#so i figure its probably close to the number i had saved

[lesbian-space-fish]

fucked up that they don’t put radios in boomboxes anymore

[flamingtouya]

𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 —

pairing: dabi + afab!reader

word count: 4471

cw: nsfw, smoking, alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, pining, lots of flirting, dabi being a lovesick mess

summary: dabi doesn't know love. doesn't know tenderness. he doesn't dare seek it out, always denying himself the one thing he's afraid he won't be able to get enough of once he's had a taste. but you - oh, you - you're too intriguing to not get a little too close.

Silence is its own form of violence. 

Silence has a way of consuming Todoroki Touya’s heart and swallowing him whole. Silence, to him, is as loud as the infinite rage burning at the core of his heart, the one that hollows out the space between his ribs and leaves him bare. Even though he died years ago, silence is the one thing that eats away at his soul and spits it back up, exposing him to the rawness, the viciousness of his untamed emotions. It renders him unguarded. Naked. So utterly, laughably vulnerable. 

It only makes sense that Dabi likes to avoid silence. 

His skin prickles with anticipation and his palms light up, wicked euphoria pulling on every muscle in his body and making his heart pound up in his ears. “Y'know, I was in a good mood just now,” he snarls. "Piss off while you still can.”

The villain in front of him flexes his quirk, four muscular arms stretching wide enough to block the way out of the dead-end alley. Dabi tilts his head to the side at the pathetic intimidation attempt. Something about this particular group of lowlifes is rubbing him the wrong way - their obnoxious cockiness, sheer confidence in their numbers, the taunting stares, as if to say 'Pity, you got lost on our turf'. He's not quite sure. Doesn't know, doesn’t care. They want blood. He’ll give it to them. One of the men shouts a vile insult in his direction, but the venom dies in his throat the moment Dabi flashes his most deranged grin, all teeth and manic ecstasy. “Then die.”

Blue flames engulf the alley in an instant. Vicious and bloodthirsty, as though they're being driven by a murderous rage of their own, feeding on the meal that was gifted to them. Adrenaline explodes in Dabi’s stomach; His back muscles ache, staples tugging on the scarred flesh, limbs screaming in agony - it’s pure exhilaration. The men's gargling screams cease within seconds, bright heat retreating just as fast as it had appeared. One body hits the ground. Then another. And another. The gang leader's charred corpse drops mere inches from Dabi's feet. Dabi steps forward, making it a point to bury his boot in the spot where the villain's face used to be. 

"Stepped in shit."

He puts his hands in his pockets and walks away, as he'd done so often before. To any sane person, the sight of the bodies left behind would be as vomit-inducing as the accompanying stench of burnt flesh. But Dabi has gotten so terribly used to it, his nose doesn’t even itch. 

By the time he comes down from his high, the smoke begins to dissolve into the night sky and silence comes crashing down around him once again.

_________________________________________

Your figure is draped across the couch, face hidden behind the cover of a dusty novel. The room is quiet, save for the occasional turning of a page and the rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the book’s spine. Some of the cigarette cinder falls beside the tray and you flick it again, this time deliberately letting it fall onto the wanted poster below and watching as the ash slowly eats a hole into the crumpled paper.

Dabi barges in without so much as kicking his boots off. Before you can even properly take in how dishevelled he looks he’s made his way past you, not sparing you a glance, perhaps not even fully realising you're there. You don’t say anything, just furrow your eyebrows and stare at the fresh burn on the back of his neck as he rummages through the cupboard behind the bar.

It's too shallow to leave a scar. Probably. If it heals right. If he lets it heal right. He won't, though, won't even use the ointment that Toga had gotten him from the pharmacy, purchased with her own money (that she had stolen, but it's the thought that counts). Even Tomura called him stupid when he refused. Which Dabi definitely was when it came to self-preservation. Or lack thereof. So there sits the new patch of fresh red on his neck, waiting to dry out and join the sea of scars on his shoulders.

It takes you more effort to tear your eyes away than you’d like to admit. Suddenly, the small crinkle on the corner of page 106 is very interesting.

Dabi finally gets his fingers on some cheap Whiskey and raises the bottle to his lips without bothering to pour a glass. A waste, really. He gulps down three, four mouthfuls, seemingly unbothered by the streaks of liquid that seep through his teeth and trickle down onto his collarbone. Satisfied when his throat is burning with the same intensity as the scorched skin under his shirt, Dabi slams the bottle on the counter. He blinks six, seven times before the wooden texture under his fingers begins to blur. Soon enough he’s cooled down, the annoying buzzing in his head replaced by a soothing numbness. 

But the quiet around you is eating him alive. Still waters run deep, and Dabi wants to keep things shallow wherever he can. So he does something he’s never done before - something he thinks he’ll end up cursing himself for. 

He acknowledges your presence. 

"You read?" 

You glance up from the page, giving him a suspicious once-over before diving back into the safety of your book. "You speak?" 

Neither of you say anything for days afterward. 

____________________________

It’s you who breaks the silence next. 

“You’re filthy,” you comment when he returns at the crack of dawn. And you reek of burns. You don’t expect any kind of response. But Dabi is a man of many surprises, even as generous as to look your way when he retorts, “you’re nosy.” 

He’s clutching his elbow with one hand and opening the bar cupboard with the other. Glancing at the trail his boots leave on the floor, you wrinkle your nose and decide to push your luck. 

“Do you have to get blood on the carpet?” 

“Shut up.” 

“It’s disgusting enough as it is.” 

He lets you interpret his lack of a response as agreement, or maybe you’ve seen him like this often enough to know how loud his head is buzzing already.

By the next time he makes it back later than he should, the bottle of Whiskey is waiting for him on the counter. 

____________________________

He doesn’t notice. Not at first. How this is turning into a game of cat-and-mouse. You and Dabi dance around each other like fire would around gasoline, and it’s starting to irritate him. He finds himself removing his boots before plopping into the couch seat across from yours. Always irritated when you brush him off. Always amused that he can’t seem to get a rise out of you. 

“You’re smoking hot tonight, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “Spare me a cigarette?” 

You look up from whatever meaningless video is playing on your phone. He’s done this a few times before, calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘princess’ in that mocking tone of his. You don’t mind, because talking to Dabi is like talking to an NPC most of the time anyways and it at least shows he considers you someone worth name-calling. Instead of meeting his face, your eyes fall on the half-empty Whiskey he’s gripping a little too tightly. He frowns.

“If you hand me that bottle.” 

Dabi rolls his eyes. As if he’s ever going to consider such a trade. Maybe some part of him actually is. He doesn’t allow himself to think about it, lest he’s forced to admit that the alcohol does indeed taste bad. “Fuck you.” He sways the bottle in your direction. “But I’m down to share. Feeling generous tonight.” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Don’t want to. Haven’t had alcohol in a while.”

“A shame. You should try it. Makes you give less of a fuck,” he says, and for a moment you’re taken aback by the honesty. That’s the thing about Dabi; All you ever get is fleeting glimpses of sincerity, a split second where his persona slips and he’s forced to feel something. You don’t acknowledge it out loud, taking the pieces as they come and even if some don’t fit quite right, you never pry. Dabi appreciates it, you think. As far as his appreciation goes, anyways. The man before you is a riddle that doesn’t want to be solved.

He’s back to himself in a heartbeat and you realise he’s looking at you, expecting an answer.

“But then I’d ignore you completely,” you nod in his direction. “And you wouldn’t have any fun trying to annoy me.”

He ponders for a moment and takes another swig. A hint of a triumphant smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you allow it to show when he’s not looking. 

____________________________

It creeps up on him, how aggravatingly familiar your presence is becoming. He hates the word, hates the implications of it. You’re not family. He’d like to think you’re far more annoying, if that’s even possible. 

So when he returns particularly early one night and you’re not in your usual spot on the couch, he’s… puzzled. There’s no book, no ashtray, no charger on the floor. No trace of you having been here tonight. In one of the drawers lie several burner phones - he fetches one and punches your number in. The exposed skin on his wrist protests at the friction.

> the fuck you at?

He’s about to go on a scavenging hunt behind the bar when the phone buzzes. 

> out

"No shit," Dabi scoffs. He debates whether or not he should leave it at that. His fingers make the decision for him, typing out a response before his head has fully caught up. 

> shit answer. try again

He wants to toss the phone away but his eyes are glued to the message that pops up immediately.

> watasecho bridge

Dabi frowns at your choice of a quiet spot. He's got an approximate idea of where you are. A few minutes later he's navigating through a narrow passage that leads to the platform below the railway bridge, where most of the lamps are either broken or have been smashed to bits. It's no less eerie than he remembers. Watasecho is where people go looking for trouble, after all.

He’d know. He's cremated a man here. 

Dabi sucks in his breath and turns the corner. Something whirls by him, coming dangerously close to slicing his ear and hitting concrete behind him with a graceless ‘clink’. 

His eyebrows go up in surprise but his posture remains relaxed, shoulders slouched, one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other coming up to check for blood. "You missed." 

"If I wanted to impale your neck, I would've."

"I know, sweet cheeks. But unfortunately for you, I'm as un-impaled as ever." 

You huff at the snark in his tone. "Don't make me reconsider." 

“So mean. Even though I just got here.” Dabi takes his spot beside you, resting his elbows on the railing. The only lights around were the lamps from the highway below, illuminating your face in a way that made his stomach feel a little too light for his liking.

You shrug. “Figured you wouldn’t bother.”

"Please, I'm a bother. You should know," he says. Of all people, you should know. And you do.

You press the cigarette butt against the railing and stick another in your mouth.

“How so? Indulge me.” 

“If you give me that pack,” he mocks. It’s your turn to scoff, though you can’t deny that there’s a visible hint of a smile there, too. You pretend to contemplate for a moment. “No,” you muse. “I don’t think I will.” You hold the lighter close and flick it. Nothing happens. Try again. Nothing. 

The piece of shit is empty. 

You let out a frustrated groan and Dabi snatches it from you, inspecting the cheap plastic before giving it a good flick down the highway. It barely misses an oncoming truck. “Looks like you’re in a pinch.”

You tilt your head to look at him, cigarette still in mouth. “Can you be not annoying for like, two minutes?” 

“It has nothin’ to do with whether I can, and everythin’ to do with whether I want to. And the answer to that,” he says, “is ‘No’.” You pout. Sure enough, Dabi does nothing to hide his amused smirk. “Say ‘please’ and I might help you out.”

The implication isn’t lost on you. Warmth pools in your stomach and you raise an eyebrow at him, playing with the cigarette between your lips, fumbling through your pockets in hopes that another lighter would magically appear. You huff when it doesn’t. “I’d rather go through withdrawal.”

Dabi exhales deliberately, making a point of dropping his shoulders. “Such a piece of work.” 

He takes the cigarette from your lips and puts it to his, pinching the end between his thumb and index finger. The stick lights up briefly. You begrudgingly mutter your thanks and reach for it but Dabi leans away from you, not breaking your gaze. Shoulders wide and shiteating grin plastered on his face, he chuckles as he takes the first drag. The staples at the corners of his mouth tug on the purplish skin when he exhales, visibly amused when the smoke blows in your direction. 

You roll your eyes and groan, though your voice is softer than you’re used to when you speak; "You're a chronic nuisance and nobody loves you." 

"Sweetheart, I'm well aware." 

You finger another cigarette from the pack and hold it out to him expectantly. To your surprise, he complies. The flame he conjures dances around the tip of his finger. Up close like this, it’s… warm. 

It’s not supposed to be. Dabi isn't supposed to be warm or comforting or any of those things. He’s vicious, cold-blooded. Ruthless and vengeful. His sins are written over his body from the cheekbones to the shoulders, wrapped around his torso and hips, and most recently, his hands. The burns that used to hug his wrists so tenderly are beginning to crawl toward his knuckles. He’s not supposed to feel like warmth. Vicious. Cold-blooded. He’s a despicable person, inside and out.

Beyond despicable. That’s why you hate him, you think. 

That's why you… what?

You’re smacked out of your trance when his hand drops to his side. Thankfully his attention seems to be on the highway below. It’s not very busy, but it’s something to focus on. Slowly, you bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale. Your body welcomes the tobacco's bitterness as it creeps into your lungs and manages to dissolve some of the tension between your shoulders. 

Dabi burns through half of his cigarette in under a minute. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, shoulders dropped when he tilts his head back, eyes closed. Nothing to keep the silence at bay. He invites it in, soaks it up and lets it burn for a little bit before his body forces him to exhale again. 

It strikes you then that he’s… beautiful. His jaw is sharp and the slight curve of his nose all the softer. You wouldn't call him pretty. Handsome, maybe, despite his scars and jarred edges. Definitely attractive. Even the wind seems to think so as it caresses his hair in a way that makes your heart sting with envy. For some reason, Dabi looks small. Unguarded, with his throat exposed like that. 

"There a reason you keep eyefucking me?" 

The tranquillity around him vanishes in an instant, replaced by that familiar, snarky arrogance. Dabi's eyes open and flicker to your figure. You hold your breath. “There a reason you keep burning yourself up like that?”

He seems to consider your words as he takes one last drag. “Maybe I just like to chase death around the block,” he says, voice laced with endearing sarcasm. “Keeps things interesting.”

“Then I’ll just have to guess why you decided to humour me tonight.” 

"Because I hate you," he lies. 

Huh. 

You giggle, and the giggle bubbling up turns into laughter. Dabi’s heart skips a beat. You don’t see how his mouth opens and closes, don’t see how he almost, almost smiles, relishing in the moment - the crinkles in the corner of your eye when you laugh, the lovely sound of your joy - what the fuck did he say again?

It’s kind of amusing, frankly. “I really don’t think that you do,” you say, evidently confident even though your heart is racing.

So is his, but he doesn’t let it show, tries to bury it before the pounding in his chest escapes. Dabi raises an eyebrow. “That your second quirk?”

"More of a natural gift, actually.” You have his undivided attention, the intensity of his gaze boring right through you as you speak. “Can’t really help it. I just know when people lie." 

Dabi freezes. The cigarette butt between his fingers crumbles to ash in an instant. 

"You are not who you say you are, Dabi." 

How far should you go? 

"What you’re hiding is none of my business.” 

This far. 

“But you are not here for Stain's cause, and you really don't like Whiskey - I don't get why you force yourself to pretend you do.” 

Just a little bit further. 

“But it seems you do believe that nobody loves you." 

Maybe too far. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

Not with him.

Dabi hasn’t moved, hasn’t made any attempt to murder you either, so you push it. You bring your palm up to his face, stopping mere inches from his scarred jawline. 

"And you do not hate me."

"I do." 

Maybe he should just ignite you on the spot. If he burns hot enough, there won’t be a corpse left to be found. He mentally shuffles through a multitude of scenarios in which he convinces Shigaraki that they were better off without you. 

For some stupid fucking reason, he comes up blank.

Your hand withdraws from him, coming to rest at your side. He flinches at the sudden loss. Fucking flinches, like you’ve scorched him with the mere implication of your touch. 

Something in your chest is trying to get out. For a second there you might burst. Hell, if that means he can finally see that you care, really care, you might as well. Some things aren’t meant to be said out loud and if Dabi is still capable of softness, you’re hoping he feels it too, the thing that passes between the two of you. Your heart aches for him in ways that shouldn’t be possible and yet here you are, standing before the man that’s lost count of how many lives he’s taken. Longing for him to need you the way you need him to.

"I can't get rid of that emptiness in you." 

"You're right," he says, and it’s much easier when he knows you see right through his lies. "You can't." 

“I don’t think anybody can.” 

Something in the back of his mind cries out. He’s turned the happy smile on your face into a sad one - one that wants to wipe off your face, not violently, not with harsh words, but tenderly. His eyes flicker to your cheek, your neck, your lips. 

It’s silent.

“But I can kiss you.”

Oh.

Yeah. Dabi thinks he would like that.

His lips meet yours, not even giving you a chance to think or breathe, and before you fully realise that it’s really happening you're kissing him back, all lips and tongue and teeth and a slight whimper escapes you. Mercifully, he doesn't stop to comment, but there's a hint of smugness when he slips his tongue into your mouth. His hands find your hips and he guides you backwards until your back is against the concrete. He has you completely, pressing you into the wall and holding you like he's afraid you're going to disappear any moment.

Your head feels fuzzy, eyes prickling and cheeks hot. His lips leave yours and find your jawline instead, teeth grazing. You roll your hips forward and brush over the bulge that’s forming in his crotch. There's a hint of a throaty moan and you can't help but laugh at him for it. 

