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party-hearses · 1 year

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i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 2

not a saint, but do I have to be?

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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, ex!Tommy Miller x f!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Summary: After your two year relationship with Tommy Miller ends, Joel takes you in — and it’s home like you’ve never quite known before.

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, language, infidelity, eventual smut, age difference, soft!joel, AU - no cordyceps outbreak, Sarah doesn’t exist (sorry), Tommy stans don’t come for me, some mention of mental illness (nothing named, but it’s hinted at), competency kink, praise kink, alcohol, some recollections of verbal abuse, I guess? mutual forbidden pining for suuure. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

Wordcount: 8.7 k

A/N: I feel like this took me FOREVER. Life uh, uh, got in the way — or, my summer classes started and I’ve been reading Tennyson instead of writing. But gimme feedback! Unless it will make me cry.

You stand, shifting your weight from foot to foot, in front of the bed in Joel’s guest room.

You’d been in the room plenty of times before — when you and Tommy had had too much to drink at a barbecue, when you’d used the ensuite bathroom during parties, when Tommy had needed to borrow something stashed away in the closet. But this time is different, and that difference is palpable.

The room itself is comfortable, with a tidy dresser opposite the bed, and a small nightstand next to it. It’s plenty spacious for you, and simply standing inside those four walls makes you feel so grateful you could burst. It’s more than you need — more than you deserve.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you survey the boxes on the ground around you. Unpacking them feels…too familiar; like this is still a dream that you could snap out of any second. Like Joel could return from wherever he is and tell you that this isn’t right. The idea overwhelms you, and you have to bite your tongue to vanquish the thought.

The boxes can wait. The unpacking can wait. You want to be — need to be — sure that it’s okay; that this is real. You bend at the waist, rummaging through the box nearest you, fingers grasping to find a sleep shirt near the bottom. It’s soft to the touch from years of washing and wearing and the threads being pulled at in desperate attempts to get it off of your body and be discarded on the floor. You crumple it in your fist.

Stepping into the ensuite bathroom, you switch the shower on the hottest setting. As the steam curls around the room, you’re overcome again with Joel’s generosity. Even if he, for whatever reason, does ask you to leave in the morning, or the minute he gets home, or in two weeks — just getting out of Tommy’s place will have been enough. Rescued from your doom of playing and replaying and doing and redoing. A perpetual cycle of never leaving because you’ve only ever been left. The spell broken.

As you wash your hair, you assure yourself that whatever amount of time spent in this house, in this room, as little as it may be, you will carve out this tiny corner of peace for yourself.

The scalding water washes over you, conditioner cascading down the ends of your hair to circle the drain, and you feel baptized. Cleansed. The spell broken, if only for a night.

You wake, hours later, to the muted thud of Joel’s boots on the hardwood of the entryway. Eyelids heavy, you keep them closed, stirring only slightly — readjusting beneath the thin sheets that entangle your limbs. He’s quiet in taking his boots off, but you listen fixedly as he enters the kitchen and turns on the faucet. Watching him from the inside of your eyelids like a movie, tracing the steps you know he’s taking, your blood hums in recognition of something — something you can’t name, but something that tugs at your lungs in the most pleasant way.

He moves around the kitchen, quietly opening and closing cabinets, moving and shifting and existing naturally in the space he’s created for himself. The sounds soothe you — balm to a burn you didn’t know was there — and you feel the languid lure of sleep again.

Just before it takes you completely, he’s there, on the other side of the door, pausing before continuing down the hallway to his own room. The pleasant hum of your blood turns to a resounding symphony, and your breath catches in your chest. You stay completely still, ears attuned to any movement he makes — but he moves on, padding almost silently to his door.

And like you had imagined it all, slumber claims you.

For the first time in weeks, you sleep deeply enough to dream.

The alarm you set for the morning never has the chance to go off, your eyes flicking open naturally moments before the soft vibrations would have roused you.

It should feel strange — waking up here, in Joel’s guest room, alone. But as you brush your teeth, throw your hair up in a ponytail, and dress quietly, you sit with how normal it feels.

At least, you remind yourself, for the time being.

Joel isn’t awake yet, the sun barely beginning to soak through the curtains in the kitchen. You inhale the silence of the house, glancing at the spot where he had stopped outside of your room the previous night. Had he? Had you dreamt it? Had you so blurred the seam between fantasy and reality in the same way you had pictured — nearly felt — his hands across your collarbones—

You bite your tongue so hard you taste the rich iron of blood, the cold metal of pennies.

Guilt burns crimson across your cheeks as the room closes in on you. Stumbling to the front door, you pull it open, gasping for air as you cross the threshold.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You drop your elbows to your knees, head down, panting for breath.

Forbidden. Wicked girl. Forbidden. Obscene. Forbidden.

Head low, you trace the words on your palm as you say them to yourself, repeating the ritual until your chest slowly opens back up. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering your forehead, though you know it’s not from the early-morning, late-summer sun, still climbing the horizon.

Straightening your body, you subtly shake the tension from your limbs, rolling your shoulders back and unfolding your coiled muscles. Your last run had been nearly six months ago, but you ache for the rush of endorphins and reprieve of a clear head.

Especially now, you think, with a subtle glance back at the house.

How shameful it is, to hunger for something which you cannot taste.

The sun fully up when you return, you let yourself in the still-unlocked front door. Bending down to untie the laces of your running shoes, you are assured to hear movement in the kitchen. A vision of Joel standing outside your door flashes again in your brain, and you shake your head to scramble the thought.

When you enter the kitchen, he’s at the table, coffee mug in one hand, newspaper in the other. His eyes are trained on the text, and you stop in the doorframe to steady your nerves. Your hands find each other, subconsciously kneading one inside the other.

Sensing you, Joel folds the newspaper just enough to meet your eye line. He doesn’t immediately say anything, so you don’t, either. You can’t read his face, but you can feel a heated flush creeping up yours.

“Coffee?”

“Please,” your voice is quiet, and you pray it doesn’t betray you.

He sets the newspaper down, moving to get up, but you quickly stride further into the room.

“No! I can get it. Please, let me.”

With an arch of his eyebrows, he sinks back into his chair with his hands up in surrender.

