#lock computer windows 10

[panther-os]

actually it's windows + L "my mom just walked in the room"

[itbabasachinsharma]

How To Create A Desktop Lock Icon | एक क्लिक में लॉक करें कंप्यूटर |Laptop|Desktop| By Sachin Sharma

[gold-onthe-inside]

coffee for two

summary: spencer picks you up for coffee after a lecture. that's the whole fic. who? dad!spencer reid (s9/10) x history prof!reader content warning: references to undiagnosed neurodivergence and bullying, benji's arm fracture. word count: 3.2k author's note: opening event for spring-fest, hope y'all enjoy. thanks to @esote-rika for the margary kempe info

Spencer checked his hair for the umpteenth time in his reflection on the window, waiting by your lecture hall, debating whether to catch the end of your lecture or not. Before he can decide whether his desire to see you in action again trumped his aversion of distracting you at work, students spilled out of the door, carrying bags and laptops and fat chunks of reading material.

With class clearly over, Spencer managed to make his way into the hall to get a look at you… wearing a graphic blue t-shirt of Joan of Arc, holding a sword high with the words, ‘I am not afraid, I was born to do this,’ written underneath and tucked into formal slacks and a black and silver belt completing your look.

His grin is irrepressible as he comes down the ramp to join you as you collected your laptop and papers from the desk, taking off your mic and wrapping the cord around the transmitter when you looked up. “Hi.” Your voice is pleasantly surprised, smile matching his at his breathlessness. “Were you running?”

“You have a lot of stairs,” he explained, his gaze returning to the soldier on your torso. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks, and they’re not my stairs,” you quipped back, gathering your things and walking with him through another set of doors. Another thing he likes about you — the way you can keep up with him. Not that he’s got a list in his head.

“Any chance going on a date with you gets me a pass to use the elevators?” Spencer asked, unabashedly cheeky, his hands stuffed in his pockets while yours are busy with everything — your laptop containing your life’s work, printed reading material including your copy and the students who hadn’t attended your lecture today, your blazer folding over your arm, the shoulder sporting a satchel less worn out than his.

“Ha, I knew it. There was an ulterior motive all along,” you cried, grinning at him as you walked him to your office.

“Yes, everything in my life has been leading up to this point,” Spencer replied, quite matter-of-factly. “To gain entry to the elevators of GWU.” You huffed with a smile, hands fumbling to retrieve your keys. “You have your own office?”

“Shared office,” you corrected, closing one eye as you dug through your bag for the key. “All the Depth and Comparative Studies profs share one office,” you explained, “and Devlin’s on sabbatical, which means I have to cover his syllabus along with mine- ha!” You pulled out the key triumphantly, moving to unlock the door.

“You never did tell me what it is you specifically teach,” Spencer pointed out, leaning against the doorframe as you get the lock to click free and pull the door open, Spencer’s hand replacing yours to hold it back for you, fingers briefly grazing yours. You don’t catch the brief swallow and bob of his throat, leading him inside.

“No, I was planning on leaving that for the small talk on our date,” you replied, setting your things down on your desk while Spencer took a moment to appreciate your office.

The things he’d do to make the BAU bullpen look like this. Old maps covered the walls, more rolled up maps lining the wooden cabinets underneath, literature lined up on the shelves attached to each cubicle. Organised chaos, he presumed, turning his attention back to your desk. You set your computer in the middle, organising notebooks hastily, leaving bookmarks in textbooks before putting them away, pens clattering in their cup, and then grabbed your bag, hanging the strap over your shoulder.

“Shall we?” you asked, looking up at Spencer who nodded, smiling ruefully. He couldn’t seem to stop doing that around you. “Did you have a cafe in mind?” you asked as you step out with him, locking the door behind you both and dropping the keys in your satchel.

“There’s one on M Street I like,” he answered, strolling with you instead of his usual brisk march. “They have great pastries.”

“Good, I don’t settle for anything less than great,” you remarked, and though he appeared cool on the outside, inside Spencer was jumping for joy.

“Is it true you have to go through a background check to date a federal agent?” you asked, tearing off a piece of your croissant, fingers coming away with buttery flaky pastry and warm, gooey chocolate that you have to lick off of your thumb.

“What? No, where’d you get that from?” Spencer asked, his voice jumping an octave as he asked, laughing quietly with his brow slightly furrowed. You shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee, frowning when it tasted bitter than you’d had it first. Spencer had taken the smarter move — coffee first, then his chocolate and sprinkle coated donut.

“Saw it on a show once, I think,” you explained, smacking your lips lightly, eyeing your croissant again. Spencer can’t help but think that you’d fail the marshmallow test when your hand moves to tear another piece off. “The guy was a con-man and he fell for a CIA agent, but neither of them knew what the other did, and he was kidnapped by ‘The Company’—” you use air-quotes, dramatist that you are, “— and submitted to a lie detector test. It’s how he finds out his girlfriend is a CIA agent.”

Spencer snickered quietly. “You think the FBI is gonna abduct you and submit you to a lie detector test?”

“The Bureau’s gotten away with a lot worse,” you quipped, tapping your nose, accidentally dabbing a light smear of chocolate that widens his smile. His cheeks are gonna start hurting any second now.

“Hold on, you got a little—” He does his best to gesture, but you miss, making it worse and he sighs. He’s a walking cliche, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away the tip of your nose for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, leaning back in your seat, a faint colour rising to your cheeks. “I’m clumsier than Benji today.”

“Is that how he broke his arm?” Spencer asked, watching your gaze drop to your coffee for a moment before looking up again.

“That’s what he says anyway. I’m not so sure I believe him,” you confessed, sipping your coffee, tsking at the taste again. “He said he fell off the jungle gym wrong.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly in concern. “Do you have a reason not to?” He watched you let out a sigh.

“He’s… not exactly like everyone else in class,” you explained hesitantly. “He’s smart, but he gets distracted easily. Has niche interests, doesn’t have a lot of friends… He’s a vulnerable kid.”

“Ian’s mean to everyone,” Benji said, “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Spencer pursed his lips. “Has Benji ever said anything about Ian?” he asked, a hunch starting to form in the back of his mind.

“Uh… not often,” you remembered. “Near the start of the year. Said that Ian didn’t like him much.”

“Did you talk to the teachers?”

You just tsked. “They weren’t much help either. Benji denied any of it happening and without his admission, their hands are tied. They promised they’d keep an eye on him, though.” You scrunched your nose a little. “Sorry, that was a downer.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Spencer rushed to say, “I mean, it’s not fine, it’s awful, but that’s not on you and… I’m gonna stop talking now.” His gaze darted down to his almost-empty coffee.

“What about your kid? Emma, was it?” you asked, changing the conversation. “She seems bright.”

“Maya,” Spencer corrected, a fond smile spreading to his face. “And yeah, she is. We read together every night.” You rested your chin in your palm, sipping coffee, admiring him as he spoke. “In fact, studies show that parent-child joint reading is related to vocabulary aquisition and academic success, as well as motivation to read later in life, and that reading fiction books are really important in developing a child’s reading ability—” He cuts himself off, wincing at himself, even though all he sees in your eyes is warmth and an amused smile. “Sorry, I’m rambling again.”

You shrugged, absently spinning your cup of coffee. “I don’t mind,” you replied nonchalantly. “I get paid to ramble, so I get it. What did you grow up reading?”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head a little. “You’ll think I’m just trying to impress you.”

“No, come on, tell me,” you insisted, nudging his foot with your ankle, your smile dimpling your cheeks.

He let out a relenting sigh. “My mom used to teach medieval literature. So, naturally—”

“You grew up on medieval literature?” You raised a brow at him delicately. “Like Chaucer?”

“Chaucer. Margery Kempe. Interestingly enough, she was actually illiterate,” Spencer started explaining, unable to help himself. “She actually dictated it to two clerks from 1432 to 1436. It’s considered the first English autobiography.”

“Yeah?” you asked, smiling as you listened to him talk.

“Yeah, it’s focused on her spiritual journey, and how after her first child was born, she suffered a lot of pain, including visions of demons and how she was cured by a vision of Jesus Christ.”

Your gaze softened a little in surprise, a little touched by the passion on his face. You’d never met anyone who talked about something the way Spencer did; with such unabashed dedication. “And you read that as you were growing up?” you asked, your voice a little softer.

The change in your demeanour, the attention in your gaze, was not lost on Spencer, and he found himself unconsciously straightening his spine, his shoulders relaxing as he spoke. “Yeah,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I was always pretty advanced, reading above my grade level, so my mom encouraged it, and she’d read with me, and…”Spencer trailed off, realising suddenly that he was getting carried away, and he flushed a little pink, clearing his throat embarrassedly. “Anyway, enough talking about me.” He smiled sheepishly at you. “What about you? What did you read as a kid?”

“Not nearly as impressive as yours. I grew up on a lot of Roald Dahl books,” you replied, shrugging, with your leg swinging a little.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Spencer assured, tilting his head, thinking you looked very cute at the moment, with your chin resting in your hand. “In fact, studies have shown that the imagery used in Roald Dahl’s works is actually very stimulating and can help—” He stopped himself again, taking a breath. “Sorry, there I go, again. My point is, Roald Dahl is good.”

You chuckled quietly, sipping your coffee. "Are a lot of people bothered when you talk about studies?" you asked him, setting your empty cup back down.

Spencer paused, surprised that you’d asked. Usually, people just cut him off, and he’d never met someone who asked about him like that. “I… yeah, sometimes,” he confessed, a little sheepish. “I just… get carried away when I’m talking about something I’m interested in, and sometimes other people…” He trailed off, realising that he was rambling again and flushed, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck.

"You don't have to cut yourself off with me," you told him, shrugging again.

Spencer was taken aback for a few seconds before he could gather his thoughts. You were… you were asking him to keep talking, to keep going. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he relaxed a little in his seat. “Are you sure? I can get a little carried away.”

"Can I tell you a secret?" you asked, leaning in closer.

Spencer was surprised by your closeness, and by the conspiratorial glint in your eye. “Um, sure?” he said, shifting in his seat, his gaze darting between your eyes and your mouth as you leaned closer to him.

"So do I," you whispered, grinning at him.

Spencer’s brows shot up, and he stared at you for a few seconds in surprise. “You… you do?” he repeated, almost disbelievingly, his brain stuttering.

"You should see my lectures," you huffed, leaning back in your chair. "I never seem to finish them in the allotted time. I have to set timers for myself to keep track of how long each segment should take."

Spencer’s eyes softened as he took in your words. You were like him, he realised, in this way, at least. A warm smile curved at his mouth. “I’ll have to sit in on one sometime,” he said, only half-joking, his voice a little quieter that time.

You shrugged. "Why not? Bring Maya if you want. She seemed pretty interested in the career day talk I gave. And you clearly know enough to fill in the gaps.”

It took Spencer a moment to realise that you were actually offering. He’d been half kidding when he said he’d sit in on a lecture of yours, but to know you were open to the idea of him and his daughter being there… well, it was a little surprising, but certainly not unwelcome. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile growing a little. “Maya would love that.”

"And if she likes libraries, she's free to go ham on the Georgetown campus. I mean, she won't be able to check out anything, but if you want to make a day of it," you added, just spitballing.

You had no way of knowing it, but every word out of your mouth was making the expression on Spencer’s face grow more and more fond. He was just a little in awe; nobody had been as willing to incorporate his daughter into their life like this, so quickly. “Honestly?” he said. “That sounds great. She’d have a blast.”

"Plus, the campus looks so pretty this time of year, with the cherry trees in bloom," you continued.

Spencer could only agree. There was a particular scenic area around the quad where the cherry blossoms grew along pathways. He’d taken Maya there before with Alex, and they’d taken photos together among the blossoms. “Yeah, they’re beautiful,” he agreed, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Anyway, let me know and we can set it up," you said, shrugging. Cool and casual. He'd never met someone so easy going, someone who could unwind him like you.

He liked you. A lot. Spencer realised that with a jolt. It had been a long time since he’d met someone who he felt comfortable with and who made him feel so… at ease. It was a little scary. “Yeah,” Spencer nodded after a few moments, trying to control his emotions, which were beginning to run a little wild. “I will.”

His phone buzzed, a text from Penelope calling him into work and he sighed. “That… would be work, I… I have to go in. I’m sorry, I really thought I’d have time off today.”

“It’s okay. Work is work,” you said, grabbing your coat and bag. “I can walk you to the station.”

Spencer was a little surprised by your offer, but not in a bad way. He was quickly learning that you were just an unusually kind and accepting person, and his admiration for you grew with every interaction. “Sure,” he said, grabbing his own belongings before the two of you walked out of the door.

"So, you just get a text on your phone, and you get whisked away on a case just like that?" you asked, blazer folded over your arm as you walked down the street with him, tucking hair behind your ear.

