to find some water that isn’t ice-cold, please. I want to wash myself.”

„I have to admit, the aftermath of battle adds to your charm.”

On the way back to the Grove, Karlach and Lae'zel shoulder the heavier parts of the loot: swords, armor, and even a new pair of boots that fit you, though you can’t help but miss the familiar weight of your Doc Martens. These boots, however, seem less likely to attract attention.

Still, they are a small reminder of the world you left behind.

„And when the night gives way, it’s like a brand-new doomsday,” Gale’s voice breaks the silence, as he slows his pace to match yours.

You glance at him, noting the familiar look on his face - brows slightly furrowed, the left one arching just a fraction as he thinks.

„Surprisingly poetic,” he begins, though it sounds more like a question than a statement. „Is this how you feel? There must be a reason you chose this particular song. I’d imagine you’re well-versed in the music of your home. So, why this one? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You smile, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. He stumbles a bit, regaining his balance, and gives you a surprised look.

„A Poet, hm?” you tease.

He chuckles, the sound low and easy. „I am known to try my hand at poetry.”

„I’d love to read it sometime, if you’ll allow it.” You tease him further, but there’s a warmth in your voice.

Gale looks at you, surprised, before focusing on the path ahead. He gives a gentle nod, though his thoughts are clearly elsewhere.

„Thank you,” you add quietly. „And yes, it’s a deeply personal choice of song. One of my favourites, actually. I’ve listened to it more times than I can count. I thought it might be fitting. It’s a reminder that every day is a new day, a possible new doomsday. We don’t know what we might face. Wyll didn’t think he’d end up as a devil. Kalla only hoped we’d help her with the paladins. There’s no certainty, and that’s what the song is about.”

Gale pauses, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your words. „I had thought it spoke of shared loss and the weight of grief,” he muses. „A deep reflection on the emotional reckoning one faces when confronted with the inescapable truth of death. At its essence, it’s a song about navigating the depths of hopelessness, yet still striving to find meaning, even in the face of despair. Much like the way you guide us now, with quiet strength, even when the shadows loom large.”

You tilt your head at him, a slight smile curling on your lips. „I’m not leading you. I’m just a know-it-all who points out the obvious.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Gale’s smile. „Ah, my dear friend, you possess greatness, even if you remain unaware of it. ou calmly quelled the strife between Zevlor and Arradin, and by your wise intervention, spared that poor tiefling girl from a woeful destiny. It is precisely for these reasons that our trust in you endures..”

You laugh softly, a lightness in your chest. „You trust me, hm?”

Gale stops suddenly, his arms, which had been casually folded behind his back, falling to his sides as he turns to face you fully. His gaze lingers on you, searching your face for a moment. „I have come to trust you, yes.”

You smile warmly, meeting his eyes.

„I’m glad to hear that,” you say, your voice soft but sincere. „I’m confident, somewhat, that we can get through this.”

„And the only way out is through.”

You chuckle again, the lightness in your chest lifting even further. His attention to a song you sang just a few nights ago feels strangely flattering. You wonder if he has also memorized the songs you sang after.

„I think so. I hope so. We’ll see.”

From ahead, Astarion’s voice calls, „Are you coming?”

Gale raises an eyebrow, looking amused. „You’ve made friends with our snarky companion.”

You laugh. „It’s just sex, Gale. No one will be killed by it.” You wink at him, watching his expression shift to one of surprise.

For a moment, you consider that they might not be aware of the fact that you share a bed with Astarion.

The thought becomes surprisingly irrelevant as you begin to undress for a bath. The cool evening air brushes against your skin, and you hear Shadowheart’s sharp intake of breath. You glance over at her and freeze, realizing her gaze is locked on your chest. Your chest that had remained well hidden until now.

Oh, right. Fuck.

„What in the hells has happened to you? Are those… bitemarks?“ she asks, her voice incredulous, a mix of concern and curiosity.

Astarion sighs behind you and steps closer. Without hesitation, he offers the truth. You look at him, surprised, your shirt halfway off but you don’t interrupt. He simply states, matter-of-factly, that he is a vampire spawn.

The reactions come quickly: Lae’zel starts shouting, her voice filled with anger. Karlach chuckles, clearly amused by the sudden tension, while Wyll simply stares, then sighs heavily.

But it's Gale who catches your attention. His eyes meet yours, and for a long, unblinking moment, he just watches you. You don’t know what he’s thinking, there is something unreadable in his expression.