“Mugs are there,” he nods to a cabinet behind you, and you quickly turn your back to him and hold your breath while your hands move mechanically to open the cabinet door. Get your shit together. It’s just Joel.

Breathing out slowly, you grab the first mug you see, turning to delicately cross the kitchen toward the drip coffee machine. With trembling hands, you raise the pot, filling the mug, and set it back down with a silent expression of gratitude to whatever god that you hadn’t shattered it with your shaking.

You lean back against the counter and bring the mug to your lips, eyeing Joel’s broad back and shoulders. His hair is tousled, just out of bed, dark curls threaded with silver — more than the last time you had seen him.

He twists to face you, a quizzical look splayed across his features, brows furrowed.

“You can, ya know, sit down at the table. Like a normal person.”

A breathless laugh escapes your lips, but you acquiesce, rounding the table and sliding into the seat opposite him.

Seemingly satisfied, he brings the newspaper back up to cover his face. The silence settles between you comfortably, but your skin buzzes with the proximity to him. You can’t help but glance again and again at his large hands, holding the newspaper — eyes sliding over the way his fingers curve around the edges gently.

The coffee is a welcome distraction, though you’d have to remember to pick up some creamer for yourself. Dropping your eyes to the table, a thought strikes you, and you shift uncomfortably in the seat. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Peach?”

He sets the newspaper flat on the table, folding it back into itself. You feel his gaze on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, the seconds ticking by slowly enough that you begin to count them. You instead study the woodgrain of the table, the single crack in the handle of the coffee mug before you.

“You’re actin’ like a skittish cat.”

His assertion surprises, and for some reason, amuses you.

“A…skittish…cat?” A small smile plays across your lips as you raise your head.

He shrugs. “I know we’re not like, the best a’ friends, but this,” he waves his hand in the air toward you, “isn’t the Peach I know. You’re jumpin’ at every move I make.”

You laugh gently before sighing. “It’s been a really strange couple of weeks. I’m… really trying to find my footing as a ‘single person’ again.”

He nods thoughtfully, mouth fixed in a frown, waiting for you to go on.

“And…and I just don’t know how to do this.”

“This?”

You shift in your chair again, fingers oh so gently tracing the sides of the coffee mug. “Like, just now, I thought about needing to buy myself cream for my coffee. But then, I thought about how I don’t know if I can just…start putting things in the fridge? And then that made me think about how meals will look. Like, dinner in shifts, or…something? Do I avoid you? I just don’t…know how to navigate this. Living here,” you drop your voice to barely a whisper, “or you regretting allowing me to stay here at all.”

Joel leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes are drawn to the way the sleeves of his white t-shirt strain against his biceps, but you look away quickly, instead focusing your gaze on the clock above the stove behind him.

“I’m not allowin’ you to stay here, I’m askin’ you to stay here.”

His voice is smooth, his words wrapping around your rib cage and squeezing gently.

“But why, Joel? Tommy is your brother,” you mumble, “I’m just some girl. You don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes darken as he shakes his head. “You are not some girl. A smart girl, with a good head on her shoulders, a career? Tommy hit the jackpot,” his tone softens even further, though you didn’t think it possible. “I saw what you did for him. Showed up for him, every time. Kept his head on straight. Kept him on his toes. Challenged him, bettered him. And he…repaid you by fuckin’ it all up extraordinarily. You’re owed better ‘n that, and if he won’t do it… ” he trails off.

You swallow hard. “He’s impulsive. I’ve always known that about him.”

Joel laughs, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to keep defendin’ him. You’re allowed to be mad. You should be mad.”

“‘Sides,” he says, picking his coffee mug up and taking a sip, “He fucked me over, too. Makin’ an ass of himself just to get in bed with a client. Givin’ a bad name, a bad reputation, to the company I’ve worked my ass off for. So I guess you could say that havin’ you be the one to stay here was logical.” He emphasizes the final word of his sentence, jutting his plush bottom lip out in a mock pout.

You pull your own bottom lip into your mouth, chewing gently.

He’d hurt you both. You and Joel Miller, parallel cracks in concrete facades - show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. The guilt of being too consumed by your own sadness builds in your chest again.

Wicked girl.

“I- I’m sorry. That it affected you, too,” you say slowly, your words measured. “You shouldn’t have had to let him stay here.”

Joel lowers his head, rubbing a large palm over his mouth thoughtfully. “I did, t’be honest. I couldn’t handle the thought of him bein’ around you…convincin’ you that he could make it up to you. I felt like…like it was my job to protect you from that, and it felt easier to have him here to do it. I know how persuasive he can be.”

Without your permission, white heat gathers between your thighs. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and you’re confident — entirely sure — that you are not correctly processing what he’s saying to you. It makes you feel off balance, and you wrap your fingers tightly around the edge of the table for a grasp of something solid.

It doesn’t help, and the words escape your mouth before you can stop them.

“Did you know?”

He looks dismayed, immediately leaning forward, molten eyes penetrating yours. “Absolutely fuckin’ not.”

A ball of emotion lodges in your throat. You hadn’t anticipated getting into the thick of it with Joel so quickly, laying it all on the table in front of you the first morning. Wading through the shrapnel of your previous life.

You nod one two three times, blinking back tears.

He leans back again, studying you for a moment. Letting you swallow what he’s handed you - letting you digest it.

“As for the fridge…you can put anythin’ you damn well please in there.”

Unwrapping your fingers from the table and pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes, you laugh shakily.

He pauses. Then,

“I’m serious, darlin’. I want you to be comfortable. Not like, hotel comfortable, but home comfortable,” he leans across the table, gently taking your jaw between his thumb and index finger. Making sure you’re focused on him. That you’re hearing him. Your skin sparks — damn near sizzles — where it meets his, and your lips part every so slightly in marvel at his grip. “I don’t know what this will look like, either. But I want to figure it out together. Me ‘n you. Okay?” His voice is husky, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. Entering into a covenant together. Sacred.

His eyes are aflame - searching yours intently.

“Me and you,” you repeat, soft and supplicant. Obedient.

“Good girl.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s dropped his hand from your face and angled his body away from you. You dig your fingernails into your palm beneath the table, desperate for a distraction from the ache growing in your core.

Casually, he brings his coffee to his lips again, softly murmuring, “Told me you found his emails.”