Spencer hummed, nodding as he walked next to you, his long legs matching your pace. You didn’t even have to walk that fast to keep up with him, and that made him feel oddly pleased. “Pretty much,” he replied. “Sometimes it’s a call, sometimes a text. But yeah. We have to be ready to drop what we’re doing and go where we’re needed.”

"Huh, like Batman," you commented, grinning at him.

Spencer couldn’t help but let out a quiet huff of laughter at that. You kept surprising him somehow, with the way you spoke to him, with how you thought about things. “Yeah, I guess,” he mused, glancing over at you. “We’re like the B-team, though. I don’t think they’d let me wear a cape.”

"No, I think the cardigans suit you better anyway," you said, bumping his shoulder.

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, a surprised expression on his face. He’d been poked fun at for his cardigans before, but you seemed to actually like them, and it was a little jarring. He was a little embarrassed at how pleased it made him that you like his cardigans. “You think so?” he asked, his voice taking on a slightly teasing tone.

You nodded, repressing a smile badly. "Yeah, plus, you know, people like warm fuzzy things, so..."

The image of you cuddling into one of his cardigans was not one Spencer ever thought would have crossed his mind, but you put it there, and it was all he could think about for a few moments. He cleared his throat, shaking the image from his head. “Warm and fuzzy? Like me?”

"Is that not an accurate descriptor?" you asked, smirking as you reached the entry tunnel to the subway, leaning against the wall.

If Spencer was being honest, you were describing him with startling accuracy. He’d always prided himself on his intelligence, but had never gone so far as to label himself as warm and fuzzy. When it came from you, though… it didn’t feel like an insult. He shrugged, standing in front of you. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had my character described like that before,” he mused, contemplative.

"Well, I think it's accurate," you said, with a nonchalance that made his stomach flip. Why was that so attractive?

Spencer’s breath hitched at your casual confidence. There was no hesitation in your words, you just said whatever was on your mind, and it made him wish he possessed even an ounce of the self-assuredness you did. He swallowed, trying (failing) to keep himself from feeling flustered. “You do?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

"Yeah," you said, nodding with a smile.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on your mouth a little longer than it should have, and he felt a sudden and uncontrollable urge to step closer to you, to press you up against the wall— He caught himself, and he let out a long breath, looking anywhere but your face. He really needed to get to work.

"You have to go," you reminded him, still smirking at how flustered he seemed.

Spencer huffed a small laugh, embarrassed at how obvious he’d been. He stepped away from you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah,” he said, his neck warm. He paused for a few moments, debating internally whether he should say what he was about to say. He took a chance. “I’ll text you later?” he asked, his voice soft and tentative.

"You have my number," you agreed, unable to stop yourself from smiling at him.

The corner of Spencer’s mouth pulled up at the sight of your smile. His heart was thudding hard in his chest, but he tried to act outwardly cool. “Yes, I do,” he agreed, nodding at you. “I’ll use it, though.”

And with that, he made himself turn around and descend the stairs into the subway station before he did something ridiculous. Like kiss you.

comments and reblogs appreciated, xoxo

[incorrectbatfam]

It's movie night but they can't use the home cinema, what do they do?

[week 1]

Bruce: Thanks for letting us use your place for movie night while we fix that leak at home.

Dick: No problem. Besides, I have plenty of snacks and the director's cut of Dumbo.

Everyone: *gathers around*

Dick: *puts on the movie*

~ 10 minutes in ~

*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*

Tim: My crime alert's going off.

Harper: Mine too.

Duke: Must be big.

Bruce: Suit up and rendezvous in three.

Dick: *sighs and pauses the movie*

Dick: Can't get one night in this damn city.

———————

[week 2]

Tim: Steph, why are we at a karaoke lounge?

Steph: I know the owner's cousin's hairdresser's dog walker's sister's girlfriend and I convinced them to let us use the party room. Don't worry, it's just like a TV screen.

Steph: *puts on Pitch Perfect*

Steph: Ooh, I love this part.

Steph: *grabs a mic and starts singing*

Everyone:

Damian: *stuffs napkins in his ears*

———————

[week 3]

Jason: Since we decided on Pride and Prejudice, I thought I could play it at my safehouse.

Dick: Sweet, thanks!

Jason: *unlocks the door*

Dick: *tries to step in*

Jason: *stops him*

Jason: I said I could play it. I never said you could come in. I don't want your you-ness all over my new stuff.

Bruce: Jason, be reasonable.

Harper: Yeah, you got this junk off the side of the road.

Jason: My junk, my rules.

Tim: Then what are we supposed to do?

Jason: Fire escape's around the back. You'll get a decent glance.

~ 20 minutes later ~

Dick: *leans his head in to hear better*

Jason: My air, my rules.

Jason: *closes the window*

———————

[week 4]

Bruce: Cass, it's your turn. Got the movie?

Cass: *nods and plays Rambo on her computer*

Barbara: Uh, why isn't there any sound?

Cass: Volume button broke. Just read lips.

Jason: Kinda hard to do that with the brightness at zero. Did that stop working too?

Duke: Looks fine to me.

Jason: Shut up, Flashlight.

———————

[week 5]

Tim: I brought my entire Star Wars collection.

Bruce, dodging a space laser: Not the time.

Tim: Okay.

Bruce: *punches an alien robot*

Tim: How about now?

———————

[week 6]

Barbara: Sorry I got a cold, but at least we can still have movie night on Zoom. I torrented a copy of The Matrix.

Barbara: *shares her screen*

*movie plays*

Barbara: *leaves herself unmuted*

Barbara: *starts crinkling Sun Chips*

———————

[week 7]

Everyone: *crowd around Damian's phone watching My Neighbor Totoro*

Bette: Why is your phone so small?

Damian: I have tiny hands.

———————

[week 8]

Harper: Because we're watching Cars this week, I thought I could put together an all-immersive experience.

Bruce: BY LOCKING US IN A RUNAWAY SEMI-TRUCK?!?

———————

[week 9]

Duke: I called this company and since we're heroes, they're letting us use their electronic billboard for this week's movie at a huge discount. Kill Bill should be coming on right about...

*movie starts playing*

Jason: Not bad, Narrows.

*billboard switches to an ad*

———————

[week 10]

Carrie: Since Steamboat Willie is now public domain, I thought we could do something different tonight.

Carrie: *pulls out a flipbook*

———————

[week 11]

Everyone: *watching Love, Simon in a dark living room*

*lights flick on*

Apollo and Midnighter: *standing there in date night outfits*

Steph: Um, Cullen, who are these guys?

Cullen: *laughs nervously*

Cullen: Everyone, meet Apollo and Midnighter. They're kinda-sorta my gay uncles and we're kinda-sorta in their apartment and I kinda-sorta didn't expect them to come back early.

Midnighter: Remind me why we gave you a spare key?

———————

[week 12]

Kate: *sets up a projector and plays Glass Onion*

Bruce: Kate, this is a crime scene.

Kate: The fun part's already done, let Gordon do cleanup this time.

———————

[week 13]

Alfred: Back in my day, we did not rely on scrupulous use of technology. Which is why I propose watching a classic Sherlock Holmes tale on a classic instrument.

Alfred: *pulls out a zoetrope*

Steph: Anyone know what that is?

Dick: Not a clue.

———————

[week 14]

Luke: Nothing like a good ol' drive-in movie. Great idea, Helena.

Helena: I know, and the Godfather is perfect for this.

*Batmobile crashes through the screen*

Steph: Sorry we're late.

Duke: I'm still figuring out the PRINDL.

———————

[week 15]

*TV playing the Aristocats*

Bruce, trying to flirt: I like what you've done with the curtains.

Selina: Thanks, but it was Snowball's after-dinner surprise.

*TV blinks off*

Tim: Hey, what gives?

Selina: *takes a chewed-up cord out of a cat's mouth*

Selina, sighing: This is why I married rich.

———————

[week 16]

Luke: May I present the ultimate Snakes On A Plane drone show!

*phone rings*

Luke: Hello? ... Yes, this is he. ... Mhm. ... Yep. ... Okay.

Luke: Never mind, the FAA says I can't.

———————

[week 17]

Everyone: *watching Legally Blonde at Bette's place*

*dogs barking*

*sirens*

*loud music*

*car honk*

*neighbors shouting*

Bette: Sorry, we have thin walls.

Bruce, shrugging: Eh, still not as bad as HOA.

———————

[week 18]

Damian: Where is movie night this time, Father?

Barbara: My money's on another crime scene.

Bruce: Actually, I rented out the theater just for us and they're playing a special edition of The Mark of Zorro. Everyone got their snacks?

Duke: Popcorn, check.

Cass: Licorice, check.

Steph: M&Ms are obviously the right answer by the way.

Dick: I got a slushee.

Jason: I got the slushee machine.

Bruce: Alright then, take your seats. The movie's about to begin.

*movie plays*

*Rogues break in, make a mess, and leave*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: I miss my parents.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 1

Masterlist - Part 2

A light zap of electricity made your cheek tingle, urging you awake. Sleepily, you opened your eyes and were greeted with a rundown room with no furniture. The strange sight woke you up immediately and you sat up.

What the hell? This isn't your home, fuck, this doesn't even look like somewhere in your city!

As you surveyed the surroundings with more urgency, thoughts of the day before came to mind.

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

You were only supposed to drop off the money from the scams to your boss. Your forte wasn't fighting yet when you entered the rundown building, there was tension in the air.

Your boss glowered at the woman across the room. Before you could even ask one of your coworkers what's happening, guns were drawn. In less than 5 seconds the building became a mess of fighting, gun shots, and noise.

Trained instincts of running kicked in and you were already slipping past brawls trying to get to the nearest exit. The money was already dropped off, your boss couldn't hold shit against you.

Just as you got close to the window, a lanky man shoved you. You only stumbled back and raised your fists. You didn't like to fight but after years of living less than legal, you've learned how to fight long enough to escape.

In 10 minutes you were already walking down the sidewalk with bloody knuckles and a bruised foot. The other guy must be worse since you threw him into the window before escaping.

It's just your luck that a police car pulls up beside you. Stopping, you flash a smile to the officer as he rolls down the window.

"Sorry to bother you so late but I noticed that you're a little hurt. Do you need me to bring you to a hospital?"

What he's really asking is what got you hurt, but you keep your cool and answer with cheeriness.

"It's really nothing. I was just at the bar down the street with a friend when some people started getting rowdy. They got kicked out before anyone could really get hurt but I still got a little banged up."

You point to the bar that you passed by that's in full swing. The officer eyes you for a moment before asking a follow-up question.

"And what about your friend? Where are they, are they okay?"

Your tone drops a little as you reply. "Their wonderful partner picked them up so I left. I mean it's not like I have any lover to pick me up. What can a poor single person like me do?"

The officer instantly becomes bored and says a quick goodbye before driving off. You roll your eyes at the predictable action and continue walking home. Lying has become a natural habit for you and you've become damn good at it.

You finally get home to your shitty studio apartment in the seedy part of the city. Locking the door, you trudge to your computer as you ignore the screams from other apartments. You boot it up and start eating the cheap fast food you picked up.

First you check on the scam ads you posted to see which poor sucker fell for it. You forward the card information to another coworker and consider yourself done with work for the day.

Were you a bad person for being a scam artist? Yeah. Did you wish that you could have a normal job that doesn't involve hurting people? Hell yeah. Have you ever been able to? Nope.

You click the little Paimon app to run Genshin to distract yourself from those meaningless thoughts. You've been stuck in those loops long enough to know it's useless to dwell on them.

The mindless commissions are just what you need to relax. You smile at the sight of Bennett's idle before farming for the most annoying materials; Handguards.

You finish combing through most of the Inazuma islands before teleporting to Seirai Island. The statue of the seven heals your party from any damage that occurred.

Leaning back in your chair, you stretched your arms, sighing as the tension is released from your body. Deciding to turn in for the night, you exit out of Genshin.

Well, you tried at least.

No matter how many times you clicked, it just wouldn't exit. Brushing it off as a bug, you just shut down the device.

Instead of shutting down, the screen showed the doors to Celestia. With no prompt, the doors opened and the white flash shined into your eyes.

Cringing at the harsh light you waited for it to stop.

It didn't.

It got brighter and brighter before it completely enveloped you.

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

Feeling more awake after remembering, you look around the house. Other than the creaky bed you were on, nothing else was in the house. You stand up and nearly trip over a bag at your feet.

Opening it, you find nothing but you decide to take it just in case. That's when you notice that your knuckles are completely healed. No blood, bandages or pain.

You check your body and see that although scars have remained, all your minor cuts and bruises have healed without a trace. Feeling creeped out you try to leave the house. The nearly broken door takes a good amount of strength to push open but you do and stumble out.