“Shut up,” he muttered against the crook of your neck, teeth and tongue sucking and nibbling on the already tender skin. 

"Make me."

He firmly grips your chin with two fingers. It’s ridiculous, how he has you submit to him so easily, sending shivers of excitement down your spine and making you weak in the knees. With all the mental strength you can muster, you smile up at him triumphantly. “You didn’t drink.” 

“Had a reason not to.”

“And why is that?” 

Dabi bites down on your throat, too soft to draw blood but hard enough to make you freeze. 

He pushes the fabric aside and presses a finger against your wet entrance, and you could swear his voice drops an octave. “Keep runnin’ that mouth of yours and find out.” 

Fuck. 

Your eager cunt swallows his finger to the knuckle and he doesn't bother to add another, enjoying how you whimper at him teasing your softness and pressing against your cervix, just barely, enough to make you want more. 

There are slight alterations to his rhythm and you trust each and every one of them as he searches for the pace that makes you squirm the way he wants you to. You lose track of your moans when he finds it, slow and deep enough to reach pleasure inside you that you didn’t know you had. He coaxes moan after moan out of you, growing harder with every grind of your thigh against his crotch. 

“Stop being such a goddamn tease and just fuck me already.” 

“This is all you’re gettin’ for being such a goddamn brat.”

“Oh, shut- ah- up. You love it.”

“I hate it,” he corrects. 

“You- fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders for support. 

He laughs - it’s a low and husky laugh, one that makes your breath hitch and your pussy clench around his digit. His movements are slow but firm as he begins to pump his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, curling ever so slightly when it brushes against your sweet spot. It’s cute, he thinks, how weak you are for him. 

Dabi has the audacity to lock eyes with you as the inevitable smirk makes its way onto his face. He has no business looking this smug with his erection pressed up against your thigh, but here he is. Hungry for your touch, starved for the sensation of being buried inside of you as though he’s always known how badly he needs it. Whatever he’s going to say is lost when your lips crash into his again and it’s him who lets a moan slip.

“I hate you,” he growls. 

“Such a sweet-talker.” You lazily drag your tongue up his cheek and place a kiss on his temple. There’s the way he gasps just a little too audibly to go unnoticed, the way his fingers dig into your flesh too tightly.

"From the first time I saw you, I've hated your guts." 

You hum, rolling your hips against his and feeling him pulsate. Dabi hisses when you squeeze your thighs, pulling and pushing him with every deliberate motion. Nails digging further into your thigh as he lets out a raspy moan. The sensation drives both of you crazy, the knot in your stomach suddenly feeling very hot and tight. 

"I ah- I hate you in ways you can't- fuck- imagine." 

His forehead is pressed against your shoulder, teeth lightly grazing your neck. You finally have him where you want him, almost daring to protest when he pulls his finger out of you but you unbuckle his belt instead, pulling down the hem of his underwear to reveal his full length. 

Your eyes widen at the sight. “Holy shit, you’re big.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to take it,” Dabi says with what little restraint he can muster. “Take it for me? Please?” 

And how could you deny him such a sweet request?

He lifts you up and props you onto the concrete. It’s not cold at all, you realise, and when his hot palm caresses the curve of your ass, it’s clear why. You pull him closer by the hips and he slides into you. Not wholly at first, as if to test your limit. You reassure him that it’s fine, you can take it, and god does he fill you up nicely when he bottoms out. It’s like his cock was always meant to be buried inside you. 

“Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck- fuck. Fuck-”

It’s unlike any meaningless fuck he’s ever had. The grip your pussy has around him is the most heavenly sensation Dabi’s ever felt, something so divine it’s making him want to whisper prayers into your skin.

“‘S okay,” you whisper instead, “I got you.” Even though he’s the one holding you close like his life depends on it. Your fingers slip under his shirt and around his torso, pulling him forward to trap him in another heated kiss.

One can only deny the truth for so long before it begins to eat them alive. You've crawled into his heart and made your home there. He tried to claw you out, but you ignite a feeling in him that he's desperately failed to put out. Touya was one to feed the flames - always had been. 

So when you reach your high he holds you close, picking up the pace at which he ruts into you once you’re pushed over the edge. Stars cloud your vision and you’re letting yourself fall backwards because you know he’s there to catch you, his grip around your back firm despite how hard his thighs are shaking when he spills into you. His thrusts are short but deep. Your fingernails scratch along his shoulder and he fucking loses it when you bite down on his neck and moan his name. Some of him is leaking and running down your thigh already but he fucks it back into you, coming undone with the sweetest, most honey-coated moan you’re ever heard. 

Dabi’s eyes meet yours, pleasure and ecstasy written all over them as you both bask in the afterglow. You brush your thumb across his cheek to wipe away the bloody drop that runs down from his right eye, gently inspecting if any of the staples had come undone. 

Dabi puts his hand over yours, guiding it to his lips where he places a kiss on your knuckles before letting go. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and allow yourself to breathe in the dewy blue of the night. 

♡

Some of us only know love as pain. Every positive emotion is intertwined with an incurable, deep-rooted sadness. I believe that Dabi would express his love in a way that people who’ve been traumatically sabotaged from forming any good relationships would; denying himself the good parts and ultimately being overwhelmed when they become too strong to ignore. 

If you enjoyed this, consider reblogging or giving me some love in the replies or on AO3 <3

[neonthewrite]