It’s followed by a scoff, and you detect the condescension, the disgust. His nostrils flair just slightly. “I don’t even know anyone who uses email like that anymore.”

The image of Tommy’s emails, those words, douses the growing wildfire in the pit of your stomach. Distraction granted.

Bringing your own coffee up to your mouth, you reply, “Probably the same people who still read newspapers at the breakfast table.”

The cursor of your mouse blinks tauntingly in the empty cell of your spreadsheet. Your fingers are poised over the keyboard, the machinations of your brain refusing to cooperate. Every number is just a stupid fucking number and none of them matter when Joel’s hands were on you mere hours ago.

Good girl.

You press your thighs together in your pencil skirt as the words flash in front of your eyes. The pull you feel transcends surface-level attraction; it feels primal. Necessary. Inescapable and relentless. And so, so wrong.

Wicked girl.

Like an old nemesis, those words echo in your ears, contrition nudging desire out of the frame of your mind.

Being distracted at work isn’t a feeling you’re familiar with.

Even back in grade school, you’d possessed laser focus when it came to completing a task. Neatly, efficiently, perfectly. Now, long hours spent in your cubicle for a shot at the corner office; then, spending all night at the kitchen table buried in math notes to prepare for a quiz. It makes you feel complete, in a way that nothing else does, to accomplish.

Your mother’s cold words drowned out by teacher’s praises, by Kit’s warm hands rubbing your back under the cover of darkness. Your sister’s motherly instincts developed young, raising you — you, the perfect amalgamation of quiet and wild. Never in trouble at school, always in trouble at home.

“I know. I’m so sorry. Jackson asked me to stay, to get this account tied up by tonight. We can get drinks tomorrow instead?”

A telling pause.

“You gonna be home at all?” Tommy’s choked response.

Silence. He knew that meant that he’d be drinking beers in front of the television by himself all night.

“Might go out, then.”

You should have seen it coming. You should have seen it coming.

Never leaving because you’ve only ever been left. Kit marrying so very young and starting a family as soon as she could; your mom dying from the illness that made her vapid and unhappy; your friends going off to college states away from home; your dad a shadow by the time you turned five.

Tommy, checking out emotionally without you even noticing.

Finding respite in numbers and equations and your boss smiling, “pulled us out of a tough spot, kid.” Letting work swallow you in order to avoid, avoid, avoid.

Keeping the world at a distance. Keeping Tommy at a distance.

But Tommy had been exciting; his stupidwarm grin unshackling your steadfast demeanor, pulling you by the hand through the crowd vibrating with drinks and music and abandoned delight the night you met.

“You’re so cerebral,” his breath in your ear, praise igniting you.

The world tilting just so — the things he thought he loved about you becoming the things that drove you apart.

And here you find yourself again, in front of a stupid fucking spreadsheet.

It’s not even that you find your work terribly important — you’re but a loose bolt in a complete machine — but everything, every number, has a home and a purpose, and that notion has always settled your nerves. Everything fitting neatly into boxes in a way that eludes you — in a way that you’ve never experienced.

But now, it’s less than important — it’s not even remotely intriguing. The contentment you’re accustomed to feeling has shifted into disdain for daring to turn your thoughts away from the events of the morning.

It’s all very confusing, if you’re being honest with yourself. Taking a step back to examine the situation twists your stomach into knots. You barely know Joel, and the little you do know is in the context of him being your ex-boyfriend’s older brother. A quiet mystery, always tucked in the corner of the room, nursing a beer or glass half-full of whiskey. Existing on the same plane had only ever happened because of Tommy, so his kindness, his offering, makes your head spin. You don’t know how long it will last.

“Everyone knows what a selfish girl you are.” Your mother’s snarl in the chill of the morning, her breath soft white puffs against the dark. An emotional grim reaper. “And if they don’t know now, it won’t take long.”

Joel’s smart. He’ll see it in time, that malignant streak inside of you. The one that had killed your mother, that had pushed everyone else away. That will eventually push Joel away.

You don’t know when Tommy had caught on, but you had always known it was inevitable —knew that it was just a matter of time between the way he looked at you the night you met, the sincerity in his voice the afternoon he had asked you to move in, and the lust you imagined in his blown-out pupils when he looked at someone else’s naked form beneath him.

And now Joel. Showing you an openness, a softness, that you didn’t think he possessed. Your guilt wrapping like vines around the butterflies in your belly, suffocating them. The guilt of taking Joel up on his offer. Of letting him be kind to you. Of returning that kindness with a distinct hunger.

You pick the bulky office phone up out of the cradle, dialing the only extension you know by heart. Ava picks up on the second ring, her tone bored and distracted as she goes through the motions, “Accounts Payable, this is Ava.”

“Av, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle lightly at her brazen disinterest in answering her phone.

“Oh thank god. I couldn’t handle another call about actually paying accounts.”

You imagine her rolling her eyes, and it fills you with the strangest sense of gratitude.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Nothing I can’t blow off. Why? What’s up?”

You close your eyes, a smile across your mouth. Dependable Ava — always down for a party.

“I was thinking…that it’s been a while since we went out. Maybe drinks? Dancing? Something to…help me think less?”

You smile to yourself, hoping she can hear it in your voice.

She doesn’t even try to suppress her squeal of delight, before a muffled, “Shut up, Belinda! Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

You laugh out loud this time. Ava’s mortal enemy being a sixty-two year old secretary in the cubicle next to her never fails to amuse you.

“Silas and I will pick you up around 9? He can DD tonight.”

“Sound perfect, Av. I’ll be ready.”

Her voice, closer to the mouthpiece of the phone now. A whisper for only you. It sends warmth through the synapses of your brain. “If this isn’t a return to form, doll, I don’t know what is.”

True to her word, Ava and Silas show up in his car at 9 o’clock on the dot.

Joel hadn’t been home yet when you arrived, and you couldn’t decide if you were disappointed or eased by his absence. You’d heard the door open and close from your place in the bathroom a little over an hour later, but neither of you moved to greet the other.

Donning a silky black slip dress that hugs your curves just right, your breasts all but spilling out over the top, and chunky black platforms, you feel invincible. Sexy. Wicked.

Leaning forward in the mirror to apply your dark currant-colored lipstick, there’s a light knock at the door.

Without moving your lips, lest you ruin your lipstick, you manage a mangled come in just loud enough for Joel to hear and open the door.