The sight of purple thundering skies, floating rocks, and a statue of the seven shocks you. You stumble on the squeaky plants and hard cobblestone as you get closer to the edge.

White trees with purple leaves, blue grass and Naku Weed surround the ground. It's the same area where you tried to log off. There was no way you were in Genshin Impact; Shit like this only happens in fiction.

Hallucination, death, dream, or pulled into a fictional world. Your mind whirls those four possibilities. You stomp on what should have been your bruised foot. It's painful, but not as much as a bruised foot.

With death and dream off the list you walk to the small tree with purple leaves. An Otogi tree, your mind helpfully supplies. You press a hand against the bark and feel the leaves carefully. The sensation is too real and you're too steady to be hallucinating.

You must really be in Tevyat. You were never attached to Earth but being suddenly thrust here is still a bit jarring. You look at the statue of the seven and contemplate your next decision.

From what you remember, anyone who isn't from Teyvat should be allowed to take elemental power from the statue. Biting your lip you approach the statue and place a hand on the gold accessories.

You marvel at how the statue glows at your presence but when you look at your hands, you feel no difference. It seems you wouldn't be a main character in this world either.

Shrugging it off, the excitement of actually being in Teyvat started to well up inside you. You walk down the desecrated dirt and cobblestone path as you admire Seirai Island.

While walking you freeze at the sight of two Fatui soldiers at a camp. You could fight people and escape, but Fatui soldiers? Fuck no. You didn't plan to die this fast.

You sneak along the houses to your left all while trying to remember Seirai's layout. If you wanted to survive in this world, you would need to get to civilization. You needed a boat cause there was no way in hell you were swimming in water that could be struck with lightning at any moment.

You follow the left path that seems to lead to the shore. Fuck, a mirror maiden is walking the same path right towards your direction. With some fast thinking and only a small dose of panic, you scale the rocks on your right.

They were thankfully small enough that your minor skills could be utilized well enough. Breathing heavily, you lay down on the soft blue grass. You close your eyes and open them swiftly at something tingly but smooth on your nose.

It's an electro Crystalfly. Purple and beautiful. You lay there mesmerized before it flies off gently. You stand up in a daze and struggle not to blindly follow it.

You walk along the cliff's edge while being careful not to fall. You can't risk going onto the grass in fear of a spector chasing you. Yet another thing that can end your new life.

Once far away enough from the mirror maiden, you slowly climb down and feel relieved at not breaking a bone. The path splits into two and you contemplate which one would lead to the Waverider.

Logically you know the chance of the waverider working for you was small, but the chance of you finding an intact boat was even smaller. Your train of thought is broken by the sounds of machines whirring from the right path.

You curse yourself and start sprinting down the left path to get away. Forgetting the existence of Ruin Sentinels almost cost you your life, but due to your panic, you almost sprinted straight into a different Ruin Sentinel.

Skidding to a stop, you hastily walk around it while sweating bullets. Thankfully it didn't notice you and you praise your good luck. You walk more alert to the waverider but stop at the teleport waypoint.

Out of simple curiosity, you touch the teleport structure. It glows similar to how it did in the game. But instead of red turning blue, the blue turned gold.

A smile forms on your face as your mind races with the possibilities that this could mean. Excitedly, you run to the waverider and touch it. Its blue turns gold and a boat is summoned onto the water.

It's not the same boat as the travelers, in fact you would even say it's better. Climbing into your boat you marvel at how much space it has. There is a small screen in the middle with a handprint.

There is no steering wheel or any other controls. You put your hand on it and say the first island that comes to mind. "Take me to Kannazuka Island."

The boat begins to move and you sit down on the couch. The whole boat feels luxurious to the point where you feel out of place; as if you're the sole piece of dirt on it.

But you don't have to be trash anymore. This world is kinder to people that couldn't finish school or can't stay in one spot. You wanted to try a normal job, maybe set up a stall or shop. Work as a normal, legal worker, or even become an adventurer. If reckless Pallas could do it, surely you could.

No more lying, no more crime.

The boat stops and you get off as you try to remember which part of the island you stopped at. There's a waverider and a teleport waypoint close together. That's on the right side of the Tatarasuna also known as the place where Kunikuzushi died and became Scaramouche.

After tapping both the waverider and teleport waypoint, you walk closer to the main part of the island. You remember farming this place for the handguards which explains why there is no Nobushi.

After passing the broken down ship part, you spot a tree with lavender melon. Excitedly and with hunger you get close and pick the lowest hanging fruit.

It's juicy and unlike any fruit you've eaten before. Which isn't a lot since fruit is expansive. You stroll down the shore as you finish the fruit.

You recognize the area on the left as a place where a quest had a fight. Walking on it you smile at seeing it in person. It's really amazing how you're actually here. And holy shit is that Ei?

The archway made of rock that leads into Tatarasune has Ei standing right there. You freeze and your breathing slows down as you try not to be noticed.

Ei was a complex character meaning that she will cause a lot of trouble for the peaceful and lawful existence you planned to live here.

As you try to walk away casually you hear her mutter something interesting.

"I could have sworn I felt their presence somewhere here."

Ei locks eyes with you making you freeze. You should greet her with her long ass title but there was no way you remembered that. Instead you give a small bow and speak politely.

"Please forgive my intrusion. I hope I haven't-"

"How dare you."

"I'm sorry wha-"

"Who are you? Which nation are you from? How dare you show such disrespect toward Their Holiness?!"

Her glare is firm and her voice grows louder. Gaping at the sudden hostility, you take a step back when she starts to pull out her Musou-no-something.

Ei's words are barely registered in your brain as you scramble for a way to escape.

"Someone with the same face as the creator is an anomaly. No one has ever been born with their face yet you, a mere human mortal, has it. I shall sacrifice you to them for impersonating the creator's image."

It's like her one track mind as a soldier has taken over Ei again. You yell the first thing that comes to mind that can help you escape while pointing behind her.

"OH MY GOD, IS THAT MAKOTO YOUR TWIN SISTER?!"

Ei freezes and immediately whips her head to look behind her. You don't hesitate to book it back to the boat.

'Just keep running, just keep running.' You sing frantically to yourself as you hear Ei chase after you. You yelp in pain when lightning starts striking your heels with every step.

She's toying with you, you realize. She wants to know how you could possibly know about her sister. She won't kill you yet but you know she won't hesitate to harm you severely.

The boat comes into view and you jump into it. The water that you splashed in, in your hurry makes your feet hurt more.

"Do you think that boat can protect you from me?"

You sit on the floor and try to think up a solution but the pain coursing through your body is hindering you. But you already know that you can't drive the boat or else she'll destroy it.

"Tell me how you know her name. How do you know her connection to me? How much more do you know about us?"

None of your regular tactics can work on her, not without risking death. You look at your lap for some kind of solution and notice your hands glowing. A small plan begins to form and instead you answer her with a distraction.

"Do you truly believe that I'm the only person alive that knows about her?"

Ei goes silent and you take advantage of the time to try to figure out what's happening with your hands. As much as you hope you gained elemental powers, you doubt that it can actually help you when an archon is trying to harm you.

You feel like spiderman as you make various hand gestures with your hands trying to figure out what the deal is with the glowing. It's the simple gesture of putting your hands together and pulling them apart that makes the glowing leave your hands and form a small screen.

"Did Celestia send you down here? Did you have a mission from them to use the Creator's form to dig up information?"

As the screen glows white and shows the Genshin Impact logo, your breath hitches. Your only hope is to let Ei draw her own conclusions from your answers as you hope your new power can help you.

"Celestia, huh? If Celestia themself took on the form of the Creator for their plans, do you think they would succeed?"

Thunder strikes louder after you say that. The logo leaves and shows the traveler on the beach in Mondstadt. You don't think about the weirdness of that before teleporting Lumine to where you are at.

"What are you implying-"

Ei's words are cut off as the sound of teleporting rings through your ears unlike the game audio has ever done before. On the screen the traveler stands next to a gold teleport waypoint with Ei nowhere to be seen. You smile at the implication.

You look out the boat and don't see Lumine there. You look back at the screen only to find it gone. You make the gesture and the screen reappears. It's only when you look away from the teleport waypoint that the screen finally loads.

Lumine is still standing next to the gold teleport waypoint. After teleporting her back to the beach you close the screen. With the Ei threat somewhat subdued, you feel safe enough to collapse on the couch.

Lazily you tell the ship to sail to Narukami Island, Ei would still come after you. Anywhere is better than your present location. An idea forms in your mind and you clarify. "Bring me to Amakane Island."

Your mind processes the information of a Creator, your resemblance, the screen, and new threats. The first step is clear as day. The little shop on Amakane Island that sells masks is your first stop.

Hello anybody that reads this. I have started another fic series. Again. There is a large chance that I'll get burnt out and not finish it. But I hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter should have what I really wanted to talk about which is Oracle!Reader.

Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl [Edit: This chapter has been updated by my dear editor on 8/19/23]

[rydengg]

A Chilling Encounter at the Gas Station

REDDIT

Woosh. Woosh. Woosh. The wind whipped against each lamp post as I passed them on the two lane strip of road that connected my house to the nearest - well, anything west of it.

I would normally have no reason to drive this far in the opposite direction of civilization but, unfortunately, my time is often lost to the screen of my computer or tv. By the time I realized how hungry I was, the clock on my lock screen read 1:24 A.M. and maybe in a more densely populated area, that wouldn’t be a problem, but this town is a church town. Like, a church every day of the week type of town. Nothing is open past 10.

Meanwhile, if you drive a ways out in the opposite direction, you’ll find a mediocre little gas station in, more or less the middle of nowhere. The place hadn’t been updated since 1974 but they carried some of the best snacks. The fact that the weirdo boss had a knack for exclusively hiring pretty cashiers was just an added bonus for a small-town closeted bisexual like myself. Even if he hadn’t; my fridge was empty and thus, the journey was necessary.

That night, the entire feeling as I pulled my shitty little Civic into the parking lot of the Glorious Day Gas ‘n Go was off. Even before getting out of my car, I could see the girl behind the cash register through the large storefront windows. She was absent-mindedly braiding a strand of pin straight brown hair before letting it go, allowing it to unravel and repeating the process again. I recognized her, actually. Kathleen. She wasn’t necessarily THE popular girl back in school but she was certainly well liked, even though pretty much everyone agreed that Kathleen was a bit of a ditz. An airhead. The less nice girls would call her stupid but she really wasn’t. More than a little absent-minded; definitely, just a sweet girl with her head in the clouds.

Shit, I’d remembered just then that the GDGNG has a window service only policy after certain parts of the night. The main counter stood in the center of the building but there was a smaller version near the door, one which contained a small metal hatch and drawer, where you’d have to do your transaction when it was really late. This was annoying as the attendant would have to shop for you. I couldn’t remember whether or not it kicked in at 1 AM or 2, but I figured I’d have to approach the building and find out either way, so I got moving.

Shutting off my car, I got out, slamming the door closed. Kathleen made no effort to move towards the night drawer, so I went for the door and found it unlocked. So, I shopped like normal. She continued to play with her hair, seeming at least somewhat aware of my presence but not quite responding with the normal “hello” or “welcome in” greeting most of the girls were likely required to say.

I found myself shopping a little slower than usual, stealing glances back at her to see if she’d moved, somehow kind of knowing in my skin that she’d still be standing there, playing with that same strand of hair. She wore the required “uniform,” mainly street-clothes but with a small apron that would normally be white but she’d clearly tried to DIY dye hers pink. I’d already known from school that this was a regular thing she was known to do with much of her clothing. If she couldn’t buy it pink, she was gonna make it pink.

Her eyes were locked into an empty stare out the large front window, her mind seemingly somewhere different. Not to either end of the road. Just out into the nothingness that surrounded that gas station. She had been doing so from the moment I’d pulled in and by then she still really hadn’t stopped. There was a strange feeling growing in the air, although my awareness of it was at the time chalked up to the lateness of the evening. I tried my best to mind my business as I grabbed a few small bags of chips, some microwavable noodles, a bag of peanut butter m&ms, two packs of gum, and a mountain dew.

The sound of me setting the products quietly on the counter startled Kathleen - her name tag reading KATY with two glittery little bubble stickers shaped like pink butterflies on either side - out of her odd trance. I felt my heart skip a beat when her gaze broke from the window and turned to me. It was like I had snapped her out of a dream and she wasn’t quite awake yet. “Oh, shit, you aren’t supposed to be in here.” It seemed like she was saying it more to herself than me, which she also became aware of and put on some semblance of the “customer service” act everyone who’s ever had to work with the public knows too well. “Sorry, I mean our front doors are supposed to be locked. I can check you out here though, just don’t tell my boss.” I could tell she’d said this to lighten the weird static in the entire building but there was a hollowness to it that started to make my stomach turn.