The Office Fae

The next prompt was Tangled, and I ended up with a brand new character for this one. He's fun so far. I'm enjoying his very gremlin energy. I hope you all like him too!

~~~

Life in an office building generally worked well for Simon, despite technically being a house fae. The rules could be fuzzy on that front, with so many humans coming and going every day. Sure, there wasn’t a singular family loving the place and cherishing their lives there, but a lot of humans from many families liked the building and their jobs there well enough to make the energy inviting. Something about flexible hours, good wages, and a solid benefits package made for a harmonious office with plenty of memories–some friendly, some dramatic, even some spicy memories.

Plus there was a vending machine. Simon came for the vibes originally, but he absolutely stayed for the vending machine. At a modest five and three quarter inches tall, he had easy access to a good variety of things in portions that lasted him days.

Another house fae rule he bent–it wasn’t precisely a bowl of cream left out for him specifically, but nobody could expect that these days. Keeping the vending machine stocked was close enough, and if the light bulbs and printer cartridges in the building all lasted longer than they should, well, Simon earned his keep. He probably saved them hundreds on the annual operations budget.

Work always slowed down around the end of winter, aside from some buzzing over in the accounting office. All the holiday parties were done and the potluck food all taken home from the break room fridges. Simon planned for it and handled it well, though things could get cold with the shorter hours and heat on less to make up for the emptier office.

To that end, Simon wintered in the ceiling of the server room. The servers, bulkier and taller than a human, stood clustered in a side room and were never turned off. Blinking lights of green and red and blue twinkled on each machine, colors filtering into the ceiling along with the ample warmth those hulking obelisks gave off.

With so much downtime, he found himself perched near an opening in the ceiling, a spot where the tile had broken off long ago, and watched the server lights flicker on the tangled mess of multicolored cables that ran between them. It was a game of his to trace each cable from end to end with his eyes, idly kicking his bare, grey-skinned feet (his skin had shifted to a tasteful, cool grey a few years ago after an office refresh had updated all the paint). Long, slender fingers absently braided silky hair the color of faded ballpoint ink while he scanned the cables with eyes reminiscent of the shocking, dreaded blue of a computer on its way out.

Most house fae took on colors in equal parts camouflage and defense. Simon would be tough to spot if he happened to be out in the open near a human, but if someone did see him, humans never liked seeing that blue. So his eyes would probably protect him.

Not that he ever intended to test that. As much as he liked his many many humans and their water cooler chatter, Simon was realistic. They wouldn’t like him much even if he shared their scale. All his features were a bit elongated, just enough to seem strange and other. He only wore flowing pants made of scrap fabric and he ate bugs sometimes. Humans would call him scary or freaky or any number of words they had for things they didn’t like, and if his eyes couldn’t scare them off he’d be in danger of a rolled up magazine or a dusty phone book.

He’d stayed hidden for a long time, and he anticipated many games of look-at-cables in his future, all without humans being a bother.

Of course, until they were a slight bother anyway. Simon paused his movements and tensed when the door opened abruptly. Light flooded in and he lost track of the cable he was tracing when he looked over, grateful for his higher vantage point and the human tendency to ignore background details.

Two figures stood there, one familiar and one not. One was Tom, a human whose limbs gangled a bit but whose middle had padded out after so many years in a desk job. His bald spot glowed with light from the hallway, and his rumpled t-shirt sported a band name Simon thought he recognized. From what Simon knew, Tom was every bit an IT master and a vital cog in keeping the office running smoothly. He didn’t have to dress any higher than casual.

The other human was a new face. A woman, probably younger than Tom by a couple decades. Her dark skin contrasted with his pale complexion. Her hair, coily and thick, grew longer atop her head though it was tapered close at the sides. She wore a smart blouse and slacks, which Simon immediately recognized as the sort of thing one wore to a job interview, or one’s first day at work.

Tom waved a hand at the servers whirring away in the room. “Servers in here. Probably not gonna need to be in here a ton, but y’know. If something needs a reset…”

The woman nodded and smiled faintly as she scanned the room. “What are the chances I can fix up some of those cables?”

She said it as a joke. Simon didn’t find it funny at all. Tom did. He laughed. “Now that I get someone to pass tasks like that along to, I imagine I can convince the bossman to let me schedule a maintenance day. Now, let’s get you some of your equipment…”

The door closed and the humans walked away, and Simon cared not at all for their conversation or the rest of the onboarding for this new IT interloper. She wanted to organize the cables, which simply would not do. Simon stalked back to his makeshift camp to get his pack.

This new hire was simply not a good fit, and he’d do what he could to stop her horrible plan.

[sillystappen]

HELLO

i was wondering if you can do max as a singer and not a driver

i wonder if he can be MARINA and he interested in f1 and goes there to watch the races

HIHI!!!

Singer!Max huh? Ok I see you.

And mother of god did figuring the logistics of this AU hurt my brain :')

Ofc Max would retain his interest in F1 heck I might even make him kart when he was a kid but drop out for angsty lore reasons. Naturally this would make his relationship with his father very strained and almost nonexistent if it weren't for the fact Max still hasn't blocked his number. He spent most of his kid/teenage life with his mum and sister in belgium and thrived in music classes, having a natural sense of rhythm and being able to hear the layers in a song. He still watches F1 on tv and becomes a Daniel fan after Spain 2014 - Daniel's first podium, though he also is team Rosberg when brocedes happens (no reason other than I like Nico Rosberg)

As for his music type honest to god I can see why you would say MARINA as those lyrics can definitely be Max coded but genre wise and looking at her performing idk if that fits the Max vibes bc I wanna keep him from going too OOC. But not in a total stray from the idea of MARINA, I propose... Conan Gray. Still kinda indie vibes (and I love indie) and there's a lot of desiderium songs as well as full on pop bops and hopeless romantic stuff which give people some good emotional rollercoaster concerts. However these songs and albums release date will be manipulated to it my narrative because trying to align a calendar with an interesting plot and those songs just was too much...

For Daniel and any race settings, I am thinking of using the 2021 season. Which I'm sure you all are thinking: Silly, what would be the 2021 season without Max in it? Wouldn't it just go to Lewis without a fight? And I thought long and hard about it, looking through the grid and reserves to see who if anyone should take the seat that Max originally had and... it's Daniel. You heard it here first folks this baby is a Daniel never left Red Bull fic too. Using this Mr V's Garage's video, I borrowed the simulated 2021 season between Norris and Sainz and made it Lewis and Daniel (who will ofc win) with 3rd place going to Checo (because i like checo) and 4th Bottas. As for Abu Dhabi... there's no way it won't be controversial come on.

I imagine a meeting between Daniel and Max would be him getting paddock passes after saving up and ends up being recognised by Daniel at the Belgian Grand Prix. At this point he has he has had Kid Krow out for nearly 2 years after saving a crap load of money from royalties and a birthday gift from his sister he finally had enough money for a paddock pass over a grandstand ticket (but holy fuck those things are expensive). He meets Daniel who is like "holy shit you're Max Verstappen! Wearing my DR3 hat?" and Max feels like holy shit is very much correct because Daniel knows who he is?!?! Queue both of them having a fanboy moment and Daniel admitting he cried when he heard heather for the first time. But Daniel has to be pulled away so he gives Max his number and invites him to the garage (much to christian's chagrin but hey, number one golden driver championship contender privileges). Max totally nerds and Daniel thinks its cute and the mechanics are surprised by Max's knowledge.

They go on "friend-dates" to get to know each other properly and surprisingly (to them not to us) they click really well. Daniel invites him to GPs and Max invites Daniel to music video sets (they sneak Daniel into an MV and if you look close enough you can see him in the background) and a lot of trips to the recording studio. The internet being the internet picks up on this and are like AIN'T NO WAY OMG WORLDS COLLIDING all dramatic like that. There's even TikTok edits and a small tumblr community (hi) about them.

Then one day Max goes on an interview and is asked about Daniel. "He's probably the best person in my life right now, outside of work and family. Gosh, I've been a fan since 2014, and my sister will tell you I yelled pretty loudly when he won in Canada that year. But the Daniel you guys see in media is only half the story. He's kind and considerate and generous and a really comfortable person to be around and I am glad I bumped into him in Spa. He's been my rock as I work on my newest album."

Hashtag maxiel starts popping off a lot more mainstream and Daniel calls Max after the interview to tell him how sweet and lovely he is and as he gushes Daniel has the 'oh I love him' moment, like actually in love and not just a how a fan would. He doesn't say it, of course, but the penny has dropped.

For Max, the 'oh I love him' would be when they're back in Daniel's hotel room post race (that Daniel won ofc) and they're sat on a sofa in front of a quiet TV playing some sort of movie when Daniel falls asleep on Max's shoulder. Max looks down at him and just knows 'i love him' then and there. It's a quiet realisation, and one he is content with.

As for how they get together, it's one of the times Daniel is in Max's recording studio listening as Max sings, completely entrapped. When Max finishes and sits down next to him, he asks what Daniel thinks Daniel doesn't hesitate to say he thinks Max is amazing and that the song will be a hit, but suggests a few tweaks to the instrumental. Max takes this seriously and appreciates the honesty, kissing Daniel's cheek as thanks. It was the way Max looked at him and gently held his face that has Daniel sitting there for a moment before going fuck it and properly kissing Max.

They don't announce their relationship until Daniel after wins his second championship in 2022 but spend the rest of 2021 and the entirety of 2022 soft launching it and teasing. Daniel posts photos of Max hugging him in Abu Dhabi 2021 and lots of photos of them hanging out in winter and summer break. The F1 media catches Max in the paddock and Red Bull garage a lot and Daniel at the Superache tour in late 2022 (what about the tour? what tour? the early 2022 world tour? yh that didnt happen I'm just adding a couple songs from there into the superache setlist). Max also posts a video of Daniel lipsyncing to Overdrive whilst holding a deodorant can and standing on a bed.

The actual announcement spooks the F1 world more than the music one and at first it's a lot for them, the questions and the prying, the demand to know it all and of course the homophobia but they get through it all fine and dandy.

Oh and Jimmy and Sassy? They give Daniel the seal of approval the moment he shows up offering pets. And that was the only outside opinion that ever mattered.

{I may flesh this into a full on fic, but I also might not but I liked your idea anyway and wanted to put the concept I created into the world! I hope you like it.}

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by...

- Layne Faire -

1.

Zayn hesitated just long enough to send the butterflies in Liam’s stomach into a frenzy, then nodded and turned away. He picked up his things, plucked his keys from a bowl on a side table, and opened the door. Quinn looked up at the sound and stood up quickly to follow. Liam grabbed his collar.

“Oh no you don’t, pal. You’re staying with me.”

“Thanks again, Li. I’ll call when I get in.”

“Please.”

The door closed softly behind him, followed by the sound of a car engine turning over. The crunch of tires on gravel slowly faded away, leaving Liam in silence, alone in the house of a man he wasn’t sure he knew anymore, if he’d ever truly known him at all.

2.

“Zayn, you know? He’s so far out of my league, that I figured if I lucked into that, then… well, I’d go with it and damn the consequences.”

“Wait! No! Fuck that, Liam!” Harry’s sudden outburst had Liam staring at him in shock. “Zayn is not out of your league! Who the fuck ever gave you that idea? You’re kind, caring, compassionate, and loyal to a fault.”

“Harry - you’ve just described a labrador retriever.”

3.

“Hey, Louis, it’s Harry... Styles... uhm, Zayn’s friend. And Niall’s, I s’pose. That’s why I’m calling. Niall said you might have a room to rent in your flat and that it’s available now? I need something kind of immediately, not too big, not too expensive. Niall said it could be what I’m looking for. So, uhm, if you’d, I don’t know, maybe give me a call back and let me know if it’s still available and how soon I can come by to give it a look and discuss things with you, that’d be great. I can pay the rent upfront, maybe buy some groceries. I cook, too, if that helps. I dunno. Just...  uhm… yeah, give me a call back.”

Louis played the message again, then a third time. He saved the number in his phone, with a simple H to mark the contact, then played the message one more time. Disbelief gave way to cautious elation. He texted a quick reply to Harry that he’d call once he got home, then typed out a swift message to Niall.

Bless you, ya Irish cunt. I’ll change nappies on your firstborn for a month.

4.

Zayn looked up. “I don’t think so. I might be teaching him dance, but it doesn’t negate how I feel about what he does.”

“Saving people’s lives and homes? Of course. Allah forbid he be so selfless.”

“Don’t be an arse.” Zayn settled back in his chair. “He beats people up for fun.”

“That’s a little simplistic, don’t you think?” Doni argued. “He fights in sanctioned boxing matches, under strict guidelines established by the boxing commission. He’s not street brawling after a few pints at the local. That’s hardly the same thing.”

- answers below -

1. Live a Thousand Lifetimes 

It’s 2025.

After secretly writing and producing their first album in ten years, One Direction is weeks away from releasing their first new single and announcing a world tour.

With the whirlwind about to begin again, Liam re-evaluates the last ten years - the fame, the money, the people who changed his life forever - and the person who walked away.

2. Untamed Hearts

It could have been the heat of the summer sun; it might have been the silvered sheen of an early harvest moon. If he dug deep enough, Liam could find every reason ever needed to explain away what happened. In the end, though, it all came down to two meddling friends, a touch of Prince, a bit of Keats, and the moon over the ocean. Its a recipe for disaster. Or love. Probably love.

3. Take Your Time

When Harry finds himself in the middle of a messy break-up with no place to live, Louis offers a spare room in his flat. Unbeknownst to Harry, Louis has been infatuated for years. Over the objections of their friends, who know the truth, Harry accepts. Can Louis survive Harry moving into his home…and closer to his heart? Will Harry see what's right in front of him?

4. Shadow Dancing

As a small child, Liam Payne dreamed of being a firefighter. He took up boxing to defend himself from school bullies, but never lost sight of his dream. 15 years later, Liam is set to be the youngest brigade watch commander in his district, and his recent boxing win puts him in line for the British national title - if he can learn to get out of his own way.

Zayn took his first dance lesson at 5, after watching his sister's tap class. At 18, when an injury derails Zayn's dream of dancing professionally, he sets it aside to attend university, but the lure of dancing proves too great to ignore. He becomes an instructor, and eventually, the owner of a small dance studio, where he encourages other dancers to chase their dreams.

When their worlds collide in a cacophony of misunderstandings, Zayn, confronted with his own biases, realizes there’s more to Liam than meets the eye, and offers to help him prepare for his upcoming fight.

While Liam learns to dance, Zayn learns the art of compromise, and along the way, they find each other.

And when tragedy strikes, Liam finds that Zayn’s love will help him face the shadows of his past, and give him the courage to believe in himself and his dreams for the future.

[blackbat05]

In Mourning

Namor x Reader

Plot: An unexpected encounter. A strong will to protect each other. A desire to seek vengeance for your death.

Genre: PG-13 (Angst - plot already says it all)

A/N: The number of times I wrote and re-wrote this? This a short piece but feedback is always appreciated! I'm sorry for the angst in advance.😅 Italics is flashbacks!

The steady trickle of water fills the silence in his chambers. A cup of tea sits on the dressing table. Steam rising, he takes a gentle blow before putting his lips on its edge.

3 years ago, the Baltic Ocean

"K'uk'ulkan. A stranger roams our waters, should we not stop them?"

Namor is curious. Which human would dare to be lost in such a wide ocean? He travels out into the waters and he comes to a stop at the sight of a floating figure.

"Take them back!" He demands the Talokan warriors.

Days passed and the stranger finally woke. Blinking her eyes blearily, she almost falls out of bed at the sight of his people. Namor excuses his people and he sits at the edge of the bed where she watches him warily.

"Am I... in Talokan?"

There was no hiding from this intelligent woman. So he guides her around. For someone from the surface world, you were so courageous and unafraid.

To return the kindness of the King and his people, you tell him your purpose. You are a scientist from the surface world, fighting to protect and conserve the natural environment.

But with recent events and more metahumans coming out in the open, governments around the world had strong reason to believe that there was an underwater civilization. You wanted to do something, so you had to find it first.

"As you have saved me, it is only right that I do something in return for you and your people. You have my word."

All he wants to do is to fall into a deep slumber. It seems that everyone, everything is against him tonight as the soothing music of nature has now turned into a discordant mess.

It went all so terribly wrong.

He is no longer in the present. He is now in the thick of it. He sees her fighting but it was a stark reminder of how human she was compared to him.

6 months ago, the Atlantic Sea

"This weapon isn't a usual fishing trap." You navigate your way around the ocean floor. "Someone probably set this piece of contraption up in hopes of a big catch." You frown at the thought of government operatives carrying out secret operations to uncover hidden civilizations like Talokan for their own gain.

"I can take it back to the lab, examine it and find out who's responsible for this. "You see the concern etched on his face.

"I won't out you or your people. I promise."

"I'm not worried about that, it is these surface dwellers that you speak of," Namor tells you. "They do not seem to be ordinary. I've seen them up close. They have evil intentions."

"I can take care of myself." You swim to him in your suit. "And if your people are hurt, I won't stand for it. If someone is out to expose Talokan, they need to be stopped."

Just then, a slight tremor could be felt. Sea life swimming away, you shared a look of concern with the King. He is about to ascend to the surface but you put a hand against his chest. You shake your head.

"It's a trap."

"I cannot let you go out there alone."

You cut the weapon loose from the ocean floor, passing it to him. "This is all the proof that you need."

He watches you helplessly as you swim upwards. He sees you putting your hands up in surrender. Words are exchanged between you and the army. Then-

The whole boat is blown into flames.

The impact pushes him backward, metal shreds sinking into the ocean floor. Namor is left clutching onto the machine. There is only one thing on his mind. To find you.

But he never did.

It was all too late.

3 years ago, Talokan

"You are leaving so soon? Stay and rest a little more."

You smile at Namor. "I have people who will be worried about me. But I cannot thank you enough for the care that Talokan has given to me." You take a few steps forward, giving him a kiss. Your lips linger on his cheek and this has only made the King feel more conflicted.

"Thank you for everything."

He lifts his arm, marks still fresh. He knows he can heal it, but maybe he's secretly hoping for it to consume him. A stark reminder of his shortcomings and his inability to protect her.