After what feels like an eternity, Gale finally turns around and enters his tent.

You try to shrug it off, hoping to brush aside the uneasy silence that lingers in the air. But something about it gnaws at you. The underlying meaning, the weight of what was just revealed, is still there, hovering between you and the others.

Apparently, the fact that Astarion is a vampire spawn is of far more relevance than the fact that you allow him to drink from you.

Dinner is quieter than you expected. Even your singing does little to lift the weight pressing down on the camp. No one says it, but the tension lingers.

When you retreat to your tent, Astarion follows.

„Thank you,“ he whispers against your ear, voice soft in the aftermath of both acts; his drinking, your shared pleasure. You press closer, arm draping around his waist, fingers skimming over the scars on his back without touching them.

„You’re welcome,“ you murmur. „What did I do?“

„You let me speak for myself.“

That surprises you. More than it should. He is so rarely this unguarded, this honest. It suits him. You prefer him like this. Without the sharp edges, without the practiced smirk.

„It’s not my story to tell, love.“

Astarion hums in response, a pleased little sound, and pulls you closer. You are thankful you took your notes before falling asleep.

That night, for the first time, you dream of the Emperor.

You had expected the Astral Prism to be beautiful, but it still steals your breath when you look up at the stars. It is stunning, vast - so vividly real it unsettles you. Even the Emperor’s presence does not stifle it.

He looks familiar. You cannot place it at first, but as you speak with him, the pieces slowly fall in place: piercing blue eyes, freckles, a darker beard, red hair.

Silas.

He looks like Silas.

Interesting.

His hair is longer, falling past his shoulders, styled like Gale’s, though there’s something unmistakably his about it.

A merging of both worlds. While he offers nothing you don’t already know, you think to yourself of how easily you were swayed by him during your first playthrough and can absolutely see and feel why.

In the morning, you recount the dream with the others, letting the discussion carry itself as you all make your way toward the Underdark. Talk drifts between theories: what the tadpoles do, what they might mean, whether the connection and memory share you experienced with them was deliberate or instinctive.

You test it. Nothing happens.

Gale, of course, has theories. You test those, too, scribbling quick notes in your journal between steps.

You had thought about the Underdark before, imagined what it might be like and your guesses were surprisingly accurate. The air is warm and damp, thick with the scent of earth. Glowing fungi cast an eerie, otherworldly light, enough to see a few steps ahead, enough to remind you of what lurks beyond.

To your surprise, you enjoy the haze of the haste spores. You had assumed they simply made you faster. They do, but it is more than that - a lightness, a euphoria. It lifts the weight off your chest, if only for a few stolen minutes. You have to stop yourself from indulging too often. You had a hard time getting off cigarettes.

You approach the Duergar and notice: it is the first time you truly see them fight. During the goblin ambush, you had been too caught up in your own survival to notice. But now….

Gods, they are terrifying. Brilliant, breathtakingly beautiful but fucking terrifying at the same time.

Wyll is precise, his movements elegant, practiced, effortless. You nearly forget to throw your fireball when you see him cut down a Duergar.

Lae’zel fights like it is breathing, swift and lethal.

And Karlach….Fuck!

You always knew she was strong, but there is something raw about watching her in her element. She fights with unrestrained joy, each strike a study in power and ferocity. A fucking study in strength and brutality. It is as impressive as it is frightening.

Astarion disappears into the shadows, slipping behind the enemy with quiet grace.

You do what you can - patching wounds, keeping to the edges, fighting only when something gets too close. It has been best practice so far and you are beginning to work more as a team.

Gale casts Mage Armor on you, as he always does, his movements seamless. You have been watching his hands too much these past few days, and it is difficult to stop now.

There is a rhythm to his magic, a grace that speaks of discipline, of mastery. The way his fingers weave through the air - fluid, deliberate - makes it look easy, like the spells come to him as naturally as breath.

There is confidence in his control, but something else, too. Something quieter. Intimate.

You do not realize you are staring until Karlach shoves you aside, splitting the last Duergar in half.

Blood sprays. You are drenched.

„Eyes on the battlefield, soldier!“ she grins, shouldering her axe.

You sputter, wiping at your face, but it does little good. Karlach’s laughter rings warm in your ears.

„You’re enjoying this far too much,“ you cough.