Katy didn’t immediately move to start scanning my items - although she did cease fiddling with her hair - and instead, continued talking. “I’m not used to night shifts. My co-worker’s kid is sick and I had to change my whole routine - my boyfriend was NOT amused.”

My tummy started feeling even more sick and yet there was a strange… pull I had to her, like I was unable to disengage and address how truly strange the situation felt or just why such a normal exchange had my skin feeling like static. “Oh man, Kathleen, I’m sorry to hear that. Men can be such assholes.” I said, letting out a fake chuckle afterwards that was surprisingly convincing for how utterly disconnected I felt from everything around us. Katy’s hands returned to her hair though she did seem a bit more present in the moment. She chuckled too. There was a slight glimmer of recognition that came after that. “You went to Harrington, too.” she said with a hollow smile. “Yeah, I think I was two grades below you.” I shuffled my body weight from one foot to the other. The handful of words between the two of us felt like they stretched across hours already. I was barely thinking of the snacks anymore or my growling stomach.

“Everyone in high school used to use my full name, but Dan is the only one who calls me Kathleen anymore.” Her fingers that had once been easily looping her hair in an effortless little braid now began to look a little stiff and clumsy, although Katy didn’t seem to notice it. “I prefer to be called Katy.” She trailed off and her gaze had returned to the exact same spot out the window. The little glimmer that I could feel was waning.

I tried to keep the conversation going in hopes she’d snap out of it. “It’s been so long, I'm glad to see a familiar face at least - the face of a friend.” We really didn’t interact much at all back in the day, but this intentional choice of wording brought back a little bit more warmth into the exchange between us. Still, it didn’t fully penetrate to break the blank behind her eyes. “Definitely! I feel like I’m either always working or hanging out with Dan. I can’t remember the last time I did something fun...” She trailed off again a little bit before snapping back to normal, picking up and scanning my items. “That’ll be $7.54.” Katy said the words but didn’t reach out her hand at all to grab the cash. After several seconds of silence, I set the ten down on the counter. She looked at it but didn’t pick it up, instead pushing a button on the cash register that popped the drawer open.

Empty. Like, empty empty. “Huh.” The inflection - or lack thereof - in her voice sent a chill down my spine. “I think I forgot to stock my drawer when I came in tonight.” Katy pushed the drawer back closed and allowed her gaze to float back to the window. I began to think that maybe she’d taken something - like pills or molly or whatever - that wasn’t agreeing with her. She’d be far from the only person who’s gotten inebriated and then was suddenly called into work, maybe she was just having a bad reaction.

“How do you feel right now, Katy?”

Katy didn’t respond, not to that or several other verbal tries to get her to respond; even the lightest conversation or the most direct questions. Without thinking much of it, I reached across the counter and gently shook her left shoulder.

Several things happened in quick succession. The touch of her skin gave my hand a shock. Small, but it hurt. It disoriented me, too. Katy began to gasp in a panic but the air and the sound was more reminiscent of someone trying desperately to swallow puke. There was a gooey burbling sound, too, but I couldn’t figure out the location it was coming from. She stumbled backwards and that same elbow knocked several packs of loose tobacco to the floor, a few of which burst open and spilled behind the counter.

We both stood there frozen for a minute, not saying anything to one another. Katy now had both her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, almost hugging herself while still gazing out that window. Despite this, she was aware of the mess. “Fuck.” she said under her breath - or rather OUT of breath.

I realized at that moment that had few options; I could get the fuck out of there, call for help, and leave her alone + possibly strung out in an empty gas station - or I could accept that I’m already in this weird fucking situation and try to get this girl some help, or at the least see her through whatever trip or high she was experiencing. So far, behaving as normally as possible had worked to keep Katy from spinning back into a daze, so trying to be helpful seemed a good way to normalize the situation.

“Katy, do you have a broom? Where do you keep your cleaning supplies? We should clean this up or something.” I was taking measured breaths, doing everything in my natural ability to achieve calm even just for myself at that point, not only for her sake. Still, the task was harder than it should’ve been; it wasn’t hard to think. It was more like my brain felt like a steel trap while my body waved from autopilot and fight/flight/freeze.

“Over there.” She pointed to the little narrow hallway that led to the bathrooms. I didn’t look where she pointed then. I could only stare at her face.

Katy’s mouth was bleeding. Not badly, but her teeth were thinly coated in blood. I thought “This girl isn’t just high. This girl is not well.” She needed help and although my brain told my body to grab her and leave, I felt myself instead moving towards the hall and bathrooms.

Something in my body said “you need to get the broom” although it made little sense to do so. I just had to get that broom, head back to the counter, get Katy and get out. I cleared my thoughts and moved with nothing on my mind but the task at hand until I felt my palm on the handle of the broom. There was no sense of relief from this and the desire to get the hell out only compounded as I turned myself around, not getting all the way before freezing in front of the women’s bathroom. The door was wedged open a bit by something pink.

My stomach didn’t just hurt anymore. A thick wave of nausea started to fester at the lowest part of my belly and my heart began to race as I gently pushed the door with my free hand. It was a pink slip on shoe. More importantly, these were Katy’s pink slip on skate shoes. Puke fought its way up my throat as opening the door revealed more of the scene.

Katy was laid on her back with her limbs spread out. Her jeans, t-shirt, and hodge-podgely pink dyed apron were stained in copious amounts of slowly darkening and drying blood. It pooled out widely beneath her. A rather large hunting knife stuck out of the left side of her chest, right dead in the heart. Her head was turned to the side and her eyes stood open, staring blankly. It wouldn’t occur to me until days later that she’d been facing the same direction I’d seen her staring the entire time. One skinny little braid sat over her shoulder, half undone and saturated in blood. Her name tag, “KATY”, had miraculously remained unsullied by any carnage.

Surprisingly, the puke that had begun to build went back down. The nausea washed back away and it felt that I was instead caught in the river-like current of electricity that had been carrying my every movement from the moment I tapped on Katy’s shoulder. I gently let the door rest back in place before dragging the broom and dust pan to the counter. Katy still stood there in some strange defiance of the horrible reality of her own demise. She didn’t move to grab the broom but I didn’t move to help her clean it up, either. I just leaned it next to her and moved back to the front of the counter.

“So…” my voice shook, but surprisingly not nearly as much as I thought it would. “Who else has been in tonight?” Katy’s eyes fluttered with some level of lucidity. “I…. I guess I don’t know.”

I couldn’t tell you what guided me through that conversation. It wasn’t wit. It wasn’t knowledge. It wasn’t overwhelming compassion. I felt like an audience member if nothing else. I listened to myself ask all the right questions as if nothing was wrong though it was hard to pay attention to the answers. Katy continued to deteriorate right in front of me. Her breathing became wet sounding - a familiar thing I realized I’d heard when she had gasped earlier. Blood began to seep from under her apron, left side obviously, and eventually much more from her mouth.

“Dan killed me, didn’t he?”

He had.

Katy being a “ditz” wasn’t the only chat around the town. Dan had gone to school with us too. He had always been the violent type of jock with a garbage personality to match their bad reputation, and everyone knew that. The two of them, Katy and Dan, didn’t get along in high school. I still don’t know how they ended up together down the line.

It had only gotten worse with age as alcohol inevitably became involved. That’s how this shit always goes. Dude becomes a monster. Somehow the girl gets blamed. Before her death, everyone said she was too stupid to leave or liked the attention or whatever.

Anyway, that’s just word around a small town.

I couldn’t tell her for sure what had happened, but I knew she had to know inside somehow.

“I don’t know, but you do.” the words once again sort of came without thought. It’s odd to hear your own voice and yet… not quite recognize it.

She lifted a now off color arm up to awkwardly wipe her mascara tears. It was a lethargic and clumsy attempt by fingers that seemed stiff as stone. Every moment appeared to be bringing havoc upon her form. “I always forget to lock that stupid fucking door. I saw him coming but I really thought he couldn’t get me….” Even in that moment, I somehow still thought “she's so beautiful.” She rested against the back counter and slid down into a crouching position while burbling in a nauseating sounding way and choking out one self-deprecation after another. This only lasted for a minute or two before the tears ceased and Katy absent-mindedly stood back up.

With clumsy hands, she grabbed my items from the bag they’d been in and put them into a new bag before repeating (or rather sputtering through little trickles of black thick blood) “that’ll be $7.54.” I picked up the ten and handed it to her once again. She grabbed it this time and I felt that shock of energy again. She didn’t do anything with it; just kept grasping it in her hand.

I still look back now and wish something more profound had come out of my mouth at that moment but instead, only a simple gesture came to mind. “Thanks, Katy. Hit me up sometime, I’d really like to catch up. I think we’d make good friends.” Kathleen said nothing but smiled. Blood still poured from within.

The next few minutes were a blur but, as I’d later see on security footage, I more or less went through the motions. I left the store and got into my car before picking up my cellphone to call 911. I came back to a somewhat coherent level about halfway through the call when I was sobbing profusely as some poor emergency operator tried their damndest to decipher my words.

Dan knew Katy had a tendency to forget to do lock-ups, especially when she was alone. He knew he could confront her without costing her that job and set off to do so that night. Katy thought she’d locked the door. She ran to hide in the bathroom and the gesture of her running away pissed Dan off enough that he pulled the hunting knife he brought with him just about everywhere. She got most-way into the bathroom, he lunged in after her. Being a hunter gives a person knowledge about anatomy and killing cleanly, so I guess he had no problem plunging that thing directly in a way that would puncture her heart. He didn’t expect to nick her lungs but it didn’t matter. Her heart bled into her lungs. She died too quickly to understand what happened to her.

Being a hunter made him a more capable killer with a weapon but it didn’t make him smart about getting away with murder. The security camera caught him doing everything except the act as well. It didn’t take law enforcement but a minute to figure him out. He was caught in the middle of a half-assed suicide attempt after the security footage was watched and the knife was traced back to him. The first half of the security cams were enough to fry him. We know what he did.

After his crime, Dan left the GDGNG in an emotional frenzy, only coming back for a moment to ransack the cash register in hopes of making it look like a robbery before getting into his truck and leaving. About thirty minutes pass, then this odd mass of dark black purple and blue opalescent light and camera fuzz slowly moves from the hallway back into the middle of the counter space, behind the cash register. Ten more minutes pass, my car pulls into the parking lot.

Every time I touched her - it, the light, I DONT KNOW - I was seen in the video actually touching it. Just watching, I could feel some semblance of that same feeling, just in the very tips of my fingers. It all went the same way. It handed me my things, it held my ten dollar bill - that really stuck with me at that moment because up until then, I wasn’t sure if any of it had happened at all or if I was truly losing it. That was proof to me; seeing those detectives and doctors faces of puzzled disbelief seeing the very same thing I was.

The second half of the tape was left out of criminal proceedings, naturally.

Yet after a while of fruitless treatment, the doctors sat me down and were frank with me; there is no explanation for what’s happening - not one they’re realistically finding - unless they pick one and just assign it to me. Eventually, they ruled it was a “temporary bout of psychosis brought on by trauma” essentially saying that finding “a dead girl” was too much for my brain to comprehend. They gave me a clean bill of mental health, they gave me back my shit, and let me leave.

I hadn’t cried in a while at that point but sitting there in the same clothes (yeah they didn’t even give me something clean to leave with) with the gas station store bag packed in with my wallet, car keys, and random shit that was in my pockets… Well, yeah. It reasonably brought on the waterworks. I pulled out the keys and my wallet but stared at the rest for a while before finally pulling out the generic THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU plastic bag.

A mountain dew, some noodles, chips, chocolate, and gum. I picked up each and held them in my hands for a moment before moving onto the next one. I could’ve waited until I got home but knowing this would probably be my only quiet moment before family absolutely smothered me like I knew they wanted to, I felt I needed to do it then. I got to the last item, a pack of pink bubble gum. The weight and density felt off and the shape of the brightly printed packaging was bulging at the corners. With shaking hands, I removed the somehow untampered plastic wrap to find what I already knew in my heart would be there.

A name tag, pristine. Printed KATY with tiny little pink butterfly bubble stickers.

The Glorious Day Gas ‘n Go was closed within the month of that horrible incident. All four pumps had already been removed by the time I left the hospital. Even though that little corner store was barely even part of our shitty church town, the embarrassment of a passion killing at a gas station was not a lovely look and the owner was quickly elbowed out of business and eventually out of town.

What I didn’t expect to later find out was the overflowing compassion for Katy. Nobody blamed her for not locking that door. Actually, come to find out, the owner could’ve set it to automatically lock and chose not to. He felt Katy would only learn to be less absent minded that way. People didn’t see it that way.

People held memorials. There were quite a few photos, bears, flowers, and other things now placed lovingly outside the building. People loved her more than she gave herself credit for.