A ring is heard in the distance and a figure appears. He nods.

Mourning will have to wait.

[ccbb2222]

You Know I Hate it When You Cry: Part 3 Rooster x Reader

Catch up on Part 1 or Part 2!

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader pairing

Summary: Reader gives Rooster a shot.

Also- text messages are in italics and purple!

Warnings: *** This story contains Mentions of Abuse (physical, emotional, sexual)*** Please be advised this could be triggering. Angst, Eventual Smut, Protective and adorable Rooster.

18+ Minors DNI.

Laying on your bed, your hand absentmindedly runs across your healing abdomen as your stare up at the ceiling. You traced the outline of the freshest bruise softly, thankful that Penny had put you up in her sister's cozy home. She was traveling Europe for the summer, and after a phone call, Penny had situated you there for both your privacy and protection. She knew Grant was unfamiliar with the home should he come sniffing around Miramar.

Bradley's words about protecting you replayed over and over in your head; "I know I don't. But I want to."

You couldn't figure out why he cared. He barely knew you, and you told him just that. You remembered the frown on his face, his eyes meeting yours. Before he could reply, however, Penny came over, sensing the tension.

"Time to go, Bradshaw," she had said in a friendly and soft tone.

The look he gave you before pushing back his barstool was one that could only be described as determined.

Your phone buzzes next to you, bringing you out of your daze and causing your previous hand motions to halt. Looking over, you feel panic wash over you as you see a text appear from another unknown number.

Breathing deeply, you swipe open your phone.

Unknown: So Penny may or may not have caved and gave me your number. dont hate me.

A pause, and then another text comes through:

Unknown: its bradley.

You heave a massive sigh of relief and the panic is replaced by tiny butterflies in your stomach. Damn you, Penny. After saving his number, you quickly respond.

You: Hmmm bradley? doesnt ring a bell

Bradley: 😢 i should've known a girl like you was out of my league

You: Are you hitting on me again?

Bradley: depends...is it working?

You laugh, picturing him with a smirk on his face and nervously running his hand through his hair.

You contemplate a response, nervous to say the wrong thing, and still confused about what you felt for him.

He was kind, for some reason truly cared about you, and probably the sexiest man you had ever met.

Fuck it.

You: surprisingly yes.

Bradley: i knew it. what time does your shift start?

You: 8

Bradley: pick you up in 20? i know an awesome diner.

Your heart thuds against your chest. Were you doing this? Biting your lip, you agree before you can change your mind.

You: dont be late bradshaw

You text him your address and throw yourself back against your pillows..

"Jesus christ."

––

Exactly 20 minutes later, Bradley's Bronco pulls into the driveway. Your heart thuds against your chest as you watch him from your place in the kitchen. He's wearing another open Hawaiian shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and a pair of faded jeans. His aviators reflect the sun as he makes the short walk towards the front door.

Hearing the doorbell, you make your way over, opening it with a shy smile.

"Hi," he smiles.

"Hey," you reply, turning to lock the door behind you before turning to follow him towards the car. "I'm glad you texted me." You say genuinely.

His mouth pulls up to one side in a lopsided smile as he opens your car door for you, "Me too."

"So where are we going?" You ask once he joins you in the car. Your heart skips a beat when his hand reaches to grab the back of your seat as he turns to look out the rearview. You feel the car roll in reverse down the driveway.

You could smell his cologne, woodsy and warm. Being so close to him made you downright dizzy.

"Well," he says, concentrating on maneuvering the car in reverse, "I really hope you like milkshakes."

You nod with a laugh, "Obviously."

"Good," he replies, straightening the car out and putting it in drive, looking over at you with another smile, "Because this might be the best one you ever have."

–––

"Well shit." You say after the first sip of your chocolate milkshake. It honestly was the best one you'd ever tasted.

"Right?" He responds with an I told you so expression gracing his face.

"I'll give you this one. This is insane," You point to the perfect milkshake in front of you.

He shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head before gazing at you again.

His stare makes you flush as you reach for your straw, needing something to fiddle with. "So, um, did you have the day off?" You ask, curious why he was suddenly freed up on a week day.

"Yeah," he replies, pausing to take a sip of his milkshake and you watch his lips wrap around the straw. "My jet had a technical issue and we needed to rush it to the mechanics to get it all sorted. Cut my day short, but can't say I'm too upset about it." He winks.

"Stop hitting on me." You half joke.

"You're making that mighty hard to do." He says softly.

If you were flushed before, you were beet red now. "Thank you, by the way. For last night." You say, wanting to clear the air.

Bradley nods attentively, his face completely neutral. "Of course. I meant what I said."

You nod, looking down. "It's obviously, not really something that's easy to talk about."

You look around self consciously. The tiny diner Bradley had chosen was almost completely empty. Pictures adorned the walls and a jukebox softly played "Don't Be Cruel." You adjust your legs on the leather booth.

You check his expression again, his brow furrowing and his hand extends towards yours, palm facing up.

You look down at his hand before placing your’s on top of his. A spark jolts up your arm at the contact. His palm was calloused but somehow soft, warm to the touch, and you couldn't help but notice how perfectly your hand fit in his.

Sighing, you look into his eyes again. "Bradley I don't want to bring you down with me." You say honestly.

He frowns, cocking his head to this side, "What do you mean?"

"It's just that I come with a lot of...baggage. Grant, my ex, he's not a good man." You say, finally admitting this out loud. Not just to Bradley, but finally to yourself. "I have a lot of shit I need to work through and your job is stressful enough. You don't need to add me to your list of things to worry about."

"Hey, hey," he says softly, his thumb rubbing over the top of your hand, "Don't say that. You're not just a thing to worry about. I know we haven't known each other long. As cliché as this sounds, I just really want to get to know you. Please don't shut me out."

Tears prickle in your eyes and you attempt to blink them away. No one had ever shown this much compassion towards you. Over the years, Grant had isolated you from your closest friends and remaining family. For so long, you were on an island by yourself.

"We'll take it slow, yeah?" He checks again a small smile on his face. "This," he motions between the two of you, "Moves at your pace."

Who was this man and how on earth did you find him?

“I’d really like that.”

——————————————————————————-

We’re giving Bradley a shot!! This one was cute and fluffy…next chapter is when the #drama will start. 😈

Part 4.

Taglist:

@rosiahills22

@m3laniehearts

@savannahcole99

@emma8895eb

@atarmychick0077

@galaxy-moon

@5ugarcan3

@luckyladycreator2

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day nineteen!)

(it’s funny how what was meant to be a stand-in title is actually the official title, lol.)

(i think i’m too far into the series to change the title now😭)

day five of bakugo being absent from the shop. normally, you’d use the term missing-in-action, but you’d banished the word from your vocabulary because the possibility of it was scarily real.

however, you’d promised mio that you wouldn’t let it distract you. you did indeed get through your shift nice and undistracted. after your shift, though, you found yourself turning right instead of left. you walked and walked before you found yourself in front of dynamight agency. how curious. you were already there, so you might as well go in, you figured. automatic doors made way for you as you entered.

the agency was huge. the lobby itself had remarkably high ceilings and it was all decorated in a modern style, displaying wealth in every way short of gold chandeliers. it’s not at all somewhere you’d imagine bakugo working. you kind of imagined more… destruction. maybe a burn hole in the carpet or a smashed vase.

everyone there, heroes and people in suits and other professional-looking types hurried around, all of them seeming to know exactly where they were going. you wished you felt the same. you looked around, trying to find someone to talk to, before locking eyes on two familiar faces.

“um, kaminari, right?” you walked up to the yellow-haired man, whose back was facing you and had an arm wrapped comfortably around a purple-haired girl’s— jiro, was it?— waist. kaminari turned around, and you instantly relaxed. finally, a familiar face.

“oh, hey, kacchan’s buddy!” kaminari grinned. jiro smiled politely and you smiled back. “have you met my girlfriend? you haven’t, right? this is kyoka, she’s awesome.”

“nice to meet you.” kyoka held out her hand, which you shook.

“likewise.” you replied.

“so, what brings you here?” kaminari asked curiously.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted. “i was kind of wondering if you knew where bakugo was.”

“a mission, or something.” kaminari shrugged. “i’m here to figure it out myself ‘cuz he hasn’t been here in awhile.”

“you visit often?” you ask curiously.

“yup. strictly business.” kaminari nodded solemnly. jiro snickered.

“business, as in, trying to convince him to play mini uno with you?”

“okay, that was one time-“

“or maybe business as in trying to bribe him into saving a cat you found stuck in a tree because you said it would ‘look funny’?”

“again, one time-“

“or business like coming to nap on his couch in his office because ‘his is the comfiest’?”

“…okay, so that was more than one time.”

“it’s never business.” kyoka told you with an used expression as kaminari now pouted. “but we are here pretty often. bakugo’s our friend. we’re a bit worried about him.”

“me too,” you admitted. “i know you went to high school with him, so i’m not exactly as close to him as i’m sure you are, but i do hope he’s okay, wherever he is.”

“so do i.” kyoka sighed.

“it’s so annoying!” kaminari groaned. “only ei and mina know what he’s doing and apparently they’re sworn to secrecy.”

“sworn to secrecy? why would they need to do that?” you inquire. kaminari shrugged.

“probably ‘cuz it’s kacchan. kacchan likes his privacy.” kaminari sighed dramatically. “well, all we know is that he went on a mission and now— poof!— gone.”

“well, let me know if you find out what happened.” you sigh. kaminari smiled and nodded.

“yeah! lemme add you to the bakusquad group chat.” kaminari pulled out his phone, opened it, and handed it to you. “put your number in!”

“okay.” you typed your number quickly and returned it to its owner. kaminari fiddled with it for a moment before smiling contently.

“all done!” he announced.

“i’ll be going, then. thank you, kaminari. and it was nice meeting you, kyoka.” you smiled. kyoka smiled back.

“good seein’ ya, (y/n).” kaminari beamed. “later!”

“later,” you replied before leaving the agency.

once you got outside, you inhaled a deep breath of the crisp october air.

“god, i hope he’s okay.”

“okay, that was one time—“

(don’t forget to comment + give ur thoughts :)

@k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @jazzafaye5294 @stevenknightmarc @failingstudents-blog

[kay-wren]

I'll Come Running - R.C - Chapter 4

Jessie had been texting back and forth with JJ, once JJ finally decided to save her number in his phone. JJ knew to expect Jessie the next morning, as she would be flying through the night to get there. JJ was just as nervous to see Jessie as she was to see him.

Jessie had changed into clothes that were more suited for Outer Banks. She exchanged her skinny jeans, leather jacket, and combat boots for denim shorts and teal t-shirt, one of her favorites by the way. She did this not only to fit in but more so to not give anything away to JJ and the others about her whereabouts. Even though she felt naked without her sacred skin, she can't forget why she left. She had to continue to be strategic even if she was being vulnerable in coming back.

Jessie spent a long taxi ride through the outer banks, looking at her old stomping grounds through the cut and seeing what all has changed. One thing that hadn't changed was the Chateau. It was still just as run down as she remembers. As she pulled up she saw JJ and the other Pogues, and... Sarah? She thought they hated Kooks. Now she knew this was even worse than she expected. Jessie's mind could have continued to wonder but all she could think about was JJ, how he looked so different, so... grown up. No, not grown up... beat down, like life had truly taken its toll on him and age just came along with it.

Jessie got out of the car with her large suitcase in hand after paying the driver. She closed the door and stood at the end of the drive awkwardly with a numb expression and suitcase in hand, the whole time never breaking eye contact with JJ. As hard as it was, she had to remain neutral, especially since she didn't know why she was here. JJ's eyes filled with tears as he walked slowly towards her. He started walking faster and as they finally connect, JJ melted into a hug that both of them had probably been thinking about for years. Still, Jessie didn't flinch, holding a rigid posture and stoic face while wrapping one arm around the blonde. With all their history, surely they knew they would find each other again, right?

They both seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and pulled away laughing between themselves. Jessie grabbed JJ's face, showing a tinge of emotion now.

"Look at you," she sighed with a twinkle in her eye and a half smile on her face. "You're all grown up." she sniffled trying to fight back tears.

"Well look at you, I mean..." JJ replied looking her up and down with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face as well. "... you haven't changed a bit."

They reconnected for another hug and Jessie noticed the pogues walking over to her. Her smile quickly faded as she noticed Sarah. Jessie didn't know what she was doing there but she was hoping that it didn't mean what she thought it meant. Jessie brushed it off as she smiled again and hugged all the pogues. Jessie couldn't believe how much they had grown... how much they had matured. She quickly realized they were all almost adults, and this could only mean that whatever problem they were facing, they were in some deep shit.

"Why is she here." Jessie sassed with a scowl on her face as she never broke eye contact with Sarah. In the past she never truly had any tension with Sarah, but after all, she was a kook, and more importantly to Jessie, she was a Cameron.

"Jessie, I-" Sarah started, but John B quickly butted in, knowing that this conversation didn't need to come from her.

"She's in on this now." John B said with an arm over Sarah as if to protect her from Jessie. But Jessie wasn't the type to physically lash out, just the type to manipulate. Jessie's scowl turned into a sly smirk. Jessie had enough context clues to figure out now that John B and Sarah were something, she didn't know what yet, and she didn't really care. Seeing Sarah again only begged one question.

"How's your brother?" Jessie said trailing off, never once breaking eye contact with Sarah.

Sarah didn't know what to say as she looked around at the other pogues. Was this a setup?

JJ answered, "That's kind of what we wanted to talk to you about."

Jessie immediately responded. "Absolutely not, no way. If this is about Rafe you can forget it. I'm not-"

"This isn't about Rafe," JJ said as he took a deep breath and put his hands up as if to calm Jessie down. "it's about all of us." He breathed out and pursed his lips with a look on his face begging Jessie to stay.

"Jessie, just listen." Pope finally spoke up. Jessie always remembered Pope as the voice of reason. Surely if Pope was involved then there had to be some legitimacy to this right?

Jessie kicked the rocks on the ground and played with the inside of her cheek. She finally looked up with that same smirk and narrowed her eyes as she looked at JJ.

"Anything for my little brother."

[kittsu-and-company]

[ attached is a video file titled “1/2”. take a look? ]

(tw for.. horror im sorry im so tired i can’t think and wanna post ill fix TWs tomorrow </3)

The first thing that’s noticeable as the video clicks on is the sound of howling wind, the camera focusing from a view pressed up against a back wall. Kittsu’s breath is clearly shaky, and the camera shudders as it focuses on the dilapidated surroundings, once lavish halls and securely locked rooms lay scattered about, charred and blackened and damp after years of being untouched.

The mustard yellow wallpaper with gorgeous golden rhombuses peeled, baring their cotton candy colored insulation like a gaping wound, spilling the building’s breathing lifeblood over every surface it could reach.

The sourceless wind sounded like a terrible, shuddering breath, reverberating throughout the building that looks as if it could topple any minute. It sounded like a death rattle, a death rattle that could easily take Kittsu- and that poor lost Patrat down along with it.

What a stupid child.

Kittsu’s breath is audibly shaky as she begins to slowly place one foot in front of the other, going left from her current position, from the numbers on the remaining doors, she’s probably going deeper in. Every shuddering inhale the broken stone takes makes Kittsu freeze, as if pausing would save her from being crushed under rubble if it chose to give out now.

Her steps slowly, ever so slowly, become quicker, a bit more confident as she tries to call out to the Patrat, whose name is apparently Daisy; though muttering of “they’re just messing with you it’s fine they won’t hurt you” are regularly sprinkled within. The camera regularly turns back to make sure nothing is following the teen on her lonesome. Each step is a terrifying gamble if what may appear before, Kittsu stops at each door and calls for Daisy, before moving on. How long had she been doing this..?

This limbo of “what’s next” continues for 30 minutes, before a shuddering sound comes from within one of the closed off rooms. Kittsu stops dead in her tracks, holding her breath as her previous shaking becomes that much clearer in the face of real, possible danger. She stands there for minutes, listening desperately for the ever so quiet sounds within, and ever so carefully, she approaches and fearfully knocks on the door. The sound stops dead, and a minute passes before the door is flung open, and a humanoid shape flees further into the room.

Kittsu whimpers in obvious terror, fighting off the panic that’s so clear from watching the video. “C-can I come in..?”

Another minute passes.

She takes one tentative step forward, entering the room.

…

A feminine figure stands in the center, on a small, charred coffee table in the center of the room. The figure is wearing a blackened nightgown, a clear victim of the same fire that took its building tomb. There is no light except for Kittsu’s unimpressive flashlight, the light seems to be eaten by the darkness as she shone it on the figure. Utter silence is steadily broken by a dramatic crescendo of the wind’s howls, the building itself wailing in a melody not unlike a sorrowful symphony. The silhouette turns around, only its charred nightgown illuminated as Kittsu’s shaking, near purple hands caused the light to dance in a way one might have called playful in any other scenario.

With much effort the light stills for just a moment upon the specter’s face, for just a split second so short that the video needs to pause to get a good look at what caused Kittsu to flee in a dead sprint.

Manic happiness painted the ghost’s face, manic joy not without touches of vicious malice.

Kittsu did not turn around to see if it gave chase; and she ran far faster than most may have expected for someone of her stature and… lack of regular exercise. Her breakneck pace suddenly slowed as the camera gets launched forward, Kittsu’s shout of alarm fading slightly as it skids further away from her, having tripped on something chittering.

“My Arceus- Daisy! You- you need to come with please we need to leave we need to get out-“

Kittsu’s words are drenched in terror and desperation, pleading with the small rodent that from the sounds of it made in response, was quick to join her in her plan to leave the screaming world around. Her sobs of relief at finally being able to go home are audible, the terrified chitters of the dehydrated, starving Patrat being the only form of company she’s had in a long while since entering this hellhole of a hotel. It takes a few minutes for the camera to be picked up again, but it is turned to show Kittsu’s still wet face with a skinny Patrat in her arms. The mask she wears to protect against asbestos in this place is cracked, but still functional as the camera turns to show she had tripped on a pile of rubble.

By now the wind has died down to a low, tortured moan that never seems to quiet, even for a second; calm enough to not send the pair fleeing in terror, but not quiet enough to let go of the persistent tension that seeped from every crack in the arcforsaken place.

…

The video cuts off here. It doesn’t seem like it was quite meant to, but it had already happened…

Was Kittsu even online to post this..?

[dorminchu]

Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

a/n: Illustrations commissioned from the one-and-only @addictivities. You can read the first chapter of the fic here with better formatting (it was written in 2013, so beware the jump in quality) but it's not required to understand this chapter.

Chapter Two: Hidden

Crimson light filtering in through miniscule cracks in the wooden walls could signify dusk or daybreak. Condensation tricked down in random droplets from a ceiling high above. He walked the perimeter of the room, then doubled back the way he'd come. Glancing down at the single poké ball on his belt. Red-and-white paint chipped away around the button, revealing the plastic beneath.

The straps of his bag did not bite into his shoulders. He took it off and rummaged through it. Empty pockets. Nothing in his wallet either, save his old trainer ID. Blocky, illegible text adjacent a familiar photo taking up half of the card's face. The kid in the picture smirked at him, wearing the same ochre sports jacket, the gym-shorts and sneakers with that cap to match.

He flipped the card over. The lower half detailed a series of portraits numbered one through eight, two rows of four. He could barely make out their faces.

An inexplicable sensation of deja-vu gripped his stomach.

His POKéGEAR, discarded a few steps away, gave off its own illumination. He picked it up. Its screen—cracked, warped, flickering—frozen on the MAP setting. A pixelated avatar marched in-place over a black void.

He reattached it to his wrist. There are only five places in the Johto region that I could be. The lighthouse in Olivine. The Battle Tower. The Burned and Tin Towers in Ecruteak. And in Violet City, there's one more. I haven't been here since I got my first badge from Faulkner. Where are all the sages?

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes as he approached the central pillar. Upon closer inspection, he found a small aperture on the other side, just large enough for one person. There was no visible sign of a bottom, and the only way down was a wooden ladder.

With a sense of resolve, Gold brought out his lone poké ball. Flash of red light limned the room and faded. The cyndaquil began snuffling at the floorboards. Gold looked down at the poké ball in his hand. Above the button was an inscription: no. 155, HURRY.

His cyndaquil had long since evolved into a typhlosion. He'd neglected to give her a nickname—at the time, he wasn't thinking about it very deeply. Wasn't there a guy from Johto who specialized in rating nicknames? He must've visited that place. He'd have plenty of time to ask around, once he was somewhere familiar.

"Hurry?" The pokémon turned at the sound of his voice. Gold crouched down and it stumbled over to him, nosing at his palm.

I'm probably just on one of the upper floors of Sprout Tower. Whatever the case, I'll go check in at the pokécenter in Violet City. Once I have my team back, I can try to figure out how I got here.

Gold walked over to the ladder, took the poké ball and recalled cyndaquil. The ladder creaked once he put his foot in the first rung. The air got colder as he descended, his bare legs prickling. His POKéGEAR buzzed unexpectedly to life, causing Gold to momentarily lose his footing on the next rung and gripped on tightly, catching his breath. The frequency resolved into discordant humming.

He'd tested the effects of the radio with wild unown before. The Ruins of Alph were pretty close to Violet City, as was the sprawling Union Cave. It was unlikely, but not impossible. But it didn't explain the cyndaquil.

Once his feet touched solid ground, he could relax a little. When he looked up there wasn't any sign of the room he'd come from. The air tasted damp and stale.

He released Hurry again. In the brief flash of illumination, he could see he was at the start of a long tunnel but couldn't discern any details.

Gold said, "I don't suppose you know Flash?"

Its back sputtered, then flared up, settling into a gentler glow. Gold had to squint to make out his surroundings. Hurry just squeaked happily. It started walking down the corridor, turning back and chirping at him.

Gold chuckled. "Are you gonna lead the way, too?"

Despite its energetic temperament, the pokémon seemed reluctant to stray too far from Gold's side. As his eyes adjusted he could see that the walls of the tunnel were carved out of hard-packed earth.

They must be somewhere under Violet City. If they kept walking, eventually they would get to Union Cave. Evidently, there was some secret passageway from Sprout Tower to the Ruins of Alph he didn't know about. If they weren't so far underground, he could check his map.

Hurry made better company. The echoing frequencies of the POKéGEAR hadn't stopped. He switched over to the radio screen. The dial was stuck directly on 13.5. When he tried to change the station, then switch to a different application, it didn't register.

He hadn't explored Union Cave or the ruins too excessively, focusing all of his attention on the Indigo League and building up his team. The POKéDEX only required a single unown to register as caught.

The light seemed to grow dimmer as the cyndaquil kept moving. Gold quickened his pace.

He was hyperaware of his own breath, his thumping heart. His head throbbed along with the radio. If it wasn't strapped to his wrist, he'd throw it against the wall just to hear himself think.

He needed it in working condition. Maybe someone would pick up the signal and rescue him. No use working himself up over a stupid radio signal, but that was a hell of a lot easier to say when he had six high-level pokémon on his side. A cold sweat formed under the heavy jacket.

He couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

"Where'd you go?" he called. The cyndaquil was lagging behind. Its light was so dim now that Gold could just make out its silhouette against the encroaching dark. Gold broke into a run, crouching down next to Hurry. It didn't seem to notice. The embers on its back had all-but extinguished. He recalled it immediately, using his POKéGEAR's as a primitive source of light. As long as it stayed in the poké ball, it wouldn't be in immediate danger.

The only benchmark was a wooden sign planted in the middle of the tunnel. Above it, five unown floated serenely, giving off their own light. They had arranged themselves to form a single word:

LEAVE.

Gold looked at the sign. A crudely-carved message took up its entire face: TURN BACK NOW

He scoffed. "Yeah, sure, I'll turn back."

The unown seemed to sway in time with the blips from the radio. Their eyes, glassy and unmoving, could have been hewn from stone.

"What do you want? Do you want me to say no?"

His response swelled, echoing around the chamber. The unown quivered.

His surroundings plunged into darkness. He cried out, ducking down instinctively to shield himself from a strike that never came.

When the light came back, six unown hovered gleefully above him.

TOO BAD.

Overcome by shock, Gold couldn't formulate a response. A strong gust of wind blew from within the depths of the tunnel, pushing him back the way he had come. The unown radio signal meshed with the frantic pounding of his pulse.

He groped along the wall, blind. Part of the tunnel had a give to it like rotting flesh. It caught on his fingers, porous and thin, and tore like wet paper. Gold was falling forward into an unfamiliar chamber.

Six unown hovered before him, giving off their own light. Frequency on the radio degenerated into white noise. As they came closer, he could make out the letters clearly.

HE DIED.

A phantom force bound his arms to his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he cried out, "I need to heal my cyndaquil, please juh—just let me go. I'll take him to a pokecenter, he's going to be fine."

His feet left the ground.

"Please!" he wailed. "Please, he's going to die!"

The unown flickered.

A sharp twist behind his navel. Violent, rippling pain coursed up the length of each arm. The wet severing of muscle and bone. His vision blacked out briefly and he couldn't scream.

Just as quickly, the pain abated. Vision blooming into an unfamiliar room. The sight of his hands elicited a ragged whimper. He clasped his arms, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Inhale, exhale. Too fast. Lightheaded.

Inhale, hold.

Exhale. Fighting for composure. Just a nightmare. A trick of the unown.

Inhale, hold.

Exhale, hold.

Opened his eyes again. Four bone-white walls, a ceiling hidden in shadows. If he stretched his arms out, he'd be able to touch the walls around him no matter where he stood.

One of the walls didn't look right. A facade of stone, disintegrating at the edges. He'd barely touched it when it crumbled into powder. Gold, coughing, covered his face with the crook of his elbow. His skin and clothes were coated in ash. In the vast and formless expanse there was no other sound except his pulse, uneven breathing. He was walking down a corridor he'd never seen before. At the end, he could only turn left and continue down another hallway. Each time, it took a little longer to get to the next corner.

His wrist was still lit. He craned his head in desperation, staring into the harsh light of the LCD screen for an answer. The map hadn't changed.

Is it possible I'm so far underground there isn't any signal?

His thoughts interrupted by a dead-end, and a hole. There wasn't any ladder. If he doubled back, he'd just be wasting time. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. He couldn't risk bringing out the cyndaquil.

He took a cautious step towards the hole and peered down. The dark was more like a void, out of time or space. As soon as he lifted a leg over the apeture, the world shifted on its axis. The hole in the ground moved to meet him, as if he'd simply walked through another threshold. Gold swallowed down his nausea and continued walking. He could see a faint pinpoint of light in the distance. As soon as he got out, he'd take a nice long evening at Violet City's poké center. He'd check in with his mom.

The pinpoint of light was growing faster than his feet could carry him. An invisible pull behind his navel, as if transported by an ally's Teleport. Loss of footing followed by an abrupt solidity. Fresh, nighttime air pulled into his lungs. Initial shock gave way to a wave of nausea and he doubled over, dry-heaving. Thin layer of perspiration clung to his skin. His arms tingled.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up. The girl was around his age. Her hair was dyed an intense shade of blue and pulled into twin ponytails. A pair of bright yellow athletic shorts and sleeveless red shirt, white jacket that was fraying at the cuffs. She had her own POKéGEAR, clipped neatly on her bag. The bayleef standing next to her approached him, nudging him with its head. The smell of the leaves around its neck was spicy, but tasted bitter in the back of his throat if he inhaled deeper. His upset stomach settled gradually into queasiness. He patted the side of its neck.

"Had my pokémon use teleport," he said hoarsely. "For some reason, I wound up here."

The last time he'd teleported anywhere was at the behest of the old guy and his abra, at Indigo Plateau. He'd only said yes to be nice, and thrown up in front of the Pokécenter in Mahogany Town. Given the option, he'd rather take the hike across Johto on foot, or on his own pokémon.

"Wow," the girl said, "you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Teleporting makes me sick." Gold straightened up and tried not to look as shaken as he felt. He noticed her belt—two standard poké balls, plus a moon ball and a lure ball respectively.

The girl extended a hand. "I'm Kris." Gold shook, even though his hands were still clammy. She didn't seem to mind. "C'mon, let's go report back to the lab. You can catch your bearings."

Back when he was working on the POKéDEX, the scientists at the lab would always warn him not to stick around the ruins any longer than he had to. It was important to pace himself. The unown were quick to flee, and poké balls didn't always do the trick.

He glanced at the single poké ball on his belt. The sooner he could get cyndaquil to a pokécenter, the better.

Inside the lab, the girl introduced Gold to Ken, the tech who fixed his POKéGEAR. Kris took a seat on the edge of the desk. "Where are you from, Gold?"

"New Bark."

The girl frowned. "I grew up in New Bark. I've never seen you before."

"I live right next to Prof. Elm's lab. Maybe you just moved in before I left."

"What are you, my extra-dimensional twin?" She glanced at Ken, who didn't laugh. "It's just, I've never seen you before. Are you sure you're from New Bark?"

Gold stood a little straighter despite the nausea. "I'm surprised you've never heard of me."

"Why?"

He smirked and said, "I'm the youngest champion of the Indigo League, to date. Among other achievements."

Kris shot a side-glance at him. "Cool. What's a champ like you doing in the Ruins of Alph?"

"Oh, you know. Sometimes you just want to get out of the public eye." He hesitated. "It gets boring when you're stronger than most of the trainers you meet."

Kris nodded. "I basically live here during the summers and go to the Trainer's School in Violet City for the rest of the year. Ken's doing an internship right now."

"So, you've been all over Johto and Kanto?" Ken remarked. "How many pokémon have you seen?"

Before Gold could answer, Kris motioned towards the 'DEX at his hip, suddenly very businesslike. Gold stood up. She smirked. "What? If you are what you say, this shouldn't be a big deal."

"I didn't say—"

Kris hopped off the desk, offering her hand without waiting for him to finish. With a sigh, Gold handed over the POKéDEX. Kris walked over to the nearby desk. She clicked on a lamp and studied the screen for a few seconds. She whistled. "Wow! Two-hundred and fifty one."

Gold groaned under his breath. "Look, I really need that back."

Kris huffed. "Just wanted to check if you're the real deal." She handed it back, but kept her hand over the 'dex. "Ken and I are working on the Unown Mode feature of the POKéDEX. You've only ever seen three. Lucky for you, I just so happen to have seen twenty six kinds of unown. Maybe I'd even be persuaded to trade data if you help me fill some of my missing entries."

"It doesn't work like that," Gold said. "Does it, Ken?"

"Sorry, Kris. Looks like you'll have to earn that heracross after all." Ken got up. "This could take a while. Kris, make sure he doesn't break anything."

A small, wooden box that would take up the entirety of his bag. The lid was sealed shut. A line of runes engraved onto the sides and top of the box were too small to decipher. "What's this?"

"Professor Shuri thinks these ruins are connected to the Pokémon Communication Center in Goldenrod City," Kris added. "The runes on the walls appeared not long after the Pokécom Center was built."

Gold stared at the box.

"If you want it," Kris said, "you can hold onto it. Nobody here knows how to open it anyway."

Gold froze. "I can't take this."

"Ken is only here because of the internship," Kris muttered, "and I'm not half as interested in the Ruins as Prof. Shuri is. Was." She side-eyed Gold. "You must be a pretty tough trainer to have beaten the League, even if I've never heard of you. Maybe you can figure it out."

Kris feigned a scowl. "Battling's not something I could do forever. I'm more interested in the research." She shot Gold a semi-apologetic grin. Gold smiled back. He was about to suggest that they trade. Once he got to Violet City, maybe.

"There's still a lot we don't understand about these ruins, or unown for that matter. Professor Shuri thinks the unown communicate with each other using electromagnetic waves. They might also have the power to perceive the feelings of other creatures."

"Where is he now?"

Kris frowned. "He's been away. The assistant keeps telling us he's sick."

"I've never heard of him before. He sounds a lot like Professor Hale." Kris and Ken looked at him in confusion. "The guy from Greenfield? He had a wife and kid, and they went missing shortly after he came back from an expedition. It was all over the news."

"Never heard of him, sorry."

Gold shrugged, playing off his feelings. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

Once Ken fixed his POKéGEAR, Gold was free to go back into the ruins with Kris. He told them he was going to make a quick stop by Violet City first—to heal his pokémon and check the PC. His old team was surely in there. He stepped into the crisp air. Nighttime breeze incurring gooseflesh. He was lucky to have his jacket.

The poké ball at his waist began trembling. He'd barely even touched it when it burst open, as though its occupant had been physically restrained.

Houndoom burst free. It caught sight of him and barked.

Gold tore his eyes to the poké ball. The red paint was peeling, and he had to squint to make out the inscription.

FOREVER, no. 215

The houndoom's jet-black eyes caught the sunset. It turned around, disappearing into the main entrance of the ruins. His chest tightened.

"Come back!"

It turned and yipped at him.

He could just make out the shape of houndoom's horns. He tried counting his steps. When he looked back he had no idea where they were. The houndoom yipped at him if he stopped for more than a minute. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I hope you know where you're going!" he called.

They walked down the long hall of idols. Where there should have been a dead-end, the wall was missing. The hall continued, narrowing until there was just enough space for the houndoom to pass through. Gold had to turn himself sideways just to fit through. He couldn't take his pack with him. He could just come back out and retrieve it.

The walls were widening. The stone was pale white, enscribed with runes he couldn't decipher. None of this was familiar.

Gold pursued deeper. The houndoom was sitting on its haunches. A plinth and pedastal, on which rested a single poké ball. It wasn't one Gold had ever seen before. His best approximation was a Safari Ball but the make was wood, rather than plastic. Faultless, like something Kurt would obsess over.

A pack of unown peeled themselves from the dark to hover in front of him, flashing scarlet: RELIVE.

"What do you want?" he shouted up at them. The unown merely blinked and disappeared.

The houndoom yelped, twisting its body towards something Gold could not see. Houndoom began to sink through the floor itself, wailing. Gold quickly recalled it to him, but he was sinking too. The shadows coalesced around him, like an ariados's web. Clutching the poké ball tightly, he held his breath as the ground closed up above him

subsumed, thrashing, gasping, all he could taste was the bitter cloying ash and burning wood

on solid ground.

Looking out over a mountain peak. A small flight of steps led to a narrow path, blanketed by a thick layer of snow. The sky was bright blue, unbroken by clouds. When he took in air, there wasn't any burning sting in his lungs from the elements.

The boy standing next to him gave no indication Gold was there. His skin was almost translucent. Gold didn't turn to look at his face. Nurses from the pokécenter never made it this far up the mountain.

"It's over," he said hoarsely. The wind howled low around them. "Isn't it?"

The other boy raised his hand and adjusted his worn cap. His attention shifted to Gold, and he gesticulated towards his belt. Gold glanced down at his own waist, experiencing a fleeting moment of déjà vu. Houndoom already stood patiently at his side.

He clicked it open. Nothing happened.

Something heavy caught hold of his shirt, pulling him down.

A typhlosion, fur flecked in snow. The bottom half of its body was torn away. A trail of blood and entrails led from the gap in the rock's face. The pokémon shuddered, maw agape, fire sputtering weakly across the span of its neck and shoulders.

Gold didn't have any medicine. It wouldn't make a difference now, any more than returning typhlosion to her ball. As she clung to these last moments in stasis, he'd only be delaying the inevitable. What kind of trainer would allow their pokémon to suffer like this?

Hooking an arm under the typhlosion's, they began to move haphazardly towards the mouth of the cave. They had only taken a few steps when typhlosion fell, and Gold was dragged with it, falling to one knee. Anticpating the sharp shock of falling through snow, instead ash. As he struggled to free his arm from its grasp, the pokémon's grip on him was too strong.

The ash beneath them clung to her fur and his skin.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's not going to hurt anymore." His throat tightened. The pokémon wheezed, and the arm that held its prize pushed against his chest. He looked down at the egg, tan, flecked with earthen spots and sticky with crimson, then back to the typhlosion.

Gold placed his hands upon the egg's shell as if to retrieve it. The typhlosion slumped forward. Its grip on him slackened.

He couldn't bury his friend in the mountain face. He looked back towards the trail of blood.

A pack of unown burst from the shadowy mouth, stopping above him to spell the word: DENY.

Gold moved past them. Clutching the blood-slick egg in his arms, into the cave.

The egg began to shudder in his arms. A jagged crack marred the egg's thick shell.

Gold crouched down upon the cold stone, cross-legged and hastened to remove his jacket. Houndoom came closer, shielding the egg from the elements. The cyndaquil poked out, chirped at him. There was no trace of injury.

Gold's eyes welled up.

"It's you," he whispered, losing composure. "I knew you'd be okay."

He didn't have enough poké balls. He'd buy a new one and register it properly. Just another reason to keep going through this.