“He-“ His eyes widen as they land on your form, and you clock the way his breath catches in his throat. Something akin to pride swells in you, desire following it. You shove the feeling down, as deep as possible.

Turning just enough, hand still raised to your lips, you meet his eyes.

He blinks a few times. Struggles to put words together. “Goin’ out?” He finally spits.

You hum in affirmation. Then, dropping your hand to your waist, “Is that okay? I won’t be out crazy late. And I’ll be quiet when I get back.”

His brows knit together as he leans against the doorframe. You can’t help but take in how big he is, arm crooked with one thumb through his belt loop — and for a brief second, you hesitate to leave the house at all.

He must catch the reluctance transcribed across your face, because he damn near smirks. “Not worried about you bein’ loud or late.”

Turning back to the mirror, you softly respond, “Just wanna make sure I’m being considerate.”

“Never seen you be anythin’ but, Peach.”

His praise coats you from the inside out, warm as sunshine. You bask in it.

Then, Silas honks the horn from the driveway, and the real world comes crashing down around the two of you.

Grabbing your bag from the floor, you stride towards Joel, still in the doorway. He shifts to let you pass, but gently catches your wrist in his large hand.

You stop, turning back to look up at him through your eyelashes, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re sure he can feel it at the pulse point in your wrist. He’s close enough that his heady scent makes your thoughts hazy. Dark, moody — just like him. He swipes his thumb back and forth across your flesh, absentmindedly.

“Be safe, okay, darlin’? Call me if you need to.”

His voice is silk. You want to wrap yourself up in it, lean into him.

Instead, you nod, swallowing hard. “Will do.”

He mirrors your expression, pulling his fingers back from your skin.

You walk to the door, heart still racing from his touch, him awkwardly trailing you. Stopping just short of it, you rifle through your bag to make sure you have everything. He opens the door for you, wrapping his fist around the bulk of it as he pauses. He clears his throat, drawing your attention to him.

“You, uh, deserve this. A night out. To not think about it.”

He’s awkward in a way you’ve never seen before, usually so sure of himself.

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t help but give him a small smile.

“Thank you. For everything. Seriously. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to say that, yet.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes.

As you step through the doorway, not wanting to keep Ava and Silas waiting any longer, you almost miss what he says next. But it stops you, and you look back at him for confirmation. Just to be sure. His eyes, finally meeting yours again, reiterate it.

“You look great, Peach.”

It feels like you float to Silas’ car. You slide in the backseat, watching Joel close the door through the windshield.

“So glad you could finally join us!” Ava coos, twisting in the passenger seat to look at you. “What took so long?”

She’s teasing, but you know she’s dying to know; that she watched your entire interaction from the car.

You sigh, long and laborious. “Trying really, really hard not to want to fuck my ex’s brother.”

Forbidden burns across the tender flesh of your belly.

The dance floor is packed. Bodies writhing against each other, the music vibrating any lingering thoughts out of your head.

“Let’s get drinks, first.”

Ava’s voice in your ear, her hands on your arms. Steering you towards the bar. She’s lit up multi-colored by the lights bouncing around the room, perfect mouth forming words you can’t hear as the bartender leans in closer and closer to her. Silas, off to her other side, scanning the room. His hand on her lower back.

You do the same, taking in your surroundings. Ava is half-draped over the bar, giggling at the bartender while he mixes shots. You feel amazing in your dress, catching the eyes of different men as they pass. One wolf-whistles at you, and you drop your head to cover the intense blush covering your cheeks.

As hot as you feel, you also feel out of practice. Clubs had never been Tommy’s scene, his preference being dive bars with pool tables and cheap beer. You’d still gone out with Ava occasionally, all too pleased to utter I have a boyfriend to any man who got a little too comfortable. Those encounters feel like entire lifetimes away, now.

Ava turns to you, two blue concoctions in her hands. She quirks her brow, handing you one. “Bottoms up!” she encourages, clinking her glass to yours.

The liquor, too-sweet and nearly syrupy, slides down your throat and settles in your stomach. Silas grins at you from behind Ava, his hands migrating to clasp around her hips.

“D’you wanna dance?” her voice is loud over the music. You nod intently, matching Silas’ grin.

“One more shot?”

Ava pokes her tongue between her teeth in affirmation, and your heart leaps. Joel was right. You do deserve this.

It’s your turn to slide up to the bar, and you curl your fingers around the edge and thrust your top half over, bouncing on the toes of your platforms. It doesn’t take much to catch the bartender’s eye, and he makes his way back to you.

“What’ll ya have, darlin’?” he leans into you, but you’re not sure if it’s to hear you better or to get closer.

“Two more of whatever she just ordered!”

You hook your thumb backwards at Ava, and the bartender nods. He pulls a handful of different liquor bottles from the well up to the top of the bar, and begins measuring the contents of each one out into a shaker.

He looks up at you, asking a question, but you don’t catch it.

“What?” you lean further in, trying to hear him.

“You from around here?” he asks again, his eyes flickering between you and the bottles in his hands. He has a half-smile on his face, playful and charming.

Pressing your lips together in the slightest of pouts, you consider your next move. The bartender is lanky, but cute, and you watch the way his hands move while he pours your drinks into glasses. You can’t help but compare them to Joel’s hands, big and calloused and holding your jaw just firmly enough.

The corners up your mouth quirk up in a sultry smile at the memory, and you snake the glasses from the bartop just as the bartender finishes pouring and pushes them forward.

You lean in a final time, clocking the way his eyes fall to your chest. Voice low, you finally respond to his question.

“Nah, just visiting.”

He chuckles, nodding graciously, accepting defeat, while he steps back from the bar. “Have fun tonight, darlin’,” he shouts over the music, and with a wink, you turn back to Ava and Silas.

Silas, who has caught the whole interaction, gives you a geeky thumbs up. Ava takes one of the drinks from your hands, nudging it against the glass in your other.

“Cheers to finally being the baddest bitch in the room, again.”

The shot goes down easy, and you’re led onto the dance floor as soon as you’ve swallowed it.

Ava spins and dips you, and you laugh so hard you can’t breathe. It doesn’t matter that her silly dance moves don’t match the heavy bass of the music, because Ava is Ava and it’s impossible not to get caught up in her aura.