It’s been a while since then and I consider Katy a dear friend and someone close to my heart. The story of her death has become more of a local scandal and I suppose one day it will become urban legend, though as far as I know, nobody knows the truth of what happened to me that night.

I saw her one more time; just once. I drive out there every few months, just to remind myself of her. I think I lingered the longest the year anniversary of that night. Right before I went to start my car to head back home, I felt that familiar static energy in my fingertips and it caused me to look up at the deeply dilapidated building one more time.

The silhouette of a person stood where the cashiers counter once was.

l swear, she way toying with her hair.

[hell0jon]

My Theories for Where the Fuck Colin is:

• was eaten alive the second he climbed out the window after saying bye to Celia in episode 10

• Jmart kidnapped him for reasons I can’t reveal

• was eaten alive by computer wires that weren’t actually wires, but snakes

• got bonked on the head and now shits himself every time he hears his accent to the point of insanity

• slipped in the shower

• accidentally locked himself in the IT room and has been eating wires to survive, resulting in multiple unexplained power cuts, piling up the OIAR’s workload to the point where they’re staying over time

• was eaten alive by his therapist

• found a hole, jumped in it for shits n gigs, and ended up on the other side of the universe

• was eaten alive after asking a 7-Eleven employee for a longer straw

• bonzo

• got married, had a family, they got eaten alive, bought a private property out in the country with their life insurance, suffered from intense social isolation and retired all in the span of three weeks

• was probably eaten alive

• kidnapped by an evil russian clown mannequin and moisturised for a month after having his skincare routine roasted by said evil russian clown mannequin

• asthma attack

• batman

• turns out he’s actually okay and has been living in Brisbane, Australia for the last few months

[lilyswrittenworks]

XIV | Hurt

Warning(s): Angst (so much angst), Guilt, Self-loathing

Synopsis: Piccolo finally returns from his training and the first thing he does is to pay you a visit. 

━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━

Piccolo’s return was supposed to be simple.

After days of training alone in the freezing northern glaciers, he expected to stop by your place, maybe exchange a few words, and then disappear back into the mountains. But when he arrived, the place was empty.

Your energy was nowhere to be found.

That alone was unusual. Normally, even when you were out, he could at least sense you in the distance. Frowning, he assumed you were at the school and wasted no time flying over, only to find it just as empty. No students. No sign of you.

The unease started creeping in.

Where the hell were you?

His search took him to the nearest city. He walked along the crowded sidewalks, scanning the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of you—maybe hear your voice amidst the city noise. But nothing.

Then he heard your name, vaguely.

He almost didn’t register it at first, but something in his gut told him to listen. He stopped mid-step, glancing at a row of televisions in a store display. They were broadcasting the latest news, and a reporter stood on screen, speaking with grim urgency.

“—the incident that took place just days ago at a festival in East City, where a suspect opened fire, injuring a woman who courageously intervened—”

He nearly turned away. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with you.

Then your picture appeared in the top right corner of the screen.

Piccolo froze.

His blood turned to ice as the reporter continued.

“—identified as the martial arts instructor, (Y/n), seen here in her signature gi. Witnesses say she stepped in when the suspect attempted to target a young girl—one of her students—before sustaining multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. The suspect is now in custody, while (Y/n) remains in critical condition at Nicky Town Hospital Center—”

He didn’t hear the rest.

In a heartbeat, he was airborne, the city shrinking beneath him as he shot toward the hospital like a meteor.

Your energy was faint—dangerously faint—but it was there. The moment he locked onto it, he pushed harder, his speed ripping through the sky, the air roaring in his ears.

By the time he landed outside the hospital, his patience was already hanging by a thread.

The moment he stepped through the doors, he headed straight for the reception desk.

“I need to see (Y/n).” His voice was sharp, unwavering.

The receptionist blinked up at him, startled by his sudden presence. “I—uh—are you a family member or—?”

“I’m her friend,” he snapped.

Her hesitant expression made his patience snap.

“I’m sorry, but visiting hours—”

His fist slammed against the counter. The wood cracked under the force, the entire desk shaking violently. The receptionist flinched, eyes wide with fear as the room fell silent.

“Tell me where she is,” he demanded, voice low and seething.

Trembling, the woman quickly typed on her computer. “R-Room C28, 10th floor,” she stammered.

That was all he needed. Without another word, he turned and stormed toward the stairwell.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The climb up 10 floors took mere seconds.

The halls were eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of machines behind closed doors. Piccolo’s footsteps barely made a sound as he moved, his heart pounding loud in his ears.

And then, he found it.

Room C28.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Your energy was there. Weak, but there.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He should walk in. He should go inside and see for himself.

But for the first time in a long, long time… Piccolo hesitated.

He felt the damage before he even looked. He knew, deep down, that whatever condition you were in—it was bad. Too bad. And it made something twist deep in his chest, something cold and unbearable.

Still, he forced himself forward.

Peering through the glass window, his breath hitched.

There you were.

Lying motionless in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines, tubes hooked up to your nose and mouth. Your chest barely rose with each slow, mechanical breath, your body looking far too still, far too fragile.

Piccolo’s fists clenched.

There was no way to describe what he felt. Anger? Guilt? Something worse?

He had been gone for only a few days. A few days. And in his absence, you had nearly died.

His feet felt heavy as he stepped inside. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his nose, but all he could focus on was you. Seeing you like this—so weak, so lifeless—tore something inside him.

This wasn’t right.

You weren’t supposed to be the one lying here, barely clinging to life. You were strong, stubborn, full of life and fire. Not this.

Slowly, Piccolo stepped around the opposite end of the bed, his moccasins' making barely a sound against the sterile tile floor. His breath was steady, but each step forward felt like dragging a boulder, his body weighed down by an unbearable pressure. He never took his eyes off of you.

The severity of your injuries—something he had tried to brace himself for—hit him all at once.

The moment he reached your bedside, his legs gave out.

With a dull thud, Piccolo dropped to his knees, his arms resting on the edge of the bed. He exhaled shakily before hesitantly reaching out, his large fingers gently wrapping around your hand. The familiar warmth he had grown used to—the warmth that had so often greeted him in training, in conversation, in all those quiet moments you had shared—was gone.

Your hand was cold. Too cold.

His breath hitched in his throat.

He swallowed hard, but the lump in his chest only grew. His grip on your hand tightened, his free hand clenching into a fist against the sheets.

If he hadn’t left…

If he had been there…

If he had protected you…

A choked noise escaped him before he could suppress it.

The weight in his chest—what had been building ever since he heard your name on that damned news report—finally broke him.

Piccolo’s head bowed forward, his forehead pressing against the mattress as his shoulders trembled. He bit down hard, willing himself to keep control, but the burning sting in his eyes wouldn’t stop.

Then, the first tear fell.

Followed by another.

And another.

His body convulsed as quiet, guttural sobs ripped from his chest, the sound muffled against the sheets. He didn’t care. Not if anyone saw. Not if the whole damn hospital could hear him.

Nothing outside this room mattered.

Only you.

“(Y/n)…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper.

He clenched his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, but the flood didn’t stop. A gut-wrenching sob wracked his body as he clutched your limp hand.

“...Please…” His breath stuttered, his grip tightening as if it could somehow tether you back to him. “I—I can’t lose you…”

For what felt like an eternity, Piccolo stayed there—shattered, breaking apart at the seams.

Eventually, exhaustion took its toll. His body, so used to enduring battle after battle, had finally reached its limit. His breathing slowed, and his sobs quieted until they were nothing more than sharp, uneven breaths.

Still, even as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he never let go of your hand.

A sliver of light peeked through the curtains, casting over his slumped form. His face, stained with silent tears, remained turned toward you as if he feared you’d vanish if he looked away.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Hours later, Piccolo stirred.

His body ached—not from battle, not from training, but from the unbearable heaviness in his chest. The reminder of why he was here settled in instantly, sending a fresh wave of agony through him.

He considered staying where he was, allowing himself a few more moments of reprieve, but a thought struck him.

A solution.

His stomach twisted at the realization.

He had to leave.

His fingers twitched as he hesitated—one last look. Then, with considerable effort, he forced himself up and turned away from your still form.

He had to go to Korin’s Tower.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The journey was swift, fueled by desperation.

Piccolo didn’t waste a second as he descended onto Korin’s Tower, his moccasins slamming into the tiled platform. His chest rose and fell heavily from the flight, but he ignored the exhaustion clawing at him. There was no time for it.

“Korin,” he barked, his voice firm yet edged with something uncharacteristically frantic. “I need a senzu bean.”

The white feline turned, staff in hand, his usual calm expression unreadable. “Hate to say it, but you’re out of luck, Piccolo.”

The words barely registered.

“…What?”

Korin let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “Not a single one left. We ran out.”

Piccolo’s breath hitched. His jaw tightened, and his fingers twitched at his sides. His mind refused to accept what he had just heard. He needed one. You needed one. His shoulders rose and fell as he bit the inside of his cheek, desperately keeping himself composed.

Korin, ever perceptive, narrowed his eyes. Piccolo wasn’t one to openly display his emotions, but the subtle shift in his usually hardened features didn’t go unnoticed. The slight furrow of his brow, the tense set of his jaw, and—most telling of all—the shadow of something pained flickering in his onyx eyes.

He was worried.

The realization caught Korin off guard, and he had to resist the urge to flick his tail in surprise.

“Why do you need a senzu bean?” the cat asked, his voice laced with curiosity. “It’s not like we’re dealing with something worse than Majin Buu, ya know?”

“Yeah,” another voice chimed in, coming from the staircase below. “You actin’ like the world’s ending or somethin’.”

Yajirobe.

The overweight, unkempt swordsman strolled onto the platform, arms crossed, his expression full of lazy disinterest. “No offense, but last I checked, you don’t just show up demanding senzu beans without a damn good reason.”

That did it.

Piccolo’s eyes snapped to Yajirobe, his fangs bared in a sharp snarl. His voice dropped into a low, dangerous growl.

“That is none of your damn business,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I don’t need to explain myself—only that I need a senzu bean.”

Yajirobe blinked, then feigned a bored yawn, though the way his body stiffened gave away his nerves. “Sheesh, touchy much? What, is someone dying or something?”

The words struck like a knife to the gut.

Piccolo’s breath hitched as an image flashed through his mind—you, lying motionless in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, barely holding on. The steady beep of the monitor. The shallow rise and fall of your chest.

His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Damn it.

Korin immediately took notice, ears twitching as he caught the abnormal hostility rolling off the Namekian in waves. He turned sharply toward Yajirobe, voice firm.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he warned. “If you know what’s good for you, Yajirobe, you’ll shut your mouth before Piccolo blasts you off this tower.”

Yajirobe’s mouth opened—then snapped shut.

Korin sighed, his feline features softening as he looked back at Piccolo. “I wish I could help, Piccolo, I do. But like I said, we’re fresh out.” His tail flicked before he added, “However, a new batch is growin’ as we speak. They’ll be ready in about five months. As soon as they’re good to go, I’ll let you know.”

Piccolo said nothing at first. His breathing was still shallow, his muscles taut, but he forced himself to exhale through his nose, regaining some semblance of control.

Finally, he gave a stiff nod.

Without another word, he turned back toward the sky, his cape billowing in the wind.

His only thought was getting back to you.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Days passed.

Then a week.

Piccolo refused to leave your side.

The hospital staff tried to convince him otherwise, but his resolve was unwavering. Eventually, they gave up.

The second week came, and with it, a shift.

A nurse and a surgeon arrived to remove you from life support. Piccolo stood rigid, hands clenched, watching their every movement with unwavering intensity.

They worked in silence, carefully removing the tubes keeping you breathing. His stomach coiled into knots as he waited—prayed—for something, anything.

Then, a breath.

Your chest rose and fell on its own.

The nurse monitored you closely, ensuring your body adjusted. Piccolo remained as still as stone, watching with sharp eyes, waiting for any sign of distress.

But none came.

Relief washed over the room like a silent wave.

Still, Piccolo didn’t allow himself to breathe until twenty-four hours had passed with no complications.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The early morning hours were quiet.

Piccolo sat on the floor, arms folded, head bowed. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t truly asleep—merely allowing himself to drift in and out of thought, the constant hum of the ventilation shaft above filling the silence.

No one bothered him anymore.

Except for her.

Michiko.

A nurse he had come to tolerate, perhaps even appreciate. She had been the one to allow him to stay when others would have sent him away. She never forced conversation, never made him feel like an outsider.

She simply existed in the space, like he did.

Michiko always checked on you first, never rushing. Then, wordlessly, she would set down a bottle of water for him before leaving.

He never acknowledged it, but he noticed.

A quiet show of kindness he wasn’t used to.

But all his thoughts scattered in an instant when—

“...Ngh…”

Piccolo’s eyes snapped open.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, rising to his feet in a flash and stepping toward your bedside.