„You bet your ass I am!“ she claps you on the back, nearly knocking you forward. „Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping - though you might’ve taken that a bit too literally.“

You glance down at yourself and your drenched clothes and sigh. „Yeah. Might look that way.“

Karlach winks. „Eh, suits you. Gives you that ‘I’ve seen some shit’ edge.“

Before you can retort, Gale approaches, surveying the mess you have become with a smirk. A flick of his wrist, a quiet spell, and cool water washes over you.

„That was vile,“ he remarks, though there is amusement in his tone. „And you’re welcome.“

You brush wet strands from your forehead, offering him a crooked smile. „Ever the gallant wizard.“

„I do try,“ he hums. He lingers a moment longer before turning away.

„Come on,“ Wyll calls. „We should move before something worse finds us standing around.“

Astarion reappears at your side with a practiced ease, dusting off his sleeves as though the fight had been a minor inconvenience.

„As charming as this little moment is, I’d rather not be some Underdark beast’s midnight snack. Shall we?“

You huff a laugh, shaking off the last remnants of battle as you fall into step with the others.

This was a victory, yes. But more than that, it was the first time you saw them - not just as individuals, but as a force.

A unit.

And you were part of it.

As you make your way through the Underdark, you subtly guide the group, nudging them in the directions you want. Somehow, you have become a smooth talker, and they are listening to your suggestions. You drop hints that neither Halsin nor the creche might have the answers you're looking for, that this situation might be more than they realize. You’re careful, though, never revealing too much or pushing too hard.

Afterward, doubt creeps in. You wonder if you have gone too far.

You are meddling with fate here. Their fate, not even your own. You could die at any moment down here.

What happens when you die? Will your name be written into the annals? Will you be teleported home or die for good?

While you progress through the fucking Forge that has a thousand degrees and stinks of hot iron and old sweat, you try to distance yourself from Gale’s teaching. His famous sentence – To know you love me for the man I am and not the magic I command – has rendered your mind recently and you feel bad, leaching of him.

Of all of them, really. They have got their own problems, and while you re finally working as a team and the battles seem to get longer, they are still just as brutal.

You are starting to feel more confident in yourself, in your abilities. A lot of the spells in Gale’s books are easy to replicate, and while he is always there to offer input when you ask, you try not to lean on him as much. He notices, but he does not question it.

The first time you are seriously injured, you question if you just wake up at home.

A blade pierces your lower belly, on the right side, and the pain is so hot, so white it blinds you as you drop back. Wyll is by your side, rummaging in his pack and pouring a health potion onto the wound while your blood blooms on your clothes. It works instantly, you can feel the pain fading but the surprise and shock of this devastation lingers as Astarion pulls you to your feet to check on you.

Thankfully, he pulls you into a hug and holds you for a moment while you catch a breath.

„No healing potions in your world?” Gale asks on the way back to camp.

„You are very perceptive. No, we have different forms of medication but nothing that works as instantly.”

„You took a wound in battle, and I couldn’t help but notice how much it unsettled you. It seemed only right to see how you were faring.“

You smile warmly, making a point not to look at him. He had quietly requested a second artifact a few days ago and you expected him to come clean about the orb but he hasn’t said anything so far.

„I was wondering what happens when I die here,” you confess. „Will you be able to revive me? Do I get back home? Do I die forever?”

„A fair assumption, indeed. This must be quite the shock for you - understandably so.“

„You are kind to say, Gale. Thank you. What do you think?”

He sighs, scratching his beard with his left hand before he speaks. „I'm afraid it's far too soon to offer a proper hypothesis. Your world is known in Faerûn. I personally know of a wizard who has crossed into your plane of existence. A rare occurrence, certainly, but not beyond the realm of possibility. Which means, in turn, that there may yet be a way to see you home. So, take heart - this is but another puzzle to solve, and I do so love a challenge. We’ll best this.”

„I appreciate your help. In all of this. You have no inclination to help me and could just let me figure stuff on my own.”

„You are far less dull than the students I once tutored - an unexpected delight, truly. And, I must say, refreshingly open to my suggestions. A rare and admirable quality.“

You chuckle at that. „How could I not be? I don’t have a fucking clue what is going on and you are a – how did you put it? A scholar of considerable acclaim?”

"It seems I am not the only one with a talent for listening," he remarks with a subtle smile.

You walk in silence for a moment. „Will you talk about it?” you ask carefully after a few moments.

„About what would you like to discuss?“ he asks, though his hand drifts toward the orb unconsciously. The moment he catches himself, a knowing smile tugs at his lips. „In due time.”