Silas is off to the side of the dance floor, chatting with some friends from work that he’s run into. He’s been in charge of refilling your drinks, per Ava, and you haven’t had an empty hand all night.

The booze licks against your skin, flushed and sweat damp, and all you’re focused on is how good everything feels. So you don’t hesitate when one of Silas’ friends cuts in on your dance with Ava, extending his hand to you. You giggle and grin, nearly feverish with happiness. It’s a foreign feeling, but one that seems to satisfy the whispers normally residing in your brain.

Silas’s friend drags your body close to him, pressing his chest into yours. His hands find your waist, and you transition easily from dancing with Ava to swaying your body with his. He’s taller than you, even with your platforms on, and you shiver when he leans down to whisper into the shell of your ear.

“I’m Peter.”

He’s handsome, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. The kind of boy you would have brought home just to piss your mother off. Sharp angles and a piercing tongue.

He’ll do, for the night.

“Hi, Peter.”

You raise your chin to his shoulder, your speech lilted. “I’m celebrating a break up.”

“Celebrating, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow, face bathed in blue light. His smile is coy - dangerous.

“Celebrating. Silas’s been buying my drinks all night in honor of what a party it is.”

You gesture with your head in the direction of your friends, now dancing with each other across the floor.

“Maybe I could join the party, buy you a drink? In honor of the celebration, of course.”

Peter’s hands are warm on your hips, his lips just brushing the wild strands of hair framing your face. You relax into his touch, relishing in the way his fingers splay across the space between your waist and back.

Tilting your head to the side, a smirk plays lightly across your lips. “S’that what brought you over here?”

“That, and the way you look in that dress.”

His fingers tighten around you sharply, and the delicious sting of it makes your breathing quicken.

You slowly place the very tip of your tongue on the pillow of your top lip. His gaze traces the movement, and you watch as his eyes darken.

“Would’ve kicked myself later if I didn’t shoot my shot,” he continues, eyes still fixed to your mouth.

“So you’re out here, taking advantage of poor girls who just dumped their cheating boyfriends?” your voice drips with sardonic teasing. Eyes wide as orbs, doe-like and innocent, looking up at Peter’s height through your lashes.

“Figured your defenses would be down, might have a chance,” he smirks. “Know I wouldn’t, otherwise.”

Your cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and you’re unsure what to say. There’s viscous penitence on the flat of your tongue, knowing, in the deepest part of you, that it’s not Peter you want to undo you.

But you want - need - to get out of your own head, and he touches you like he can feel the painful ache inside of you.

It occurs to you that you’ve both stopped moving to the music, though his hands are still on you. They feel heavy in a bittersweet way — desired but detested, all at the same time. His face remains inches away from yours.

“Can’t promise that it’s your lucky night,” you mumble.

“It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be,” he whispers back, lifting your chin with his fingers to rake his eyes over you. His stare is fiery, ravenous.

The thrill of it - all of it - rushes down the knobs of your spine, straight to your cunt.

You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you that way, like they wanted to devour you. And god, how you want to be devoured. To be consumed. All gnashing teeth and licking tongues and searching, bruising hands.

You’re only half aware of who the hands on you don’t belong to.

Obscene.

Your mother’s words spur you on, this time, as you thread your fingers through Peter’s hair at the back of his head, urging it towards you. He’s quick to respond, meeting your lips with his in a collision. You wish she could see you, now.

As he licks into your mouth, his hands slide down to the curve of your ass, and you shiver. The enormity of your need to be wanted by anyone clouds your vision; your focus acutely tuned to the way Peter’s body feels against yours.

That selfish, cruel streak inside of you lights up iridescent, and you let yourself take and take and take until you’re breathless.

Peter swallows your soft moans into his mouth as he inches one hand up to the length of your hair, wrapping it in his palm and tugging gently.

You’re past thinking, allowing yourself to just do, to just feel. There are stars in your eyes as he leads you away from the dance floor, through the door to the patio, and presses you against the brick wall of the building, vibrating from the music pounding inside. The night air is tepid, smoke from the few people sucking down cigarettes hanging thick above you. You inhale deeply, anyway — a glutton for punishment.

His lips are hot on the column of your neck, hips pressed flush to yours. You feel his tongue lave over your flesh, frenzied and desperate.

Be careful, okay, darlin’?

Joel’s words hit you like a slap in the face. It’s sobering, the molecules of your brain suddenly realigning — dragging you back from the precipice of your indulgence. Your mother’s voice nagging at the back of your brain is a relic — old hat, to be expected, always. But Joel’s deep baritone in its place surprises you, makes you reflexively set your hands against the barrel of Peter’s chest and push.

He either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t understand. You need to make him understand.

“Peter,” His name leaves your lips weakly, nearly panic-stricken and icy. The tone is impossible to misunderstand.

Breaking his mouth from your mottled skin, you feel his warm breath across the plane of your chest.

“You good?”

He’s panting, aching, raising one hand to the solid wall behind your head to bear his weight.

“Fuck. Fuck. I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t…be here.”

You shake your head, squeeze your eyes shut — wishing you were anywhere else. Wishing you were home, whatever that means.

There’s a whoosh of air as you feel Peter pull his body back. When you open your eyes, his thumb is pressed to his lips, four fingers curled beneath his jawline. His eyes are set, hard as stone, and you know he’s contemplating what happens next.

The silence between you is thick. Bringing your hands together at your stomach, you trace the word safe across your forearm with featherlight movements.

“It’s shitty. What your boyfriend did to you,” he finally sighs, tone clipped.

Your brows knit together in bemusement, and you slowly exhale the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Silas told me. I mean, you told me, too, but Silas…warned me,” A crooked smile appears on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Said you’d had a pretty rough few weeks. Advised that I ‘tread lightly’.”

You laugh mirthlessly. “I feel like that’s the understatement of the century.”

A beat, a realization.

“It’s not you, though. Oh god, please don’t think you’re the problem, here,” you groan.

“Ha. No, no,” he answers reflectively. “I should have…heeded his warning, I guess, before kissing the prettiest girl in the club.”

He shoves his hands in pockets, shoulders bunched up around his ears. You notice the barest sprinkle of a blush across his cheeks, and it fills you with something you can’t name, but feels a lot like embarrassment.