His heart pounded.

His breath caught.

His hands clenched at his sides as he waited.

Anticipation twisted in his chest like a vice.

And then—

Your fingers twitched.

A soft, rhythmic beeping.

That was the first thing you registered as your mind swam through a thick, disorienting haze.

Your eyelids fluttered open, heavy and sluggish. The ceiling above you was stark white, unfamiliar, and sterile. A faint antiseptic scent lingered in the air, mingling with something softer—something warm.

Your vision wavered, struggling to focus. As you attempted to move, a dull ache spread through your body, dragging you down like an anchor. Your breaths came slow and uneven, each inhale rattling in your chest.

Confusion clouded your thoughts. Where…?

Your eyes darted across the room, searching for any clue, but the details blurred together—until you heard it.

A voice.

“(Y/n)?”

Low. Strained.

Familiar.

You turned your head with effort, your neck protesting the movement. A shadowed figure stood to your right, the light from the monitor casting a faint glow over their form. Your vision wavered again, the world sluggishly coming into focus.

It wasn’t until the figure leaned closer that recognition settled in.

“P…Picc-olo…”

It took everything in you to say his name. The word left your lips in a breathy whisper, but it was enough.

Something flickered in his dark eyes—something raw, unreadable. Pain? Relief? Both?

A single tear traced down his cheek, glistening under the dim light.

His expression remained still, calm even, but the way his hands curled into fists—the way his breath came just a little too sharp—told another story.

You felt the warmth of his hand near yours, his knuckles barely brushing against your fingers. With what little strength you had, you reached out, pressing your palm against his.

He flinched.

His breath caught as his eyes widened, staring at you as if afraid you might vanish if he blinked.

“…W…why… are you… crying…?”

Piccolo’s body stiffened.

Whatever composure he had been clinging to—whatever walls he had built—shattered.

His head dropped, shoulders shaking as he released a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a ragged breath. More tears spilled, trailing down his cheeks in silent devastation.

“Why?” His voice broke, raw with emotion. “Because you could’ve died, that’s why!”

His hands clenched into the sheets, his breathing uneven.

“If I hadn’t left—if I had stayed—this wouldn’t have happened!” He gritted his teeth, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. “I could’ve protected you. I should’ve protected you! I—”

“Not…your…fault…”

The words came in a whisper, weak but firm.

Piccolo’s breath hitched. His eyes snapped to yours, searching, desperate.

You inhaled deeply, summoning what little strength you had left.

“Not… your… fa-a-ault.”

Something inside him crumbled.

He exhaled sharply, almost shakily, before slowly—hesitantly—lifting a hand. His fingers trembled, betraying the emotions he tried so hard to suppress.

Then, with infinite gentleness, he cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, steady. His thumb brushed over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes, as if grounding himself in the moment.

And then—you leaned into him.

His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid at the feeling of your warmth pressing into his palm.

His stomach twisted, flipping over itself in an unfamiliar sensation that sent a tremor through his very core.

It was unsettling. Addicting.

A foolish, intoxicating feeling—one that he couldn’t understand, yet craved all the same.

And maybe—just maybe—he was a fool for feeling this way.

But if being a fool meant keeping you by his side…

Then he was the luckiest fool alive.

(2,916 words)

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(a/n) To be completely honest with you guys,

this chapter has been written for over a year now, and I knew that this specific event had to happen. Because I love a good angsty chapter in my stories~

I did cry when I had to write out Piccolo's emotional turmoil.

I love him to bits but like having to write him slowly breaking at the seams is something that I never usually see in some fics. Maybe it's because he has a tough guy/stoic mask to hide how he's truly feeling. Maybe I wanted it to hurt. Maybe even cry a little? (ok but that crying scene of him thoo? broke me when I was writing it 😭)

I hope you lovely readers enjoyed this chapter as much as I did (what am I saying? I wrote it, of course I would enjoy it lol)

Until next time~ 💚

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Part XIII

You are currently reading Part XIV

Part XV

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It Turned into Love Masterlist

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Tag list:

@utakamo

@nerdy-girl-named-pumpkin

@dovah-bee

[zoesblogsposts]

o 625 words to know in your target language o

There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order

• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal

• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation

• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,

France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location

• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing

• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color

• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person

• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job

• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God

• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art

• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage

• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food

• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool

• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio

• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body

• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature

• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material

• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner

• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective

• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction

• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season

• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number

• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday

• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time

• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift

• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous

[slayfics]

Explosive Tendencies a slow burn fanfic about the readers developing relationship with Katsuki Bakugo.

Chapter two: You talk to Katsuki about the Sports Festival.

Chapter links

More time had passed during your time in U.A. and The Sports Festival had finally concluded. It was exhausting and the school had the next two days off to rest.

You lay on your bed as you re-watched the televised version of the event from start to finish. As it concluded they announced Katsuki as the winner. Although he looked far from a winner. In fact, he looked like a prisoner with his arms chained and face muzzled.

Don't they think that was a bit much you thought?

You wondered how Katsuki was doing. Clearly, he wasn't happy about the result even though he won. You glanced at your phone debating texting him. Would anyone else check up on him, you wondered?

Probably Izuku, but if anything that would make him more pissed.

You agreed with the overall opinion that his anger was out of hand and reckless. But, was everyone else going to just dismiss him for that and not listen to what he was going through?

Sure it was dumb to be upset about winning but, if everyone just dismissed him instead of validating him from time to time... wouldn't he just fall even deeper into anger?

You understood what it was like to feel like no one listened to your perspective on things so you couldn't help but have empathy for Katsuki. Even though he did resemble a feral dog fighting back on the restraints.

You also couldn't help but wonder if being restrained like that was triggering for him. After all, it was only a few months ago that he was attacked by the sludge villain. The villain had restrained him in a similar manner to the muzzle and handcuffs used at the Sports Festival.

Fuck it, you gave in and grabbed your phone to message him.

Hey, how are you doing?

You sent and watched with bated breath to see if he would respond. To your surprise, he messaged you back almost as quickly as last time.

How the fuck do you think dumb ass?

You had become so used to Katsuki's vulgar tongue that it hardly made you bat an eye anymore. While the rest of your class still took it offensively, you just brushed it off.

I know that was a dumb question. I just wanted to check on you. Didn't think anyone else would.

I don't fucking need someone checking up on me.

You signed at his response and locked your phone, dropping it to your bed and deciding to leave it. Clearly, he was going to be too stubborn to even accept a listening ear. You started to putter around on your computer when about 10 minutes later your phone buzzed again.

You turned around to grab it, surprised to see it was another message from Katsuki.

Icy Hot is a fucking idiot, why wouldn't he want to show off what he can do in front of the pros? He ruined the festival for both of us.

You were surprised to see he actually began to open up slightly to you.

Want to come over and talk about it? I don't want to talk about anything. But, I'll come over. Since you're so eager to see me.

It didn't take long for you to hear explosions outside, followed by Katsuki coming through your window.

"You know it's daytime you could have come through the front door. I don't think anyone would mind a classmate coming over," You stated.

"Nah, I don't want to deal with all that bullshit." He said, sitting down on your bed making himself as comfortable as he would in his own room.

"I'm sorry about how things went down," You said, causing Katsuki to let out an irritated tch and look away from you.

As irritated as his demeanor indicated he was, the truth was no one had empathized with him. Everyone kept telling him y0U sTiLl w0n tH0uGh. Hearing someone agree with him threw him off, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Yeah, half and half is a fucking idiot. Thanks to him the pros don't know what I can really do," Katsuki said, looking back at you.

"Maybe, but if anything I think that reflects more on him than you," You responded.

"Hu?" Katsuki exclaimed, confused.

"Well think about it, if you were a pro hero scouting for talent, would you really be interested in a hero who had some reservations about using his full power? Or, would you be more interested in the hero that showed he's always ready to give it everything he's got," You explained.

Katsuki felt something weird in his stomach that he didn't understand.

"Whatever, you're thinking too much about it," He dismissed you.

"Yeah probably, but... I think you would have won regardless of what Todoroki did though," You spoke, causing Katsuki to look away from you again.

"Duh idiot, of course, I would have won," He said, but his voice didn't carry as much anger this time. The room was silent for a moment before Katsuki spoke again. "You know, you didn't do too bad yourself, the way you used your quirk surprised me. I could tell you trained a lot in order to make it so versatile."

"Wow," Your face flushed just the tiniest bit. "Did I really just get a compliment out of Katsuki Bakugo?" You teased, laughing away your blush.

"Oh shut up you damn nerd. Whatever, I got to go," He said, getting up and walking to your window. "I'll see you Monday," He said as he left.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Shout out to @yuichiroleftarm for the enlightenment of Katsuki being re-traumatized by the sludge villain when being restrained again at the Sports Festival .

Tags: @unofficialmuilover

[isaut]

𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒓— f!reader x chrollo lucilfer. 2.5 k, refurbished. original: ao3

synopsis: during a simple heist job two years ago, chrollo offered you a cigarette outside the library. it isn’t his fault he fell in love with you, is it? I finally felt it was time to give this fic a face lift. I’ve changed a lot since I started her, and it only felt right. If this gets a sign off from tumblr.com I’ll change the ao3 version

The skyline of Sirap is stunning, with the silhouetted buildings twinkling with lights, a hum bubbling from the streets and from the blimps in the sky. It’s a place that Chrollo has found solace in, has even made a home and a routine for himself in the past few years. He’s overstayed his welcome, set by his own nature. It’s been years since he’s fallen back into his mysterious, nomadic ways.  

Sitting in his study, Chrollo’s gaze is not on the skyline. He is not taking in the movements below him, taking up an old pastime of watching as people scurry by and wondering where they are going. Instead, his gaze is fixated on his computer, the blue light of the screen singing his eyes, drying them out. The pen in his hand clicks steadily against the stained oak of his desk. 

The steady click click click of the pen does little to soothe the worries that have begun to stir in his stomach. The unsettling feeling on his soul as he reads the message before him.

It’s an email. From his bank. A simple request for 10 000 000 jenny. With a simple message attached. 

I took care of the man who requested I eliminate your lover. I’ve forwarded his balance to you. You should receive a file from me shortly with details. Congratulations on your relationship. 

In a brief fit of rage that is quite unbecoming of the man he wishes to present himself as, Chrollo slams his hand against his desk before lending back in his chair, stewing over the message. He tears his eyes away from the message, looking instead out the large windows before him. He takes a deep breath of the not fresh air, and it does little to calm his emotions. 

As he watches a blimp float by in the sky, red light blinking against the darkness of the night, Chrollo can’t help but feel silly at how emotional he’s being. He can’t help but remember how he used to feel so indifferent, how everything felt stale. 

Stale like the air around him. 

With little reluctance, Chrollo sends the money over to his somewhat of an ally, Illumi. Their relationship was little more than constant transactions. He stands, stretches his arms above his head. Calling himself a banker had its pros: boring enough no one asked about it. It also had its cons: sometimes sitting in front of a computer for too long, researching his next thrill instead of boring into an excel spreadsheet. 

Chrollo thinks that, at the end of the day, death suits him. Even if he’s falsely climbed into the carriage. Even if his back aches from time to time. He briefly considers doing a few of the stretches his lover had recommended. His lover who had gotten him in the mess. The one where he carefully removes bricks from the walls around him and lays new bricks as he lies to cover up his reality. His lover who was still probably perched in the living room, waiting for him to come out of his office.  

The idea of you patiently waiting on the couch fills Chrollo with an uncomfortable guilt. He scrolls through his phone, looking for a text chain. He can’t find it, and resorts to drafting a new text in a small group message of just himself, Shalnark and Machi. If he took time to be truthful with himself, it felt odd texting the two of them. Even a year later, there’s an uncomfortable void, two of them in fact, of accumulated grief that press against his soul. He can’t shake it, nor can he steep in it. 

We need to have a meeting. In the next few months. 

Not ready to linger in those feelings, Chrollo locks his phone. Perhaps he’d mellow in those thoughts of the all consuming grief tonight, with your head resting on his chest as sleep washes over you. His gaze returns to the skyline. It’s dark out, it must be well past dinnertime. 

Chrollo shuts down his computer with the forceful, long press of a button. Shalnark, who set up the device for him, is berating him for not using softer methods. Chrollo pockets his phone, eager to deposit it somewhere and forget about it until morning. The journey from his office to the living room isn’t a long one, and it’s one he can chart by the way you’ve dappled yourself along the path. 

Gentle music flows from the living room, playing on the speakers that were brought from your apartment when you moved in. There’s a sweatshirt of yours on the ground that he picks up without much thought. He deposits it on the back of the couch, upon arriving to a deserted living room. 