The cyndaquil did not protest when he put his jacket back on and scooped up into his arms. When it had made itself comfortable, Gold resumed his trek through the eerily silent cave. The water around them was still, the air stale.

A gap in the cave's face. Light shone through. The cyndaquil began to squirm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Cyndaquil exhumed a thick puff of smoke. Setting the pokémon down at his feet, it chirped. 

Gold shook his head.

"There could be something dangerous up ahead. What kind of trainer would I be if I put you in harm's way?"

Last time they'd battled, the same place at Indigo Plateau, Silver had mentioned the Battle Tower. The trainers who fought there told him about breeding and a pokémon's genetics. As they stood by the gate, a light fog curling over the grass, typhlosion and feraligatr were wrestling each other for a bit of Gold's RageCandyBar.

Silver rifled through the pockets of his old sports coat for a cigarette and lighter.

"A male pokémon can pass its moves down to its offspring. The pokémon that hatches will always be the same species as the female. So, if you were to breed your typhlosion with my houndoom, you'd get a cyndaquil that knows the move Reversal from the start."

Gold shrugged. "I'd trade you an egg for the houndoom."

Silver took a drag, exhaling. "Houndoom?" he reiterated, like he hadn't heard correctly.

"You don't want to?"

Silver scowled. "It's getting too old to battle."

"You've had that feraligatr a lot longer."

Silver's jaw twitched. "He's not for sale." He pushed himself off the wall, one hand going to his poké ball. He stifled a cough, and barked, "That's enough, Feraligatr!"

The feraligatr released its faux death-grip on typhlosion's throat and raised its head. With a huff, Silver recalled his pokémon. "I want to be sure Houndoom will be looked after. Not just sitting in the day-care or in a box."

"It's just for my 'dex," Gold muttered. "You can have her back."

Silver scowled. "I'm not interested in raising a pokémon that can't fight." He discarded the butt. Crushed it under his boot.

Gold bred a couple cyndaquil, offering each to Silver for appraisal. Silver only ever called if he wanted a match. Next time they talked, the same spot at the Indigo Plateau, Silver brusquely mentioned that he and cyndaquil were getting stronger, and that he was going to take a break to focus on training. Next time they crossed paths, it would be for a rematch.

Life as Champion didn't lend itself to small-talk, just a constant barrage of calls from his POKéGEAR. Televised interviews replaced by speculation on his whereabouts. There was no mountaintop on which to seek seclusion. The wild pokémon on Route 28 offered more of a challenge. Silver was the only trainer whose power was tantamount to his own.

The poké center was more like a hotel. Besides a state-of-the-art healing machine, the nurse stocked max repels and full heals. As he walked into the pokécenter, the nurse looked up with a small nod. "Going up the mountain?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't ask if there were any rooms. There were always vacancies. "You know, you and Lance are the only trainers I see on a regular basis," the nurse said. "Apart from that boy." She forced a chuckle. "He used to come here and train, like you do. He'd tell me about how he lost the title of champion to his friend, so he was working for his grandfather. Of course, I'd tell him, there are other paths in life. This one just didn't work out for you." She shrugged. "Last I heard, he's a Gym Leader in Viridian now. His friend is still up on Mount Silver."

"Did you ever talk to him?" Gold asked, without thinking about it. The nurse didn't answer, turning instead to dust off the stock of full restores behind the counter. "I didn't mean to pry," Gold said. "I was just wondering what Red was like."

The nurse moved on to the hyper potions. "He didn't talk much. I just remember that he was young. Couldn't have been much older than you are now." She sighed, shook her head. "If he's still alive, the least he could do is leave a note for his mother."

Gold added, "I'll talk to him. If I see him up there."

In the tiny room, he checked his bag. Heavy winter clothes, a bivouac, lots of spare batteries and dry food. Once he stepped foot into the mountain, there wasn't any outside help. The wild pokémon were particularly vicious, having to adapt to the freezing climate. Lance told him once, in confidence, that sooner or later you'd trip over a trainer's forgotten poké ball or items. The pokémon inside couldn't live or die, trapped in a state of hibernation. Some of them had been there longer than Red.

Gold repacked for the next morning. He couldn't relax. Might as well practice his moves with typhlosion.

His POKéGEAR rang. The caller ID read Silver. Gold picked up.

"What's up?"

"Quilava and I are getting stronger."

"That's great. How's the training with Lance?"

"He's busy. Clair has her responsibilities in Blackthorn. Anyway, you shouldn't get complacent just because you're working for Oak."

Gold scoffed. "Are you my rival or my coach?" Silver wasn't saying anything. Gold tried a different angle, "The pokécenter on Route 28 has got spare rooms."

"They won't let me through the gate without sixteen badges."

"So tell them you're with me. The guys on duty don't really care. Nothing interesting ever happens out here."

A beat. Maybe Silver would lose patience and hang up, and he could toss around instead of sleeping.

"Tomorrow morning. I want to battle for old time's sake."

Gold said, "Can't do that. I'm about to go up the mountain."

A short scoff. "You need a chaperone?"

"I'll make time for you," Gold insisted. "Unless you want to come."

"I'm coming over now."

Gold scoffed. "What? This is serious, man, you can't just go up the mountain. You need to have the right gear."

"Not up the mountain. Just to battle." Another pause. "For old time's sake."

Gold exhaled. "Yeah, uh. That's fine."

He didn't bother clicking any buttons. Silver always hung up first. Gold put his shoes back on. Before he left, he made a quick stop by the PC to swap out houndoom for typhlosion.

The sunlight was somehow fainter than it should have been. The grass came up to his waist. Colors seemed washed out, subfusc. No wild pokémon rushed to greet him.

The poké center was close. He'd explain his situation to the nurse and figure something out.

Silver turned to the feraligatr at his side, nodded. The pokémon struck an imposing figure in the dead light.

Feraligatr were massive, fast moving and deadly even on land. It could do serious harm to him or any of his pokémon without much effort. Gold had a Houndoom that ignored orders. This could only end in failure. And then what? Did pokémon centers exist in this timeless void? Would he die alone and afraid?

"This won't fix anything," Gold said.

Silver's mouth thinned, shoulders set. Gold clicked open his only poké ball.

Houndoom eyed the feraligatr. Its head inclined forward, like it was sizing up its opponent. It snarled, fangs dripping with saliva. The feraligatr cowered, arms raised.

Feraligatr was a fast, vicious breed. Silver didn't give the order to attack but watched Gold intently.

Houndoom dug its fangs into the tough scales. Feraligatr groaned, barely moving at all. A plume of bluish fire erupted from Houndoom's muzzle. The feraligatr began to convulse.

Silver flinched.

"Stop!" Gold shouted. "That's enough!" He thrust his arm out, activating the poké ball. "Return!"

The light engulfed Houndoom. It wailed and the recoil shot up Gold's arm, freezing him in place. His skin tingled.

A shot pierced the heavy air. Houndoom yelped.

Two more shots. The feraligatr's jaws slackened. It slumped to the ground and didn't get up.

Silver lowered his arm, breathing shallowly. Acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. Colorless grass stained a deep red.

"It hates to take orders from me. Maybe it would be better off with you."

Silver lowered the gun. He didn't say another word, but his lower lip quivered. He swallowed, and turned to walk down the riverbank before disappearing into the space a poké center should've been.

Houndoom barked at the empty mouth of the cave.

"There's nothing there!" Gold exploded. He took a shaky breath that did not help his temper. "You've always been a fucking pain in the ass, it's no wonder Silver would give you away. You know why I boxed you? Because you wouldn't listen to me. You still don't listen to me! Every day, I wake up and try to convince myself that nothing would change. But now I think I was right. Typhlosion would be alive right now if you'd taken her place." His voice strained, faltering under the weight of something he couldn't take back. "Damn it, I didn't mean it. I just want to go home," he whispered. "I want to see my friends again."

The houndoom didn't respond. It was staring at him over its shoulder, awaiting further instructions.

Gold put his hands to his face. "I don't know what to do anymore." He took a shaky, gradual breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to do."

Movement in his peripherals. Perched above the mouth of the cave. It opened its beak and crowed once, mournfully. Houndoom wailed. Gold's legs wouldn't move. It spread its ashen wings and swooped down, extending its talons. Gold couldn't even make a sound. He raised his arms in front of his face.

The bird swooped over them, circling back over the empty horizon to alight on the grass. It lowered one wing, and Gold recalled his pokémon. He clambered onto its back, holding onto his cap as they took off. Soaring above Johto. Its plumage, slippery, reeked of ash and smoke.

Touching down in Goldenrod City, he felt an emptiness in his chest.

The streets were unnaturally silent, aside from the gentle de-tuned whine coming from his POKéGEAR. The longer he walked he felt the prickle of eyes on him, but no sign of activity. Only the windows in the poké center were lit. Breaking into a choppy sprint, he crossed through the doors, walked up to the nurse.

"Good evening," she said, giving him a second glance. "Would you like to heal your pokémon?" Gold nodded, wordlessly unclipping the poké ball from his belt. "Wait here."

She walked over the machine. Gold made an effort to get his bearings. The same posters on the walls. Trainers he'd never seen before. None of them were from New Bark.

"Here's your pokémon back."

Gold tore his eyes away. "Thank you very much." He clipped the ball onto his belt, and hesitated. "On the radio, have you heard of any trainers who came from New Bark Town?"

The nurse paused. "I don't think so. Are you looking for someone?"

Gold pulled out his trainer card from his pocket. "You checked me in, at the center on Route 28. Your sister works in Olivine. We talked about the previous champion of the Indigo League. I promised that I'd talk to him. He's off the mountain. If you see his mother," he took a breath, "tell him her son is alive."

The nurse glanced slowly from the card to him. She had gone pale. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Gold glanced at the posters. He put the card back in his wallet. No matter how desperately he insisted, there was no convincing her without causing a scene. "You looked like someone I know." He swallowed dryly. "Sorry to bother you at this hour."

He stepped outside, calling on houndoom. "I shouldn't have treated you the way I did," he said. He looked at the darkened windows for a sign of movement. "All I've done is blame you for my own shortcomings. You deserve a better trainer." A light chill caused him to shudder. "I'll let you lead the way."

Through the checkpoint towards Route 35, there wasn't anyone stationed behind the counter. Gold went ahead and stopped, mid-stride. "This isn't right." The forest path wasn't Route 35. A thick blanket of leaves decaying at his feet. The smell of decomposing flora hung in the air. The sun's rays limned through the gaps in the leaves in hues of crimson.

Houndoom came to a stop, attention drawn towards something Gold couldn't see.

"What's wrong?"

Crunching of leaves underfoot. A boy's white and gold cap through the grey foliage and disappeared.

Gold called out, "Hey!" He gave chase. He didn't see the boy anywhere.

The old entryway to Tin Tower. Gold stepped through. A shadow passed over the room. He spun around. Where a door should have been, there was old, damp redwood. Grain kissed his palms. He threw himself against it to no avail. 

"Welcome back."

Gold whirled around with a cry. Silver leant against the pillar. One hand in his pocket. "Why are you here? Did the unown take you?"

Silver averted his eyes. The houndoom growled, teeth dripping with saliva. Silver didn't flinch.

"There's a way out of this," he said at length. "You just haven't found it yet."

His eyes returned to Gold's face. His usual stoicism seemed to falter. That wasn't like Silver at all. "I don't have time for this," Gold snapped. "Just give me a straight answer, or get out of my way."

Silver tensed. In the low light, the shadows seemed to coalesce around the ceiling. Giving way to an impossible volume of unown, their eyes blinking, glancing around. The darkness itself seemed to swell of its own volition.

Silver's expression faltered into naked guilt.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

Gold had never heard him talk like that before.

"Silver?"

The unown covered the walls, coursing down the pillar. Silver opened his mouth to speak but was subsumed. Gold's cry was swallowed up by the darkness. The unown had no true solidity to them, but he couldn't move his limbs no matter how desperately he struggled.

Wait.

A resonant voice, clear as a bell, broke through the cacophony. The unown scattered, melting into the walls and pillar. Houndoom was gone.

A shape fluttered down towards him from the empty void above. Gold's breath caught in his throat. The celebi hovered a foot above him, its pink skin translucent like the petals of a flower. One green eye luminous and sorrowful. Half of its tiny body was burnt beyond recognition. The muscle and bones blackened. He could almost taste the rot.

It made a revolution around the pillar, then chirped at him. Gold swallowed. He walked over and reached out with trembling fingers.

The moment he made contact, the tower's wooden interior melted away. Blades of grass sprouting under his feet. The quiet burble of the river, the whisper of the breeze through leaves. The sky obscured through thick foliage.

His stomach twisted, on reflex. He swallowed down the urge to retch. His legs wouldn't hold him, and he collapsed. Grass scratched at his bare skin. Eye-to-eye with a small wooden shrine. Under its eaves, the twin doors were ajar. A single poké ball, white and gold, offered up to the forest's protector. There was no ID, just an etching above the button. Two letters.

"Wh-what is that? I've never seen one before. It looks a lot like a poké ball, but it appears to be something else. Let me check it for you."

He felt for the poké ball on his belt. Clicked it open, and in a flash of red light stood his old friend. A plume of smoke emitted from her shoulders.

Gold couldn't stop trembling. Suddenly, he choked out a sob. Each breath, he took in real air, the stench of grass and mud and fur, not some paradox of his memories. 

"I'm home," he whispered, "I'm finally home. We're alive."

As he gathered his composure, scratching the side of Typhlosion's head, the first thing he was going to do was call his mother. A dead-end. He circled back towards the maze. There was no other path. As he returned to the shrine, Celebi was sitting on the roof. Its eyes—whole and blue—were impassive.

"This is over," he said. "I did whatever I was supposed to do. I'm back now, and I'm going to—"

Inexorable stabbing sensation behind his temples. Series of images flickering behind his eyelids in smooth succession. The tarnished celebi and the red pillar. Ilex Forest, ablaze. Sensation of fire licking at his skin, the curling flesh blackened. The pain abated as quickly as it had come. Gold, on hands and knees in the grass, retched a little but couldn't make himself throw up.

Typhlosion snarled. The embers on its back flared.

"It's all right," Gold panted. "Celebi isn't an enemy." He forced himself to his feet, tense. He wiped his sweaty face with the butt of his palm. "So, you know future sight," he said. "What else can you do?"

It chirped again, brusquely.

His mood soured. "I know," he grumbled. "I know where I'm supposed to go." He shouldered his bag, still heavy with an unhatched egg. "We should get moving. We're already late. I want to drop this off at the poké center in Goldenrod before we go."

END ACT II

a/n: It has been ten years since I updated this bad boy. (Technically a little longer since I posted the first rough chapter/prologue on Deviantart back in 2012.) Given the abstract nature of the original creepypasta, this fic's plot has deviated for the sake of maintaining a narrative. It also takes a few cues from the Lost Silver: Hidden hack by Reidd Maxwell. In the Japanese version of Pokémon Crystal, a researcher in the Ruins of Alph states "According to my research... Those mysterious patterns appeared when the Pokécom Center was built. It must mean that radio waves have some sort of a link...", indicating that the Unown's appearance in said ruins are influenced by Goldenrod City's Pokémon Communication Center.

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Wesley Crusher

By Ames

Grab your favorite hideous sweater! It’s time to talk about Wesley Crusher. He’s one of the most polarizing characters on TNG, with a lot of hate directed his way, but he also has a number of great Trek moments which we on A Star to Steer Her By are going to sort through today!

We can probably blame Gene Roddenberry for making this character so insufferable, especially in the first season when he seemed to have the easy solution for the engineering problem of any given episode. Gene designed him to characterize a person’s infinite potential and then slapdashedly shoehorned him into every place he could, and you’ll notice that right after the big writers room turnover, the child prodigy started feeling more like a character and less like a cheat code. Scroll on for the list below and listen to our chatter on this week’s podcast episode (warp over to timestamp 57:36) for all the dirt. Just unplug your nanite experiment first.

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

Don’t shut up, Wesley While I’ll give Wesley the deserved scrutiny in a moment for the absurd number of times in season one of TNG that he saved the day, we do have to give him some credit for figuring out that Lore was impersonating Data in “Datalore.” Even while pretty much everyone on the crew was telling him to shut up, Wes had it all figured out and topped it off by beaming Lore into space.

Double dumbass on you! Wesley actually does get to shine during “Coming of Age,” an episode that really uses his youth to its advantage by having him take the Starfleet Academy entrance exam. And he gets pretty far! He even figures out that Rondon is a Zaldan, so Wesley realizes that apologizing for getting run into himself is the wrong reaction for that culture and comes away looking like a badass.

Teamwork makes the dream work Speaking of “Coming of Age,” Wesley is also this close to solving the dynamics relationships test first when he helps Mordock figure it out too. Wesley’s natural affinity for helping his crewmates is more important to him than getting the top score, which TAC Officer Chang takes into consideration in the final results. I’m not sure it helped much, but it’s a good character moment.

You never forget your first “I'm never going to feel this way about anyone else,” Wesley says to Guinan after watching his first crush leave in “The Dauphin.” Strangely, it’s a very mature little conversation considering Wesley was ready to write Salia off as some kind of alien monster earlier in the episode. But he learns to accept her differences, score some relationship experience points, and get his first smooch.

The minute you walk through that door they’re your team Slowly, the show starts putting Wesley in more age-appropriate situations in which he isn’t just saving the day, so it’s fitting for him to be overwhelmed when leading his first committee in “Pen Pals.” His team member Davies effectively takes over because Wes initially lacks confidence, but he soon takes charge and they work together to save Drema IV. Go team!

You told me to improvise During the war games in “Peak Performance,” Wesley thinks outside the box and retrieves one of his many, many experiments from the Enterprise to use on the less advantaged Hathaway. While Riker initially accuses young Crusher of cheating, no one said he couldn’t sneak tools off the other ship, and it’s that kind of ingenuity that could be useful in a fight.

Begin by letting go of your guilt, Wesley His mother Beverly may be on full display in “Remember Me” as we discussed last week, but Wesley also gets some interesting development. Back in “Where No One Has Gone Before” the Traveler saw potential in the child prodigy, and when the two of them use their special powers here to open the door for Dr. Crusher to return from the warp bubble, we witness some of that weird potential get unlocked.

I’ve done it all because I want you to be proud of me We joke a lot on the podcast that Picard is secretly Wesley’s father, and it’s mostly for laughs. But when we get touching scenes between the two of them like the one in “Final Mission,” we think we may be onto something. Stranded on a planet without water, Wesley keeps an injured Picard alive (can’t say the same for Dirgo, but whatever), fueling paternity theories for years to come.