Neither of you says anything for a few more moments, and you study the ground beneath your feet. The letters s-a-f-e burn under the weight of your index finger, traced again and again and again. A ritual.

“I should get back to my friends,” you blurt awkwardly, “make sure they know I’m…”

“Safe?” he cuts.

“Safe,” you whisper, true humiliation creeping up your neck. Why the fuck had you insinuated that he wasn’t safe?

When he doesn’t respond, you take three steps back, unsure how to make the most graceful exit.

Right before you turn your back to him, you squeak, “I’m sorry…again. I’m just…a mess, honestly.”

Not meeting your eyes, he raises one hand to shoulder height, palm open, fingers extending from it lazily. “Maybe next time.”

But you’ve already slipped back in the door, your brain on the verge of a total shutdown. Chest rising and falling in cracked, ragged breaths.

wickedwickedwickedwickedwickedwicked.

“Fuck, Joel,” you mumble to yourself as you pass the bathrooms, couples crammed into dark corners, clusters of girls giggling and cooing over each other, “couldn’t even let me lose myself in stupidity for one night.”

You enter the doors leading back to the main dance floor, and spy Ava with her head thrown all the way back, laughing open-mouthed. It fills you with awe to see her so light, carefree — deserving. Capable of love. If it wasn’t Ava you were watching you would be red with envy.

But because it is her, you make your way over to where she is, and when she notices you, she grins so wide it cracks your heart in two. Throwing her arms around you, nuzzling into your hair, she sings the song that’s pulsing over the speakers into your ear. Her cotton candy halo washes over you, and you feel steady on your feet again.

Then, the softest, most content sigh you’ve ever heard. “Babe, I am so happy you wanted to come out tonight. It kills me to see you so down — I could have fucked Tommy up myself, if you’d have let me. And I know it might feel weird now, but I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel for a bit.”

She pulls away to look you in the eyes, her hands clasping your shoulders.

“You’re both the loneliest-“

Wounded, you open your mouth to protest, but she shushes you.

“The loneliest, weirdest people in this city. And I don’t mean lonely like you had Tommy and you have me. I mean lonely like no one has any idea what goes on behind those pretty eyes, doll. You’re so closed off — even with your people. The people who love you. Who adore you.”

She moves one hand to poke into your chest. “It’s like you never actually let your guard down for anyone.”

You scoff lightheartedly. “You think Joel Miller is the person who’s gonna help me figure that out?”

Ava’s gorgeous grin is mischievous, as if she knows every secret you’ve ever kept.

“You never know, babe. You never know.”

For some reason, Joel can’t sleep. His eyes are fixed on the small digital clock next to his bed, and he’s helpless as he watches the minutes, then hours, crawl by.

He keeps waiting to hear the sound of the front door opening, of you stumbling back inside. It’s not coming fast enough for his liking, and he has to remind himself multiple times that you’re young, nearly half his age, and this is normal behavior for 28 year olds.

“She’s an entire fuckin’ adult,” he mumbles to himself in the darkness, frustrated. He doesn’t understand why he’s so concerned; why it’s keeping him up all night.

Around 1:30 (1:26, to be exact, as he can’t take his eyes off the neon numbers), he throws the quilt and sheets off of his body, stretching his coiled, over-anxious muscles. Running his hands through his tousled curls, his jaw ticks, and he makes his way out of his bedroom to the bottle of whiskey that he’d left open on the kitchen counter.

He pours himself two fingers and wanders over to the couch. Clicking on the tv, he attempts to get comfortable, dropping his head back to rest on the top of the cushion, and settling the tumbler of whiskey on his stomach.

The television drones on in the background, some late night news program that Joel couldn’t be less interested in. He stares up at the ceiling.

“Why’re you here? What’s goin’ on?”

Tommy’s stubborn growl over his bottle of beer. Not saying anything, but saying everything at the same time.

“Fucked up, Joel.”

“What else is new, Tommy?”

“Havin’ an affair.”

His voice wrought with guilt, with shame. Joel’s eyes pinning him to where he stood, as cold as he’d ever seen them. Tommy unable to bring himself to meet them.

Joel laughs — fucking laughs — dryly. “Wow. You really are an asshole. Didn’t think you actually had somethin’ like that in you.”

Tommy raking his fingers through his hair, pounding his bottle on the counter just a little too hard. Not denying it.

“What in the fuck possessed you to do that? With who?”

Joel crowds Tommy, anger shooting through his arms to his balled fists. Gritting his teeth so hard he’s afraid they’ll shatter.

Tommy looking up, away from Joel, blowing the air out of his cheeks.

“Donovan. Uh, Tracy. Tracy Donovan. In Tyler. The one with the, uh, kitchen remodel.”

Hot, scorching red blankets Joel’s vision.

“Look, I’m sor-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Joel spits. “You’re not sorry. Compromised the business? Fucked around behind your girlfriend’s back? That girlfriend bein’ the only thing keepin’ you out of jail for what, two years, now? Fuck, Tommy. Don’t know how you come back from that.”

Tommy looking like he wants to cry.

It throws gasoline on Joel’s already raging fire. “And you’re, what? Here lookin’ at me pathetically? Askin’ me to fix it?”

Joel placing his hands palm down on the cool countertop to center himself. He breathes in through his mouth, out through his nose three times. Attempting to calm himself before he entirely wrecks Tommy’s shit.

“Should kick you out,” he finally says nonchalantly. “Should beat some sense into you.”

Hands steady, he reaches into the fridge to pull out another beer. The chill of the bottle in his hands brings him some clarity.

“Won’t, though. Only because I know Peach doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I’m not sendin’ you back for her to deal with.”

An evident wave of relief washes over Tommy, but as Joel gets closer to him and pokes a finger into his chest angrily, he swallows hard.

“She deserves better’n that, and we both know it. Won’t blame her a single bit for kickin’ your ass to the curb.”

Lost in his thoughts, Joel doesn’t realize his eyes have slipped closed. It’s only when he finally hears the door that they snap back open. In his haste to sit up, he spills a tiny dribble of whiskey over his undershirt, and curses as he leans forward to set the tumbler on the coffee table in front of him.

“You’re up?”

Your voice is scratchy, a consequence of the shots and smoke from the club. Arm still stretched toward the table, Joel turns his head towards you, his breath hitching as his gaze lands on your form before him.