It’s not deserted. There’s a blanket that looks like it used to be wrapped around you, slumped in the corner of the couch. There’s a stack of essays on the middle cushion, and a pen set upon them. Half a glass of wine sits on the coffee table, and beside it is your iPad, unlocked. 

Satisfaction brings the cat back. Chrollo leans over the iPad, investigating what you had been doing. He takes it upon himself to close the online shopping tab after seeing the total in the cart. 

Rounding the corner, you hold a mug of tea in your hands. The brightness of the lemongrass tea fills the air, and you take a deep breath, both of the tea and of the sight of your boyfriend. Both senses wake you up. 

Chrollo picks up the blanket, and sits in its place, throwing it over the armrest. He picks up the essay you had been in the middle of grading and flips it to the cover page. It’s thick, at least ten pages. A Turn About the Room: How Women Have Always Been the Secluded Ones. 

“Done working?” You ask him. 

Chrollo rests his arm along the backside of the couch to take you in. One of his shirts peeks out from below an oversized sweater of yours. Glasses perched atop your nose. He holds his hand out to you, palm up. 

“You should be too.”  

“I see how it is,” You say, coming over to his open hand. Your hand is still warm from holding the mug, and you slide your palm easily against Chrollo’s. 

Only, the man before you isn’t Chrollo, no, there is no mass murderer before you. No grandiose thief. He’s just Kuroro, a man with a penchant for reading and a sadness behind his eyes that’s curtained by charisma and a modern day definition of chivalry. 

A man who’s raising his other hand to take the mug from your own  hands, the heat barely bothering him. His fingers twine with yours, and he brings your hand to his lips to place a kiss upon it. 

“Do you?” 

You nod, leaning over the back of the couch and into his personal space and pressing a kiss against his cheek. He smells warm, of mellow, musky notes that you’ve come to associate when you think of him. Home smells like Kuroro, it smells like the cologne he wears and the aftershave in the morning, curling with a warm drink and incense in the air. 

It’s time to stop working for the day. 

Rounding the couch, you take a seat right beside Kuroro. Truly, you’re more so on top of him with the way your knee hinges over his thigh. Neither of you care. Not when you’re so close, not when the world seems to just be the two of you. 

Kuroro returns your mug to you, his now warmed hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“How’s work going?” You ask, blowing on your tea before taking a tentative sip. 

Kuroro hums at your question, resting his hand on your thigh. He rubs his hand over the smooth, plush skin. He ponders over how to answer, how to toe the line between being honest and being deceitful. It’s all for your safety after all. And here he has been, thinking he’d been doing a good job of maintaining your blissful ignorance to the world he hid in. 

“Stressful,” Kuroro admits, taking a deep breath before raising his gaze. 

“Mon pauvre,” You murmur, “Want some tea?” 

Pressing his brows together, Kuroro nods. You watch with infatuated eyes as he does just as you had earlier: blow on the warm drink, letting the steam lick up his face before taking a small sip. 

“Want to go get dinner?” You pose. “I haven’t eaten yet… We could go to the sushi place down the block.” 

The news Kuroro had received minutes earlier rings in his head. Bounces from ear to ear, unable to be ignored. He thinks of the mom and pop restaurant that had infatuated the two of you, of the kind couple who ran it. Of the grandma who greeted you everytime you came in. Who cooed over how cute of a couple you made. 

He thinks of an assassination attempt on either one of you. Of the chaos it would cause, of the rubble and the debris. He can envision your scared expression. The dead bodies of the kind family he’d come to know so well. 

It tugs at his heartstrings in a way he had believed was long since dead. Perhaps you had made him too soft. Too human. He felt the youth coursing through his soul again. 

With reluctance, Kuroro shakes his head. “I’ll make us something. Then you don’t have to get dressed.” 

“You’re so considerate,” You say with a smile. “What are we having?” 

“I have to check the fridge,” Kuroro replies. “Want to join me in the kitchen?” 

Of course you do. You’d altered your 10 year plan to accommodate the man. You’d follow him anywhere. 

Kuroro is, in his nature, secretive. It has always carried a certain charm with it: adds to the allure of his dark hair, his well-read nature and clean dress. However, you’ve picked up on a few tells he carries around with him. For instance, when he’s set on surprising you there’s a boyish glint in his brown eyes. When he’s morose in thoughts of life, both his own and philosophical, he’s oddly talkative. Always eager to find solace with his head on your chest or in your lap. And when he’s had a bad day at work, he’s quiet. 

You don’t like when he’s quiet. It’s not that you feel the need to fill silence with Kuroro. In fact, normally it’s quite the opposite. Silence is comfortable. 

The silence that hangs in the kitchen is not the comforting closeness you’ve grown to love. 

As Kuroro investigates the fridge for something to eat, you take it upon yourself to put on some music in the background. Amy Winehouse’s voice seeps through the silence. 

“Do you want tteokbokki?” Kuroro asks, holding a bag of rice cakes in his hand. His other rests on the refrigerator door. 

You come to stand beside him, peering into the fridge. It’s barren. Only a few condiments and pickled vegetables litter the shelves. You feel an emptiness in your stomach. Did you eat lunch? 

“Sure,” You say, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Do you want some help?” 

“Just your company,” Kuroro responds smoothly, closing the door and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. The base notes of his cologne still cling to his skin. There’s cedar and vanilla. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, releasing you slowly. 

The gesture has your heart skipping a beat. You feel your face warm, feel as Kuroro’s hand slides along your shoulders. 

It makes Kuroro smile slightly, watching your reaction come over. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, then opens the refrigerator open again. 

“Go sit. I’ll get you some more wine.” 

You wet your lips as you take your place on the kitchen island. Kuroro sets the chilled white wine bottle in front of you, then busies himself in the kitchen, combining spices and sauces together and simmering them over low heat. 

To keep his mind off whatever was bothering him, you launch into telling him about the essays you’ve been grading— Final papers for your class on women’s oppression in literature. You teach it every other year in the spring, and this conversation is reminiscent of one you had when you first met Kuroro. 

This one is about Rokeya’s Sultana’s Dream and Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It’s a fresh take on Austen’s work, and you’re glad to see Rokeya being cited. There are a few inconsistencies in the line of reasoning, but the student is a year too young to technically take the course. She reminds you of yourself, if you’re being completely honest— Ambitious, if not a little scatterbrained. 

Kuroro turns off the stove and sets the pot atop a woven potholder in front of you. He adds side bowls and chopsticks to the spread. 

“I’d love to take a peek,” He says, getting himself a wine glass to join in with your drinking. 

“You can. Want to see it now?” 

Kuroro shakes his head and sits next to you. “You know I’ll get sauce all over it.” 

Shrugging, you pick up your chopsticks. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve spilt on an essay. “Thanks for cooking tonight.” 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Kuroro says as his you’re welcome. 

Even with his stomach pleasantly full, the overhead fan humming, and you pressed up against his side, sleep evades Chrollo. He tilts his head to the side, his hair fanned out on the too soft pillow. All pillows are too soft to him, anyways. He cushions his head for your comfort. 

Sleep’s tireless evasion from Chrollo is not one that he’s a stranger to. He often finds himself in this same position, surrounded by newfound comforts, his heart thrumming softly, his eyes on the twinkling lights of Sirap. Absentmindedly, he rubs his hand up and down your side, taking solace in the way your stomach moves with every deep breath you take. 

When you don’t drink before bed, you’re quick to rouse at his gentle petting. Sometimes, you wake at even the slightest shift. Groggily blinking away and rubbing your eyes, trying to see what’s wrong in the pitch black room. 

Not tonight. Tonight, you’re full and there’s wine in your brain. And Chrollo is alone with his thoughts. 

He turns his head to look at you. Cranes his neck to place a kiss to the top of your head without jostling you. 

There’s a grief on his soul tonight, and it’s not own he’s used to. Albeit accustomed to loss, Chrollo’s heart can’t fathom experiencing the gravity of loss again. To be responsible for someone’s death who was so innocent, who had nothing to do with the circumstances he put her in. 

So he places another kiss to your forehead, and shifts himself to wrap both of his arms around you. Invites your legs to tangle against his. He closes his eyes, and despite wishing for sleep it continues to evade him. So he takes deep breaths of you: shampoo, bodywash, oils and lotions. He lays in the dark, simply waiting. 

[mrfrogmouth]

Day 10: Heroic/Blow to the Head

You’re something we can see. Something we can touch. How are you not a miracle? — James Olsen, 3x04 “The Faithful”

In a completely shocking and not at all expected turn of events, Lena is the last one left in the office. The building is emptier than usual— the Friday after Christmas usually means an empty office— and Lena has outlasted even the late night cleaning crew. 

The building is quiet now except for the scratching of Lena’s pen as she annotates a report and the low hum of the lamp on her desk that she has been unable to eliminate despite multiple degrees in electric engineering. It’s not even that nice a lamp, a tacky modern thing that had been in the office when she moved in. But it’s a matter of pride now and Lena won’t be the first to admit defeat. 

The lamp flickers, and Lena wonders idly if it is simply going to cease function completely before it is quiet. It flickers again. Then the power goes out. 

Alright then. 

The lights from the rest of the city are still shining through her windows. Lena sets her pen down and begins the count to her auxilory generators, left hand casually reaching for the locked drawer in her desk. The one that requires a thumbprint to open. 

28… 29… 30. 

No lights. 

She clicks the drawer open and reaches for the pistol inside. 

Footsteps in the hall.

Lena pulls out the gun and climbs under the desk. It’s late. Holiday season. They might just be thieves, waiting for a time everyone is at home. 

The door cracks open. Lena holds her breath. 

Expensive bottles line the shelves on the left wall. A few statuettes on the right. Good to grab and go. If they want company secrets, the prototypes are downstairs in R&D, but there’s a computer on the desk. Which are they looking for? 

The footsteps grow closer. Lena’s fingers find the trigger. 

And then the desk flips. 

Suddenly exposed, Lena turns as a massive hand finds a grip in her hair. Then her face smashes into the upturned desk. Spots cross her vision. Her ears ring. Which way is up? Her head feels like it must have split in half. And then a metal cord tightens around her neck. Tighter. Tighter. Her fingernails scrabble at her throat. She dropped— Where is— Her lungs burn. The window. The shining lights have started to blur. I’m going to die. I’m dying. I’m dying. Oh god. Oh god I’m—

The window explodes. 

Lena’s would-be murderers go flying. Her expensive scotch case shatters as they strike the wall and collapses on top of them. Face pressed into the itchy plastic rug, Lena gasps. 

Gentle hands cup her shoulders and lift her onto her knees. Supergirl’s gaze is as soft as her hands. She smells like vanilla. And gunsmoke. “It will be alright.” She says, wiping Lena’s face with a kleenex. It comes back red. Is she bleeding? “You’re safe now, Ms. Luthor.” 

Sitting on the floor surrounded by shards of glass, red cape around her shoulders, Lena believes her. 

[enki2]

The more persistent control you have over a device, the more you and the device adapt to each other, becoming a more effective group organism. The higher the input and output bandwidth of the interface (i.e., the greater the number of distinct ways you can interact with it / it can respond to you), the faster the system can adapt.

So, the horse metaphor makes perfect sense: your desktop ships with a real keyboard on which you can probably do 300 WPM without blocking part of the display, and has a display that can hold half a dozen legible non-overlapping windows. If you have a screwdriver, you can open it up and replace basically any part. Even without a screwdriver, you can generally out of the box persistently dramatically change the UI settings to fit the needs of your environment (light vs dark mode, font size and style). You can stick linux on & that opens up a lot more. On a desktop computer, it's possible for a motivated 10 year old of average intelligence to progress from normal computer use to writing non-trivial application software for their own use within a couple years -- I am proof, & I'm far from alone.

Tablets are on the opposite end of the spectrum: simplified, locked down. The user does not collaborate with the tablet; instead, the tablet has only those affordances that channel the user's behavior into habits the developers of the tablet software consider desirable.

Mobile & web achieved the dream of proprietary software people: user-facing software that the user can't even disassemble because the important parts aren't accessible; since they did this through physical distance rather than the legal system, they can profit from other people's open source software too, circumventing many of the restrictions intended to keep improvements folded back into the community or to limit commercial use. But the side effect of this is that it gives professional computer touchers much more control over regular people's computers: not only can you not fix bugs in someone else's web app yourself, but you can't refuse to upgrade to a version that's a worse fit for your purposes. Where desktop computing encouraged the development of communities of amateur computer hobbyists who, together, would adapt or create alternatives to things that didn't work right (as well as creating lots of interesting, funny, unnecessary stuff that can only be classified as Art -- little games and toys, elaborate shitposts, weird mods and skins), mobile does not. The only thing you need to make your desktop computer do something brand new is a desktop computer, the software development tools & documentation that ship with the OS, and some free time -- you don't even need an internet connection; developing for web or mobile also functionally requires a desktop, on top of your mobile device for mobile (and if it's an iPhone you gotta have a Mac & pay Apple $99/year), & for web you need to pay for hosting and a domain name.