I just lost the game After Wesley leaves the crew after “Final Mission,” his appearances are more methodical, and thus his character feels more and more appropriate each time. In “The Game,” he’s just visiting but his tendency to see how things work helps him and Lefler to discover that the video game everyone’s playing is actually harmful before the whole crew turns on them.

I would like to add something to my testimony We get even more glimpses of how far Wesley has come when he’s attending Starfleet Academy in “The First Duty.” All of Nova Squadron has lied about the circumstances of Josh Albert’s flight accident, and it’s Wesley who comes clean in the end because he can’t bear the guilt and the dishonesty of covering up their nefarious actions. Take that, Locarno!

These people deserve better than to be removed from their homes We found Picard’s actions inexcusable and entirely out of character in “Journey’s End” but you know who was actually on point? Wesley freakin’ Crusher. How on earth the boy was the only Starfleet-adjacent person to actually try to defend the colonists on Dorvan V is beyond us. It strikes us as opposing Federation ideals to force the colonists to move, and Wes knows that.

I had to find my own path Finally, it is a fabulous resolution to the Wesley Crusher character for him to decide on his own to leave Starfleet and go with the Traveler to discover his true potential in “Journey’s End.” For too many kids, it’s the parents who put pressure on them to walk certain paths, and we celebrate Wes for finding his own. Ya know, until he’s randomly back in Starfleet for that cut scene from Nemesis for some reason.

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Worst moments

Wesley Saves the Day! Okay, I’m gonna lump all the obnoxious “Wesley Saves the Day!” instances into one blurb because it’s so damn repetitive. Every single time, Wesley – a child amidst some of Starfleet’s best of the best – figures out some impossible engineering problem before any of the adults in the room can, and we got so tired of it. 

Whether it’s by getting drunk and taking over engineering only to use his reverse tractor beam in “The Naked Now,” or saving the day with the Traveler in “Where No One Has Gone Before,” or spotting Picard’s brain scan from across the room and deducing there are Ferengi shenanigans afoot in “The Battle,” or cracking the lock on the holodeck door while La Forge had already admitted defeat in “The Big Goodbye,” or seeing through Lore’s disguise as we mentioned above while all the adults in the room tell him to shut up in “Datalore,” or probably a ton of others all from the first season, it was clear no one knew how to write him except as some kind of magical prodigy. Alakazam!

Keep off the grass It’s all the more clear that having a child character on the crew is just a cringey idea in “Justice.” Sure, it could have been anyone who broke the stringent rules of the Edo, but just the fact that it’s Wesley gallumphing through a flower bed like an uncoordinated doofus, destroying it utterly, makes us roll our eyes and seriously wish they’d let them execute the brat. 

Frosty the no-no man Let us not forget that it was Wesley who hit the captain with a snowball in “Angel One,” an immature and obnoxious little scene that seems to prove Picard’s point that letting children run roughshod all over the ship is an inconvenience at best and a liability at worst. And it happens to be the latter in this episode, because he ends up getting the whole ship sick with some disease!

Drug Abuse Resistance Education is futile! While we can go on about Wesley’s whole exchange with Tasha about drug addiction in “Symbiosis,” what’s most egregious is how sheltered and clueless Wesley (normally some kind of child genius) has to be to not understand how narcotics work in the first place. It’s such a forced scene that we can just feel the Reagan Era war on drugs sentimentality written all over.

I guess leaving’s gotten easy for you It’s easy to find fault with “The Outrageous Okona” – it is my least favorite TNG episode, after all. Literally everyone in this episode is annoying, and as usual, that includes Wesley who first idolizes the charming rogue, then seems really judgey of his independent and carefree lifestyle, and finally he sasses the guy into making him conclude the soap opera plot of the episode.

How do you tell each other apart? It’s a pretty cheap joke when Wesley meets Mendon in “A Matter of Honor” and mistakes him for Mordock, whom we met in “Coming of Age.” I can’t tell if the writers were trying to make a racist “you people all look alike” kind of gag, but regardless, it makes Wesley look like an idiot for not knowing anything about Benzites and Benzite culture.

Klingons hate surprise parties Everything Wesley does in “The Icarus Factor” is annoying. He blathers like a maniac at the impatient Klingon, but then takes that impatience to assume something greater is going on than just being fed up with an obnoxious tween like anyone else would be. But to make things more exasperating, the little twerp is right, as he always is, and throws Worf an Age of Ascension party. Ugh.

I think that everything that’s been going wrong might be my fault It’s not until season three that, instead of saving the day as he did so many times already, Wesley actually screws up big by releasing the nanites in “Evolution.” While it’s refreshing to see Wes finally admit to some kind of flaw, his escaped nanites end up taking over the ship and start attacking people. And what’s worse is that he tries to lie about it until Guinan catches him!

Broccoli on the side You’ll remember this from La Forge’s spotlight as well, but Geordi reveals in “Hollow Pursuits” that it was Wesley who initiated the cruel nickname “Broccoli” for Lt. Barclay. Wes, you might still be a child, but you’re in a room with adults so stop acting like one! I don’t know what’s worse: being such a dick to one of your coworkers, or all the adults in the room condoning it.

I’m the one trapped in the bubble As if his misadventure in “Evolution” weren’t enough, Wesley botches another science experiment in “Remember Me” and nearly gets his mother killed in a pocket dimension! I know we just gave him some credit for bringing her back (though I mostly give that credit to the Traveler), someone’s got to stop letting Wes hook shit up to the warp core just because he’s the CMO’s kid! Nepotism much?

The first duty of every Starfleet officer is to the truth Here’s another Wesley moment that ended up on both lists because as much as we can see the character growth and lesson learned when he comes clean in “The First Duty,” it also needs to be said that he is fully prepared to follow Nick Locarno like a little sheep. Wesley almost certainly wouldn’t have done the right thing in the end if Picard hadn’t basically threatened him first!

You are out! Auf wiedersehen! Finally, we would be remiss if we didn’t poopoo Wesley’s fashion choices. Again. It’s a trainwreck of a fashion show. Sweater after sweater – all oversized, hideously patterned, and monstrously ugly. Ames has the full write up in an early blogpost: Wesley's Sweaters: An Unfashionable Collection, but this coral nightmare from “Where No One Has Gone Before” might take the cake.

—

Well, we’re off to go exploring with the Traveler, so that’s gonna wrap things up for this one. We’re back next week with more characters to spotlight and also more Enterprise to watch over on the podcast, which you can find on SoundCloud or wherever you listen. You can also get our help on your Academy entrance exams over on Facebook and Twitter, and watch out for those flowers!

[wordsandrobots]

IBO reference notes on … the Gundams (Addendum 1)

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Addendum 1]

Calling this the first addendum because hopefully, at some point, I'll be doing another to cover the Baklazan Family's entry in the list. In the meantime, let's take a gander at the two 'suits released to the world since I wrapped up my posts on the Gundam frames.

ASW-G-16 Zepar

(With apologies to Gundam Info, who had a higher resolution version of this image than the actual MSV site).

When I separated the Gundam frames into groups for the purposes of not having an extremely over-long blog post, they naturally fell into three groups: relatively simple designs, armed relatively simply; more busy designs featuring some kind of added gimmick; and the freaks and weirdos representing increasingly arcane strategies for beating mobile armours. Seems the official designers intend this to be an actual in-story progression since Zepar, as a low-numbered machine, neatly fits into the first category.

Excepting the 'cape' of shield-wings, Zepar is remarkably unadorned, comparable to Barbatos in its straightforwardness. That a pilot armed only with a sword and shield should have gained a position among the Seven Stars speaks to Embrilla Kujan's skill. True, the shield is motorised so it can be turned into a large-bore drill (handy). But that in itself demonstrates this Gundam did its fighting at close range, further underlining Embrilla's capability. There are undoubted similarities here to Agnika Kaieru's trademark two-sword combat style, which probably looked very good in the late-War propaganda. Indeed, few of the other Gundams seem as gloriously heroic as this in their resting appearance. Put Bael and Zepar in the same place and you're looking at a pair of elegant warriors. Champion dragon-killers, here to save the human race!

Before we get too caught up in the aesthetics, however, let's consider the realities of the Calamity War's outcome. Going by the seating plan, and assuming this maps seniority within the Seven Stars (based on the Issues being positioned at the top of the table), the Kujans and the Fareeds lie at the bottom of the heap. This would actually track quite well with Iznario Fareed's scheming. Lacking the comfortable entrenchment of, say, the Falk Family, he sought to gain other advantages by breaking Gjallarhorn's ostensive political neutrality and acquiring allies among Earth's governments.

Perhaps this also explains why the Kujan Family apparently has connections to underworld figures such as Jasley Donomikols. I'm not going to claim any of the noble families are less than extensively corrupt. Gjallarhorn bends to realpolitik at all levels. But it is notable that the Kujans should have a relationship with the JPT Trust that possibly extends as far as getting them a Halfbeak class spaceship for their boss to ride around in. Is a Jupiter mobster not a rather petty ally for a high-placed house? Or does this represent the level on which such a low-ranked member of the elite can operate?

Without knowing much about Iok's father beyond his earning the adoration of his troops and the above-mentioned connection, it's hard to say for sure. If the Kujans are indeed the runts of the Seven Stars, it seems our red-glad knight was surpassed quite comfortably by peers using different, more pragmatic strategies. Given the drive towards greater complexity in later designs, we might take this to be something the people fighting the War were themselves aware of. At some point, the base Gundam form was judged insufficient for the task at hand.

Then again, the Kujan progenitor still made a place among the seven, however lowly. And, lest we forget, the Falk's Gundam was the fourth in the sequence. The simpler machines cannot be counted out just by virtue of being simpler.

From the Ars Goetia:

The Sixteenth Spirit is Zepar. He is a Great Duke, and appeareth in Red Apparel and Armour, like a Soldier. His office is to cause Women to love Men, and to bring them together in love. He also maketh them barren. He governeth 26 Legions of Inferior Spirits, and his Seal is this, which he obeyeth when he seeth it.

There's an obvious joke in here about preventing Iok's from having been around to screw everything up. That aside, Gundam Zepar is most exactly a 'soldier in red apparel'. Further, on the theme of love, its heroic appearance and the way that Iok's father is talked about in the series seem to mesh well together. Perhaps in Zepar we see the epitome of Gjallarhorn as a positive force -- on the surface, at least.

ASW-G-61 Zagan

16 at the bottom, 61 at the top. I wonder if that was on purpose? They share a designer out of fiction, and seem to share more design cues in-universe than most other pairs of Gundams we could pick. These are perhaps the pair it is most easily to look at and say 'the second is developing on the first'.

Anyway. Gundam Zagan. Original pilot: Arzona Issue. The most prolific mobile armour killer of the Seven Stars. Perhaps *the* most prolific of all the Gundams, depending on whether we assume Bael took the actual top spot and whether the Seven Stars bagged most armours overall, not just out of the surviving pilots.

If Zepar represents simplicity of form, Zagan is a triumph of function. Its numbering places it in the top third of the 72 frames, which by my breakdown classifies it as a freak, and, well. Those aren't just shields it's got there: they're Zagan's main weapons.

With three canonical fights against mobile armours under our belts, we can safely say the goal in such encounters is to rip the 'armour to bits. Whether it be Marchosias dicing Harael with a show of expert swordsmanship, Wiz and friends ganging up to wear down Mebahiah by sheer weight of numbers, or Mikazuki clobbering Hashmal until he gets an opening to stab it in the central processor, a certain degree of dismemberment seems par for the course. This ties into the 'medieval' combat style of the show, but also fits with the general sense that the 'armours are such juggernauts, their defences need to be peeled back to expose any trace of weakness.

A Gundam outfitted with a part of giant tin-openers, therefore, feels like exactly the kind of thing you'd want on the battlefield. Moreover, in his (brief) usage of Zagan, erstwhile Issue Family-supporter Londo Bron demonstrates the sheer brute strength of the machine, effortlessly dispatching a squad of three Grazes, including one he quite literally punches to death. Like Gusion in its Brewers form, this Gundam is built thick, the limbs set wide on the frame. It's the most brutish 'suit we've seen since Gamigin and where that appeared built for heavy-lifting, this one seems designed to be a berserker. Close-range, like Zepar, but discarding swords or spears in favour of crushing force.

Again, it reads as an extension of previous attempts, pushing the envelope in the pursuit of victory. Like Murmur, this looks like a case of incorporating the enemy's strengths: those claws would be at home on a mobile armour -- riffing on Ananel, perhaps? It is certainly building on the kind of equipment Marchosias used, moving from providing auxiliary limbs to making them the Gundam's primary offensive capability (remember, Marchosias' main weapon remained its long sword/club; the other articulated blades were in addition).

What strikes me most of all is how this circles around to what Barbatos will become under Tekkadan's watch. Gjallarhorn might assay the heroic appearance of Zepar, with ornate uniforms and aristocratic trappings, a proud bearing in the face of a grubby world. But the most powerful group among their leadership for three centuries was founded by someone who flew a machine like Zagan, which would be quite at home alongside Barbatos Lupus Rex.

All kingship is rooted, ultimately, in conquest and brutality. The trappings of honour and martial splendour among which Carta Issue dies in PD 323 are a veneer over the horror of a devastating war -- and the horrors required to end it.

One has to wonder what she would have made of her ancestor in their prime, tearing armours apart with their all four of their bare hands.

From the Ars Goetia:

The Sixty-first Spirit is Zagan. He is a Great King and President, appearing at first in the Form of a Bull with Gryphon's Wings; but after a while he putteth on Human Shape. He maketh Men Witty. He can turn Wine into Water, and Blood into Wine. He can turn all Metals into Coin of the Domninion that Metal is of. He can even make Fools Wise. He governeth 33 Legions of Spirits, and his Seal is this, etc.

'Bull with gryphon's wings' is a certainly an apt description of the form and with respect to what I was just talking about, putting on a human shape 'after a while' feels like a theme to run with more than in the other metamorphoses we've read about. Indeed, there is much here to do with the transformation of baser things into the stuff of civilisation: wit, wine, coin, even wisdom. Is this not what the Issues led, the refinement of an organisation dedicated to ending a war into the bastion of a new age? Or, if we are to be cynical about it, is it any surprise a demon's production of such things should only run skin-deep?

Other reference posts include:

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (Part 1)

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (Part 2)

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (corrigendum) [mainly covering my inability to recognise mythical wolves]

IBO reference notes on … three key Yamagi scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Shino scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Eugene scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Ride scenes

IBO reference notes on … the tone of the setting

IBO reference notes on … character parallels and counterpoints

IBO reference notes on … a perfect villain

IBO reference notes on … Iron-Blooded Orphans: Gekko

IBO reference notes on … an act of unspeakable cruelty

IBO reference notes on … original(ish) characters [this one is mainly fanfic]

IBO reference notes on … Kudelia’s decisions

IBO reference notes on … assorted head-canons

IBO reference notes on … actual, proper original characters [explicit fanfic – as in, actually fanfic. None of them have turned up in the smut yet]

IBO reference notes on … the aesthetics of the mobile frame

IBO reference notes on … mobile suit designations

IBO reference notes on … the Gundams (part 1)

IBO reference notes on … the Gundams (part 2)

IBO reference notes on … the Gundams (part 3)

IBO reference notes on … the Turbines, or ‘Tekkadan done right’

[zoe-and-quinn]

Whumptober Day 2

Thermometer / Delirium / “They don’t care about you.”

TW: Mentions of drugging, choking

96.

97.

98.

98 bricks on the first wall, painted white and stone-cold. They seemed to suck all the heat out of her. She hugged her knees closer to her body, seeking some small bit of comfort.

Georgia didn’t remember how she had gotten to the small, closet sized room.

She didn’t remember much of anything from the previous night.

At least, she thought it was the previous night. The room had no windows, no clock, no anything. Except for bricks.

She started to count the next wall.

The door opened before she reached 20. It was hard to make out the figure standing in the doorway, with the backlight from the hall and her still-blurry vision. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust before Alexei’s smirking face came into view.

Why was he smirking? He was supposed to be helping her. He had picked her up last night, rescued her from her parents, and then…

Trying to remember made her head hurt. She stopped trying.

Alexei leaned on the doorframe casually. “Feeling any better?”

“I-I… I d-don’t know-w-what-t’s-”

“Yeah, she’s still feverish,” Alexei said to someone outside the door. “You think it’s a reaction to the-”

“Obviously it's a reaction to the drugs, Alexei.” A woman with close-cropped hair and a sneer walked through the doorway, kneeling a foot in front of Georgia. “Either you gave her too much or she was drunk already. Or you’re just really unlucky and she’s allergic or something.”

Georgia looked between Alexei and the woman in confusion. Gave her too much what?

The woman reached into a leather bag slung around her shoulder and pulled out a thermometer. “Open up,” she commanded, scooting closer and holding it up to Georgia’s lips.

She shook her head, pushing back further into the wall. “I d-don’t… what’s g-going on?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I always forget how hard it is to deal with the untrained ones.” She grabbed Georgia's chin, hard, and forced her head up. Georgia gasped, trying in vain to wiggle away. She felt the cold mettle tip of the thermometer push into her mouth, and she clamped it shut to try to stop it.

The woman released her chin and moved her hand to wrap tightly around Georgia’s throat, restricting her air and sparking a fear so strong she didn’t know what to do with it. She thrashed about, trying to push away this stranger, but there was no hope of her winning such a struggle.

“Come on, sweet, under your tongue.”

She opened her mouth, just a little, and the thermometer settled into place. The hand around her throat loosened its grip, and she took in a shuddering breath, which quickly turned into a sob.

“Aww, crying already? We haven’t even done anything yet. Now close your mouth for me, that’s a good girl.” Georgia did as she was told and after a minute the women took the thermometer out, looking at the number displayed on the screen. “103.2. Not great, but not life threatening. Give her some tylenol and a few hours rest, she’ll probably be fine.”

“Sounds good,” Alexei said with a grin. He stood the woman’s hand once she had stood up. “Thank you, Lee. I’ll let you know when I need you again.”

“You always do,” she chuckled. “With the way you work, I’ll probably see you again tomorrow.” She left without another word and Georgia and Alexei were alone.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what question to ask that would make things make sense. She didn’t want to understand, though, not really. She just wanted…

“I want to go home.”

He scoffed. “What home? Home to your parents? They don’t care about you, do they? And you ran away. You don’t have a home to go to.”

“I t-thought you-”