Your hair is a wild halo around your head, skin flushed, the straps of your tall platform shoes hanging from your fingers. Eyes hazy, lips kiss-swollen and soft. No trace of your lipstick left.

The living room is dark except for the light of the tv, and the way it hits you makes you look damn near holy.

Joel’s mouth goes dry, and he has to pick that tumbler of whiskey right back up and drain it.

Setting it back down, now empty, he measures his words.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

You toss your shoes on the floor of the entryway as you make your way towards him, and they land right next to his boots. It makes his chest clench. The realization that they should have always been there — should always be there.

Situating yourself on the couch, you tuck your legs underneath your body and lean back. Joel mirrors you, leaning back into the cushions, but your eyes drop to the way he subconsciously parts his muscular legs.

He’s careful to keep his eyes on the tv, though he’s not the least bit invested in what’s playing, and not on the soft swell of your breasts peeking over the top of your dress.

It’s a comfortable silence, but your blood buzzes with the leftover alcohol and distinct heat still smoldering between your thighs.

“Have fun?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him, but you’re both so aware of each other.

You hum in agreement. “S’always a good time with Ava. Needed it.”

“Meet anyone?”

The air stills between you, and you both know what he’s really asking.

“No,” you reply in a low voice, “didn’t want to meet anyone.”

Your answer makes his fingers ache to reach out and touch you, feel you, but he knows better. Knows he can’t.

“What’re you watching?” Your words are slurred so slightly that he barely catches it, but when he does, it makes him feel warm all over.

“Dunno. Some news bullshit, I guess. Didn’t really matter what was on.”

Your head falls back onto the cushions as you melt further into the couch, sudden exhaustion overtaking you, eyes half-lidded and sluggish.

“Y’know, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir loved each other so much that they were buried next to each other. But they were never married — never even lived together. Had other lovers that they threw right in each other’s faces.”

Joel furrows his brow. He doesn’t know who the fuck those people are, or why you’re saying this. But you’re talking, saying the most you’ve said to him in days, and he’s listening, so all he says is, “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. It makes me feel like you can fail at love in so many different ways, and still have it deep inside you — even if it’s buried far, far down.”

He’s quiet, never having seen you with your defenses down like this, and he’s grateful for the glimpse into you. He’s afraid to ruin it.

“I feel like that, too, you know? Like I loved someone, and failed at it,” you continue, your eyes opening more and more slowly with each passing second. Eventually, you stop trying to fight it all together. “I have so much love inside me and no way to get it out.”

He hums in consideration. Your words bury themselves deep in his chest, strangle his heart. Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.

“You didn’t fail, Peach. Tommy made a shitty decision all on his own,” he whispers after a few moments of silence, finally allowing himself to look over at you.

But you’re already asleep, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

You had tried to get it out, before sleep took you, to tell him that no, it wasn’t Tommy. It was your mother. That she’d broken you and broken you and broken you. But you weren’t fast enough, couldn’t get your mouth to form the words.

Joel marvels, for just a second, at your small frame next to him on the couch. At the way your brain works, at the things that matter to you. Soaking in how you look while you sleep, the usual worry on your face smoothed out. He may never see it again, he knows.

Hoisting himself up off the cushions, ignoring the pain in his knees, he slides his hands under you — one arm beneath your legs, the other under your arms. As he straightens, pulling you close to his chest, you automatically curl around him. Melt into him.

He revels in the weight of you in his arms, so tiny compared to his broad frame, his large hands. It takes his breath away.

Slowly, he walks toward your room, nudging the door open with his hip. He’s careful not to bump your limbs, careful not to jostle and wake you. Your head is nestled against his chest, and he’s displeased to lay you down on your bed. He does anyway, gently untangling his body from yours, palm open as it passes under your thighs.

He ignores the fact that he’s half-hard in his sweatpants, just from touching you. Like a teenage fucking boy. As soon as his hands are off you, he readjusts himself quickly before striding silently to the door.

Right before he closes it, he hears your soft, sleep-soaked voice.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” He pokes his head back in the room, letting you know he’s there.

“I don’t deserve this.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller #the last of us fic #the last of us #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal fanfic

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 4 months

Text

05/17-18/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Rhys Darby; Nathan Foad; Kristian Nairn; SaveOFMD Crew; Int'l Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, Intersexphobia, Biphobia; Uproar; Fan Spotlight; Mermay; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Hey crew, sorry yesterday and today have been busy ones for me, so we're doing a joint day again. Hope you're all doing well the beginning of this weekend!

== Rhys Darby ==

Rhys just getting to be his goofy self, which we love so much.

Source: Rhys Darby's Tiktok

== Nathan Foad ==

Nathan out for a boat ride with his co-stars of Love's Labours Lost. They had their last showing recently, and there are lots of dedications out there to Nathan and this wonderful cast! Gratz Nathan! Can't wait to see what you do next!

Source: Nathan Foad's IG Story Wow Nathan's been busy!! Greta Gerwig will be available on Vimeo on May 31st!

Source: Marybeth Barone's Instagram ALSO I've been meaning to post this for days, but I'm finally getting around to it. Have you seen the ADHD Short Film Nathan was in?

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Source: Nathan Foad's IG Stories Days ago

== Kristian Nairn ==

Kristian's joined the list! Kristian, Con, Nathan, and Vico will all be at Galaxy Con in Raleigh NC July 25-28, 2024! Ticket here.

Source: Kristian Nairn's IG

The latest episode of Kristian's podcast Spektrum is OUT NOW! You can find links to listen on his Linktree!

Source: Kristian Nairn's IG

== Rosy Maple Moth Pie ==

Hey lovelies! Did you miss out on Samba's baking class? Good news! You can access it now on the Momentus website! You can also access the recipes here.

== Int'l Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, Intersexphobia, Biphobia ==

Our dear friends over at These Thems posted a tribute to Int'l Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, Intersexphobia, Biphobia. It was yesterday-- sorry for the delay. To learn more about this day, you can visit UNFPA

Source: These Thems Instagram

== Save OFMD Crew ==

Pride month is approaching and Save OFMD Crewmates would love your feedback on how you'd like to help show Max, other streamers, the media, and the world that we NeverLeft! Fill out their survey here.