[hylandude]

Hey saw your (awesome) post about WinDirStat, and was wondering if you have any other random/general tech advice for ppl who are just total computer noobs?

-sincerely, a noob.

I'm going to assume that you are using windows cause you are saying you are a noob but don't worry I'll go on my legally required Linux rant in a moment!

Learning a few keyboard shortcuts can help make your life easier. A few of my favorites are:

Windows Key (Win, from now on) + Arrow keys = Move windows arround easily, snap them to the sides and minimize

Win + E = open the file explorer

Win + L = Lock your screen

Win + [any number 1-9] = Open the program that's on the taskbar corresponding to the number you pressed, like this:

Check out that link and look up what might help you use your PC more efficiently!

Another useful tool I really like is Greenshot makes it so that you can take screenshots of specific areas and edit them easily, I used it for the screenshot above!

Now its time for the Linux rant! As a trans woman, programmer and linux user I am legally required to tell you to ditch windows and install any flavor of linux (personally I prefer Fedora) I know switching operating systems can be scary and moving things you've never even heard of when there's a (very low) possibility of bricking your PC. Linux mint is amazing for begginers, I just installed it on my bf's PC and he has been having no issues using it.I will eventually install it as well on my wife's machine because Windows 10 end of life is on october this year. That sounds scary but just means that it will no longer be updated and thus will likely have security issues as the time passes.

Linux is not virus proof (neither is mac! no one's safe) but in general malware is designed to run in windows cause that's what most people use and thus provides the most profit. Just practice common sense when using the internet and don't be clicking on random links provided by strangers. Always question and be curious, you can only learn by asking!

~~ Your friendly neighborhood trans girl

[kasienda]

Celebrity Status - Ch 9: One Last Kiss

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

Read on Ao3

I was going to post this one tomorrow for the @ladrienjune Day 2 - prompt, Gorgeous, but honestly that one is a little bit of a stretch. And I read caterinawrite's Ladrien June story (go read it! It's starting off so cute!!), and she felt empowered to write for prompts that aren't today. AND I just wanted there to more stuff out today on Day 1!! Because IT'S LADRIEN JUNE!!! And I'm excited!!

This chapter lines up nicely with Day 18 - Secret Relationship and Day 29 - Make Out. Like really well.

Chapter 9: One Last Kiss

Ladybug touched down softly on Adrien’s bedroom floor. He didn’t notice immediately, his attention on his computer screen. 

She let herself just watch him for a moment. Locks of his hair fell out of place and into his eyes, just a less than perfect enough to be endearing. He was reading something and his expression was natural, resting, and just so relaxed. She rarely ever saw him like this.

She smiled fondly, and made herself knock on the window behind her. 

He whirled towards her, his face lighting up like sunshine first creeping over the horizon in the morning. 

Something in her chest twisted - something both warm and sad at once. 

She loved him a little more each day. She didn’t want to end this thing that they had.

She had already lost Alya. Why did she give everything up? 

And so she didn’t stop him when his arms circled around her waist, when his lips found hers. 

He clearly meant for the kiss to be chaste - a sweet greeting to his quasi girlfriend. It was Ladybug who deepened it.

If she was only going to get one more kiss, she needed it to be out of this world. She needed to feel it in her toes. She wanted him to always remember it. 

Because kissing him one last time wasn’t risking anything they hadn’t already risked. Especially since no one could see them. They were in his room inside a mansion that had a three meter wall around it. As long as she didn’t keep visiting him regularly he should be safe.

And so she lost herself in the dance of their tongues, the warmth of his breath, the safety of being held in his arms. 

But it couldn’t last forever.

When she pulled back, his eyes remained closed, his face was glowing in pure delight. He rested his forehead against hers. 

“Wow, what did I do to earn such a kiss?”

Her chest tightened in agony. 

He must have seen something in her expression because his smile dissolved, and his hands tightened on her waist. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We can’t do this,” she said, tears building in her eyes. 

“What? Why not?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“If anyone ever found out, Hawkmoth would never let you be.” 

“No one has to find out,” he insisted. 

“I shouldn’t be visiting you regularly like this at all. It’s too dangerous.” 

He shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s worth the risk. You are worth the risk.” 

She pulled out of his hold. “No! I’m not! Don’t you understand?! He could use you against me, and it would work! I would hand over everything for you.”

He looked thunderstruck. “What?” he whispered. 

“I love you,” she confessed. “I have for a long time. Longer than you realize. I wouldn’t be strong enough. We have to stop this.” 

He stepped closer to her, smiling softly in that way that turned her insides to jelly. His hands cradled either side of her face. 

“Yeah…” he breathed a centimeter from her face. “We should stop.”

His lips were on hers once again. 

They didn’t stop. 

…

Ladybug didn’t visit again for three days. Adrien worried that she wouldn’t come back. 

He really really wanted her to come back, but he wasn’t sure he deserved for her to come back. Had he pressured her the last time? She had tried to break up with him, albeit for stupid reasons, and he had just kept kissing her. 

And that didn’t include the fact that he was essentially lying to her. She had already said no to Chat Noir, and yes, she was the one that insisted they still keep their identities secret. 

He still felt like he was lying about who he was. 

But he had loved her since the day they met for her determination and bravery, for her ability to stand up against a literal supervillain. And over the last few weeks, he’d gotten to see a softer side of her where she could share her fears, where she could let herself be silly. And he loved her more. 

Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to keep this. He understood that she was scared for him, but he could protect himself. 

If only he could explain that to her. 

When they met for patrol, he probably would have broken down and told her everything except she was so agitated he could barely keep up with her and at the end of it she was off before they could talk. 

Now, he wanted her to come back not for him, but because he was worried about her. She was clearly upset or hurting about something. Maybe she still hadn’t been able to make up with her friend, or maybe the internet was saying something stupid again. 

He just wanted her to be okay, and he thought he could help her get there if she wasn’t already. 

But he couldn’t do that if she wasn’t here. 

She showed up in his room an hour later. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked when she landed an hour later in his room. 

She huffed. “It’s not like I’m allowed to be anything else.” 

He stepped closer. “What can I do?” he offered, careful not to initiate any contact. She should be the one to decide what she wanted from him. 

“Kiss me,” she begged. 

He was only too happy to oblige. 

“I can’t come again,” she told him later that night. 

He wanted to argue. Instead he only nodded. “I understand.”

She came back again two nights later, sweeping him up in her arms and kissing him senseless immediately. He found himself hoisted up, and his legs immediately wrapped around her waist for support.

Her lips attacked his own, and he met her strike for strike. She trailed down his jaw and his neck, and then into his ear sending shivers down his spine. 

He returned the favor, wanting to make her feel as good as she made him. To distract her clearly from whatever it was that was bothering her even if she couldn’t explain. 

Maybe especially when she couldn’t explain because what else could he do? 

“That really has to be the last time,” she gasped between kisses. 

“Of course,” he agreed readily. 

They both knew it wouldn’t be. 

… 

The akuma caught him completely off guard. He had been in fencing practice when the akuma broke through the wall, demanding his heart. 

She wasn’t just collecting hearts. She wanted Adrien Agreste specifically, which meant he had no way to transform. 

He took off running instead. He made it out of the school into the open, only to trip over a crack. It only cost him two seconds, but the akuma was faster. 

He managed to kick her away. It turned out to be enough because a second later Ladybug swooped down and scooped him up and away before the akuma recovered.

He relaxed against her tiny frame, trusting she could carry him to safety as she had done more times than she knew. 

“What’d you do this time?” she asked with a teasing lilt. 

“I don’t know!” he insisted. “Just an ordinary rabid fangirl I guess.” 

She nodded sagely. “Ah, you committed the crime of being too pretty.”

He sighed. “Anyway! I vote we don’t wait for Chat Noir,” he said. “This one is insanely fast. You can use me as bait.” 

She hesitated, and he mentally prepared himself for her argument. But instead she called for her lucky charm, took in the scene around them, her brows furrowing in that adorable way they always did when’s he was concentrating. 

Then she nodded. “Yeah, okay. Here’s the plan.”

Her plan worked perfectly. Once the akuma was purified, she turned to him with an offered fist. 

“Not bad for a pretty boy.” 

He stepped past her offered fist, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What? No fist bump?” she asked, grinning. 

“Doesn’t the princess always kiss the hero who saves them?” he countered, leaning down, hovering a few centimeters over her lips. 

Her blue eyes sparkled. “You’re the princess in this story?” 

“Absolutely!” he grinned cheekily. “Over protective father, locked away in a tower, magic hair.” 

She laughed. “It fits too well!”

“It’s good to see you laugh,” he told her, with a soft smile. “I haven’t seen you laugh as much of late.”

She eyed him, caressed either side of his face in her hands and closed the distance between them. 

Her lips swallowed his own in feelings that were becoming far too familiar but never enough. 

“Stay safe, princess,” she whispered. And then she was gone. 

And he stood alone on an outdoor terrace, wondering how to get down. No one witnessed his lovesick sigh or the grin on his face.

Or so he thought.

…

See you again on Day 6: Social Media ^_^

[bleached-socks]

Since people have been talking about Squad Zero on one of my posts, I wanted to take the time to share my Squad Zero Lore that I made for a fanfic I'm writing

Rumors about Squad Zero make them seem significantly stronger than they are, though that is completely on purpose on their end. Their boosted power comes from being in the Royal Realm, which is the connecting point between the three realms (Soul Society, Hueco Mundo, World of the Living). This nexus of realms is subjected to a lot of power, which is reflected by the Royal Realm. That is also why the Royal Guard bankais shake all three realms, not because of how powerful they are, but because the place they were released in is connected to all three realms. The Royal Realm is actually technically accessible from all three realms, the soul society is the only one with a with an actual entrance.

Imagine the Royal Realm was a building with three walls. All three walls can be penetrated with enough force. They can be broken with less force if you know the right techniques. They all have vunerable spots like windows that can be broken more easily. However the Soul Society side has a door. If you have the key, you can open the door and enter no problem. The lock can also be picked for easy access, if you're skilled enough. To enter from the Shadow Realm would be like breaking in through the basement, much harder to do, but a lot less expected. And to be clear, it takes a LOT of power and skill to even begin to do ANY of these things.

Squad Zero captains are recruited for their intellect and resoursefulness. All of the Squad Zero captains invented something that became a core part of Soul Reaper operations (although that wasn't necessarily why they were recruited). They are all shown to be very resourceful. You can also be recruited from outside of the 13 Court Guard Squads if Ichibe decides you are valuble enough. O'Etsu and Tenjiro were not Soul Reapers when they were recruited.

O'Etsu was recruited before the 13 Court Guard Squads were a thing, due to inventing zanpakutos. This very much contribues to his arrogance, since he was the first person allowed in the Royal Realm besides Ichibe and Reio. Senjumaru was the original Lieutenant of Squad 12. She invented many things but most notably the shihakusho. But she was actually recruited for the invention of computers, which in real life were an evolution of the loom, so it fits with her character. They were fairly basic computers that future generations expanded on greatly, but she’s the one who got it started. She went straight from Lieutentent to Squad Zero captain. Tenjiro had trained Unohana in healing techniques, and then she adapted them to combat while he focused on creating stronger healing by condensing healing energy into a stationary location. He then declined a position with the Soul Reapers in favor of researching better healing, and eventually he invented the healing springs which allowed him to be invited to Squad Zero. It was also around when he was recruited that the Squad Zero captains were allowed to bring workers up to assist them in their duties. Kirio was recruited for her invention of soul candies and gigai. She was the most recently recruited. She feels very out of her depth in the Royal palace and is slowly realizing that Squad Zero is not the organization that she'd thought it was…

Just being in the Royal Realm gives you a power boost. The longer you are in there, the more your power is boosted. It takes about an hour for the boost to become noticable. This is where Renji's power boost came from and part of where Ichigo's power boost came from. The speed of growth is steady for about a month, upon which the growth rate starts slowing dramatically. Your power contines to grow, but not at nearly the same speed. After 10 years, the power growth is negligible. When you leave the Royal Realm, that boost starts to fade, and does so at a much greater speed than gaining that power in the first place, which is why Squad Zero rarely leave the Royal Realm. Part of the power boost is permanent, but a lot of it will fade over time once you leave the Royal Realm.

The exception to the "Squad Zero is not as stong as they seem" rule is Ichibe. He is wicked powerful. As the first living being, and as someone who has an emense amount of power, Ichibe is a lot stronger than people realize. ...or he would be if he didn't get super lazy over millennia and stop practicing his power, causing it to fade from disuse. He is genuinely strong, but if he were at full strength, Yhwach would’ve had no chance at defeating him.