“You thought I was going to save you? That we’d drive away and everything would be fine again? Life doesn’t work like that, Georgie.”

She sat for a moment in silence, realization washing over her.

This man wasn’t her friend. The person who knew all her deepest secrets, who had comforted her in her lowest times, didn’t…

“You don’t care.”

“I never did.”

[ashkav]

(About your post about the relationship between Sam and Amelie/Bridget) GOD, RIGHT?! The relationship between them is insane and so complex, I really wish that it will be explored in DS2. Can you imagine being raised by this like, goddess of destruction and extinction and not knowing about it, and then finding out that you have to be the one to kill her to save humanity, all the people you've just started to develop relationships with, to provide a good world for your daughter, but... That's still your mom. That's your sister who comforted you when you were a scared child.

I think that Amelie is such a fascinating character, because she's so hard to pinpoint- she offset the balance of the whole world to save a child she accidentally killed in the process of developing a way to save humanity and decided to raise that child both to atone and provide Sam with the best life she could after killing her parents, but ALSO as a human killswitch that will be forced into talking her out of wiping all life on Earth, which is such a huge responsibility for ANYONE, and Sam didn't even consent to do that! You can make compelling arguments for both "she's a monster" and "she meant well".

I feel like she's almost kinda outside of human morality in some way, because, well, can she even be considered "human"? I think that yeah, kinda, but the burden she was forced to bear warps her, in a way, to the point where she cannot be fully seen throught the conventional spectrum of human morality. I mean of course, her using Homo Demens to kill tens of thousands of people is undeniably an evil act, but when you look at her as someone who is pretty much biologically destined to wipe out at least millions of people (given that the post-Stranding population numbers are much smaller), you can see how she would see that number as pretty much nothing in a cosmic scale. Not that it justifies it but you know, optics.

And she's this godlike being who has a very close relationship with this one paticular human, her favorite out of all people in the world, one who she raised since infancy and manipulated on a molecular scale (like you've said). She has done so much harm to him, irreversably warped him to the very core, but she undeniably loves him. Sam's her baby, her little brother she comforted and looked after- this god of destruction still shows a human side. She has absolutely traumatized Sam and she clearly feels guilty about it, but she probably thought that it had to be done, to give millions of humans a potential chance. Just as the BBs are used as sacrifices for the chiral network, Sam (a former BB at that) was used as one both for the network and humanity.

I love that the trailer of DS2 (the first one) has the dreamcatcher hanging off the celling as one of the first visuals we see. I REALLY hope that the aftermath of Sam's relationship and goodbye with Amelie will be one of the main themes of the game- and I think that a compelling argument can be made for Amelie "putting a piece of her soul" into Lou at the end of DS1, but I don't want to bore you 😅

(Sorry for yapping, but I'm going through death stranding withdrawials and this post scratched an itch. I adore talking about the lore and themes of this game, even if it is often overlooked 😅)

ohghug thank you so much for the big long ask im dying to talk about this too and you have given me so many things to respond to and build off of. i will literally never be bored of DS analysis.

i also hope she is directly in DS2! i think its pretty much confirmed she'll be there at the very least in a 'haunting the narrative' kind of way considering Higgs seems to be leading a cult with her as their messianic (?) figure, but Sam deserves some sort of resolution that isn't a desperate goodbye on the beach. i personally need him to have a screaming crying confrontation with her able to RESPOND to everything she's done. like you say, Sam must have the most complicated and tangled feelings about Amelie bottled up inside him and he deserves the chance to get some closure on at least some of it beyond 'your sister-mom doomed herself to her own personal hell to save you specifically and coincidentally also the rest of humanity, and her final act was to bring your baby back to life.'

i want to hear more from Amelie so bad. how does she justify herself? how does she consider her own morality in the grand scheme of things? what we do know from the first game is extremely interesting but even her relationship with Sam, the one thing the game spends so much time establishing and drawing upon for Amelie's reasoning, is so thin for most of his childhood! i want to know so much about the intricacies of how she ticks, how she justifies what she does to literally the one person she loves most in the whole wide world! it's not completely unjustifiable, just the same as it isn't completely justifiable, but i'm so so curious as to what angle she uses to approach this moral problem.

and i completely agree that she probably isn't even on human morality levels, but does Amelie think herself beyond it? what are the implications if she believes herself to be condemned by most human morality spectrums? does she even care? if she was asked, would she lie? i mean, she's a politician, so she must think about these things. as you said, optics, but is she so far removed from humanity to fundamentally misunderstand just how deplorable her actions might seem to others. even when she's rushing through justifying herself to Sam, it's not particularly... strong. it weak because she genuinely doesn't see a need to justify it further, she doesn't know how to be any more convincing than that, or because she wants Sam to judge her as harshly as possible so he'll agree to be the trigger to her very elaborate assisted suicide?

and it's interesting you bring up biological destiny, because i was literally just thinking about the conspicuous lack of Bridget's parents. obviously, Amelie is formed by spiritual mitosis and not really birthed, but Bridget never once mentions her own parents or her own childhood even as she spends so much time discussing Sam's and her own parental role. people usually draw on knowledge of how they were raised when they become parents (which has awful implications considering the shitshow of Sam's childhood) but the effect of this big empty space no one brings up makes Bridget feel like an entity who spawned fully formed, knowing her purpose immediately. actually, i don't think anyone ever talks about the parents of the extinction entities. can they have parents? are they born at all? their birth must be effected in some way by the eternal umbilical cord, and that parasaurolophus Heartman showed us a picture of must have had issues in the egg considering the yolk is usually absorbed through where her umbilical was. maybe she was just birthed by the universe, maybe all extinction entities were, and that where their umbilical connection leads back to. but imagine being Bridget's mother. imagine being (or at the very least feeling) responsible for creating the end of the world in human form. we already know the umbilical connection is extremely important in Death Stranding, touching a BB's allows you to share it's powers, it ties BT's to the world of the living, carrying a DOOMS afflicted baby gives you DOOMS too. what would it feel like to carry the Extinction Entity?

i imagine pretty fucking awful, if Lucy is any example to go by, and she only had DOOMS which is literally just a very minor form of Amelie's dreams. i wouldn't be surprised if Amelie's own mother committed suicide/ went insane/ was otherwise distant from her, but the implications of such trauma from Amelie's early life makes me think very hard about Amelie potentially inflicting similar mother trauma on Sam in the Bridget form to act out her own fantasies of the comfort she never received in the Amelie form. and that would be fucking INSANE and also make so much sense. I agree she probably does feel guilty about the trauma she's giving Sam , but i think more than justifying it as for the greater good, she desperately desperately needs someone to understand her to form a connection, and she would absolutely inflict it on him if she thought they could grow closer because of it. it would develop Amelie's inability to actually understand Sam as a person (her insistence on Sam reconnecting, the amount of times she says 'i know' something about him without ever listening to him adamantly refuting it) because she's so blinded by what she expects him to become from her conscious or unconscious conditioning. she expects his trauma responses to be like her trauma responses, but she literally doesn't know enough about humans to realize children aren't all the same malleable ball of clay and have their own intrinsic personalities and quirks from birth (and i think this is probably the way she justifies her treatment of BBs in general. like "what do you mean children are people, they're obviously children." she recognises inherent tragedy in the death of a child, but she doesn't actually understand that children are more than potential-people.) obviously this is literal grasping at straws theoryposting here, but the point is i need Sam to grill her with surgical precision on screen and i need to be able to watch it and make notes.

you could never bore me with the implications of the Lou-Amelie connection. never. this has been on my mind since day one, and i really do not think it is an accident that our first look at Elle Fanning is her in a mask. all the masks of the first game lead back to Amelie in the end - Diehardman's black mask was Bridget's first, Higgs only started wearing his gold mask after becoming radicalized by her - and i think Elle/Lou's golden mask is going to follow the exact same pattern. and then her strings...

i am literally unable to imagine what the end game of this connection will be. there are so many ways it could play out and so many angles kojima could bring to it if he so wanted. i really hope it's not that Amelie used her god powers to fuck with time and some part of her without memories reincarnated as Lou because i can only imagine the torture of raising your own mother. it would just seem... selfish, i guess, for Amelie to walk back her promise to bear eternal solitude, even if there is something deeply tragic about her doing it to be close to Sam again. something very Orpheus and Eurydice about it, but like that myth, i can't imagine it ending in anything except tragedy. at the very least Sam deserves happiness, even if Amelie objectively doesn't (and probably can't be without access to Sam, which would probably drive Sam miserable.)

plus Sam deserves to have at least one meaningful relationship that wasn't engineered for him by Amelie in some way.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Exit on your left: Part 1.

Um...Mr Kamukura?

I know I probably shouldn't be the one to question your escape methods but...Why are we going THIS way?

...

*Kanata, Fuyuhiko, Kazuichi and Hiro closely follow Uchui as he leads them through the base. Uchui remains stone faced the entire time.

Where exactly...IS this place?

This is the first time I’ve seen the building outside the cells. I figured we were in some kinda institution but...this looks more...

To put simply...it’s a factory. Though, I had assumed you would have come to that conclusion just by looking around.

You don’t gotta be a smartass about it. When did Zetsubou take the time to BUILD all this?

Well, it’s all been built up over the last 10 or 11 years...Since Shirogane came to our reality. But the actuality is Zetsubou secretly sieged this place from a previously existing company, wiping out or silencing all associated with it for their own ends.

Hold on...11 years? But I thought the V3 kids came through 4 years ago?

You really think it would take 4 years to build up this big an empire? Only Ultimate leaders could pull something like that off. And Shirogane is anything but.

But...how...? You said you pulled them through, right? And you only got that idea in the last few years, so how could Shirogane have come through a decade before?

...I don’t know...I do have some working theories, but I assume even if I was to talk about it, you wouldn’t get it.

*They emerge into a room with several monitors and computers.

...I knew it...

Knew what?

Sorry, but truth be told, this is the central security room of this entire base. Before I get you out of here, I just needed to make a quick detour and grab something from here?

THIS is the central hub?

Is that a problem?

...It’s just...for the main security mainframe its...pretty quiet around here.

...Exactly.

...

You don’t think Zetsubou have caught on, have you?

*Uchui starts fiddling with the large keyboard in the middle of the desk.

They’ve been on edge ever since Maki Harukawa went missing. I wouldn’t put it past them.

For real!? You mean they might be looking for us right now!? Then why are we HERE?

Shh! If you make that much noise, then they’ll find us a lot quicker!

Oh! Sorry...!

But if that’s the case...do we really even have a chance at escaping?

*Uchui stops fiddling, then rises and turns to look at Kanata.

I don’t believe in chance, doctor. Chance never saved anyone in the Killing Games, nor did it save me from the hell that was my upbringing.

I believe in the flow of time, and the value of effort. If we stick together, we’ll stay alive...and you WILL see your families again.

Uchui...

Well, in the very least, I can get YOU out of here. Whether or not I get out with you...

You’re not coming with?

No. I still have a lot I need to do here. I still haven’t found a way to destroy what remains of the Hope Serum.

You still haven’t done that!? I thought that’d be priority number one!?

This is gonna sound really cheesy and lame, but I value your safety more than destroying that serum. I got you into this mess...now I’m gonna get you out.

This is just step one of my mission to atone for me and my family’s sins.

...And what’s step two?

...Taking down this whole base...and destroying Zetsubou from the inside out.

And how do you plan to do that?

Not alone. But I don’t want you guys in here when this place crumbles.

And you? How do you plan to get out?

That’s in my interest only.

So much for sticking together...

I...! Gah...

*He grips the edge of the desk.

Look...with all due respect...I betrayed the Future Foundation and cost many people their lives when I sold them out to Zetsubou. There’s no reason for Kirigiri, or Fujisaki, or anybody else in the higher ups to worry about saving MY life. 

What about Reaper? You’re his best friend; you really think he wouldn’t try to save you!?

KURIPA knows that we have priorities. Even he wouldn’t jeopardize such an important mission just to save MY life...

I’m sure...

You don’t SOUND sure...

What’s it to you anyway?

Because I’ve seen that kind of thing before. This overwhelming guilt that makes you think everything would be better off if you were gone, or if you paid for your mistakes in the most painful way. 

*Kazuichi starts to pace the room.

Look, I get it Uchui, but you can’t do this. You think you’re making a heroic and brave sacrifice, but all you’re doing is continuing to have your life weighed down by-

“Terror...?”

GAH!?

!!?

!!?

Oh crap! RUN!

Heh...Going somewhere!?

YAGH!

Heehee! Nice try!

Shit!

*All three entryways in the security room are blocked off as several Zetsubou goons armed with rifles emerge from the blackness! Akira, Celeste and Narumi take one, Yukari and Mikihiko take another, and Tsumugi stands with a few henchmen in the third.

And thus the whole pity party is here. Sorry to come crashing in.

Celeste! Wait, it’s not what it looks like!

Shut it Hiro! You’re not helping!

So this really WAS an ambush?

You don’t sound surprised in the slightest?

I had a feeling when I saw this room was empty that you’d caught on.

And you came anyway? That’s either very brave, or very stupid.

Well, I’m clearly smart enough to have gotten away with it up until now, right?

Au contraire, Kamukura. Maybe I didn’t know about a few details of your plan, which prevented me from stopping you up until now...

But I’ve known about this escape plan and your conspiracy for a LOOOOOONG time...

What...!? How!?

...

...

...

*Nagito and Matta emerge from the darkness in the doorway behind her.

Matta here filled me in on all your suspicious activities. Plus, I didn’t quite trust you, Uchui, from the start. I’m not THAT brainless.

Komaeda, you bastard...!

Don’t misunderstand...! I didn’t-

Mr Gyalusetsu!? You...!? Then...!?

Humans are desperate creatures, Dr Inori. In a world of despair, where there is a light of shining hope, they cling to that hope without thinking of the consequences it might bring.

Which is why, when I offered you that safe room to plan, I knew you would take the opportunity.

Don’t you agree? Komaeda?

...? Um...

You mean you trusted him!? What the hell is wrong with you!?

I...

That man is every bit of a demon as the rest of them! And you let him get inside your head.

Don’t listen to him. Typically, I am not as profound a manipulator as I may seem. Normally, I get the job done, no nonsense.

But ever since I arrived here...It’s been nothing but nonsense. So I decided to play along eventually.

I’m so sorry...

Don’t apologize Doc! It’s not your fault!

Yeah...I kinda figured he was different from the rest too. I guess we were all fooled.

You were also fooled into thinking that the treatment I’ve shown you all until now was the worst I could muster...Now that you’ve attempted this escape...

You’ll see just how NASTY I can be...! Now BACK TO YOUR CELLS!

...

*Uchui carefully shifts towards the desk and swipes something from it.

*SHUNK!*

GAH!

Hey...back away from my PC buddy...

*Akira’s ring weapon shanks the death and very nearly cuts off Uchui’s fingers. He backs away and raises his hands in the air.

What are you doing...!?

Shush! Play along!

So let me get one thing straight...This whole thing about wanting to help me make Ultimate Hopes was just a lie? You really just wanted to stop me from the beginning and destroy the Hope Serum for good?

You really should’ve done that first.

I know right!? I said the same thing!

Hiro, seriously, shut up!

Don’t act like you wanted it for a higher purpose or something.

Normally I would say “you have no idea just how dangerous that serum is to us all!” but no...You DO know, and you DON’T care!

You wanted to create Ultimate Hope’s because you know how much chaos Izuru Kamukura’s creation caused. Even if it spirals out of your control, it will cause so much carnage, it won’t matter!

Not to mention this serum of yours is even worse than the project...Fujimori and Komaeda...Both of their minds were fucked, and they lost sight of themselves and their original goals because of what that damn drink did to them.

...

My father’s batshit crazy work served as the catalyst for everything that went wrong with this world the first time...

And when I brought you to this world, I created the catalyst for the SECOND...The difference is I acknowledge that, and I won’t run away from that responsibility...!

...Well, I’ll give you credit...You certainly didn’t RUN from it...

Junko? Kamukura did something to central security system when he got here. Run a scan and find out whatever virus he downloaded. Akira, help her.

Got it.

On it boss.

*Akira saunters over to the computer to aid Junko, controlling the pieces of his ring to surround Uchui and the survivors, while Zetsubou soldiers point guns at them.

You know...In hindsight...

It takes a great deal of patience and confidence to be the best friend of Kuripa Kurafto...I should’ve figured you would go to such extremes...

Don’t talk to me about extremes, Miss “I’m-gonna-wipe-out-everyone-with-the-power-of-Ultimate-Hope-because-I’m-so-desperate-for-attention.”

Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?

I never knew my mother, asshat.

So what’s the master plan “Mastermind?” You despair-y types always have one, no?

Hm...I could kill you and capture the Survivors again...Or I could explain my master plan and THEN kill you and capture the Survivors again...

...I think I’ll just kill you!

*With a wave of Tsumugi’s hand, all the Zetsubou soldiers aim their rifles at Uchui and the others.

Son of a...!

Hey...Kamukura...!? Please don’t tell me your master plan was us walking into the jaws of death!

It looks like it was a big mistake thinking following this heathen was the best course of action...He’s sacrificed you...then failed you...

I’m not a heathen, you prissy, pink-haired monster...

*BEEP!* *BEEP!* *BEEP!*

I’m a SCIENTIST...

What is that horrid-?

Um...Junko? What’s going on?

Tsumugi! It’s bad! The security mainframe is RIGGED TO BLOW!

NOW! RUN!

*KAABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMM!*

GAUGH!

Both: AKIRA!?

RRAAGGAGGGGH!

YEEAAAAAHAAAHAAAAAGH!

Both: YUKARI! 

...!?

*Uchui grabs the escapees and they make a mad dash for an escape! The explosion of the computer launches Akira back into the wall and knocks him unconscious, causing the ring pieces to fall and the armed soldiers to fly back too. Additionally, the direct damage done to AI Junko in the system brain fries Yukari, and causes her to collapse!

GO GO GO!

DON’T STOP RUNNING!

EEEEEKK!

WE’REGONNADIE! WE’RESOGONNADIE!

URGH!

*Tsumugi casts out a hand once her ears stop ringing.

KILL HIM!

...

Huh?

*Matta places a hand on her shoulder.

Let him run...

It makes it more fun for me...!

*WHOOOSH!*