Source: Save OFMD Crewmates Tumblr

== Uproar ==

Still havent gotten to see Uproar? It's available on Amazon to Rent and Buy! Uproar on Amazon

Source: Blue Fox Entertainment's IG Stories

== Articles ==

So I thought I posted this back on the 16th with the trends but I guess not! So here's that article, you all have probably already seen it, but if not here you are:

‘Our Flag Means Death’ fans launch #DontStreamOnMax campaign, want David Zaslav fired

Robert Reich: How To Make $50 Million A Year While Your Corporation Goes Down The Tubes – OpEd

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Today's Cast Card is for the brilliant composer Mark Mothersbaugh! Thank you @melvisik and to the tumblr requester for including this fantastic guys work!

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

More colouring pages from @patchworkpiratebear. I feel like we need a bound book once these are complete. There's just so many fun ones.

Source: Patchwork Pirate Bear's Tumblr

= MerMay =

Can I just say that I am loving seeing how everyone's Art has developed over the past month? It's really cool to see slight changes in style/included details! You all are just so dang talented! <3

= SpencerDoesArt =

More catch up mermay prompts from our darilng crewmate SpencerDoesArtt over on Instagram, they've got some really cool stuff please check them out if you have an IG!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by spencer (@spencerdoesartt)

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A post shared by spencer (@spencerdoesartt)

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A post shared by spencer (@spencerdoesartt)

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A post shared by spencer (@spencerdoesartt)

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= Snejpowa =

@snejpowa Love you have been just stepping it up with all these gorgeous Mermay prompts. Calypso is stunning~~

Day 17: Have you ever been sketched? / Day 18: Calypso's Birthday

= ErosTheArtist =

More prompts from @erostheartist - I am loving the colour contrast on these, they're so pretty <3 Day 13: Roads to Moscow Day 16: Kraken

= Blueberreads =

Eeeeee I didn't know I needed little pixel Ed drawings, but now that I have them I love them so much. I went them as stickers for my water bottle or something. Look at the little Ed-Gull. I'm dying @blueberreads these are so adorable.

Day 17: Have you ever been sketched? / Day 18: Calypso's Birthday

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies <3 I hope you're having a wonderful start to your weekend (or mid weekend, wherever you are).

Tonight I'd like you to take a few moments to repeat after me, okay? It won't take long.

"I am beautiful"

"I am kind"

"I am loving"

"I am worthy"

"I am a force to be reckoned with"

"I deserve rest"

"I deserve love"

"I am enough"

You are all those things. It's easy to forget sometimes how hard we work and how far we've come. You are so many wonderful things lovelies. Remember to tell yourself that once in a while. You deserve recognition from others, but also from yourself. You are so brilliant, and you continue to surprise and delight us all every day. Rest well <3 A few more love notes from some lovely folks on instagram, feel free to visit them below :)

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A post shared by Darra ✨ Baltimore Artist & Branding Design (@deardarlingdesignstudio)

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A post shared by iulia bochis (@iuliastration)

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== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Tonight's theme is just goofy headwear I guess. Now we know how Rhys keeps his hair so silky smooth.

Gifs Courtesy of some of the most darling folks: @fandomsmeantheworldtome and @meluli

#Instagram #ofmd daily recap #kristian nairn #rhys darby #nathan foad #samba schutte #rosy maple moth pie #ofmd news #samba's cooking class

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dualityvn · 2 months

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Hey Nightmare! I replayed your game recently and wanted to explain why I chose music in the survey. I love the game on almost all of its sides, and a lot of them just stayed with me. The sprites are so afshsg, Keith's smug expression portrays a lot of the character that I saw in the blog when he gains confidence. His jealous/worried expression frightens me because he looks very unstable. And about Tene, he really looks like the socially awkward /and dangerous/ dork he is. I can see when he's nervous and when he's relaxed. I can read his face and not misunderstand when making choices around him. Their sprites are more than good for me, they're charming. If I have to be picky I'd say maybe the backgrounds could improve. The characters don't mix well with it, but sometimes that's good because contrast;; and also gives you a mysterious, foggy vibe like everything is just a bad dream and you don't know what is going to happen.

I love the writing too, especially the last date! I got the scary vibe (and the fae painting was great!), it gave me chills. The writing stays with me during my daily life, I love the dialogues and I repeat them all through my brain. I like how you show things, imply things instead of just saying them. I like that the MC is smart enough to know what to do in different, unexpected situations. If anything, I think you could make that feel more natural. For example, sometimes you can choose "I'm not scared" after a scene that freaked your character out. Maybe make us choose the option earlier and show during different scenes how the MC is not scared, that way MC's acts match their words. Still, the writing is awesome for me. The romantic scenes just make me all giddy amdjsk, I wouldn't change a thing about that, and the MC's options during them (i like that I have the option to say I'd put a collar on tenebris, and you can also not be into that just bc tene is). But ofc changing the writing and art is up to you! I shouldn't mention this because it's evident but it's your game and more important than making a game that people will enjoy is making a game that you'll enjoy making and you're satisfied with!

My point is (sorry that was long!) the only thing I don't remember after closing the game is the music. I slightly remember Tene's main theme (which I find funny when it starts playing because it's like HELL YES TENE IS HERE TO MAKE TROUBLEEEE BABY) but the rest doesn't really stick with me. This doesn't mean it's bad, it's actually good but I know it could be better, it could add a lot more than it does. There are some moments when the music goes off (like the first date) which I don't think is a good moment to go off because you usually get worried/scared when that happens. Walking home after the date during night should feel more tiring and nostalgic, yet romantic. There should be a way to differentiate a happy charming, magical night with the boys from a calm, nostalgic nightly path. And if there's a way to add more life to a VN, that's music! It doesn't have to be a masterpiece, but feel more 'full of life' if you get me.

I hope my review is useful and not bothering agshsgs. This is all me trying hard to find things that could be better. The demo is already so so good as it is! I was surprised to see the survey in the first place when you're already doing great and hard work. If you have to point a gun at me to choose, music is my choice. I think a lot of VNs underestimate it (not that I think you do!). I say this as a person who used to undervalue music, I can draw and write but cannot make music to save my life, I suck at it 😭 but now I wouldn't be satisfied until finding the perfect piece.

Take what I say with a grain of salt Nightmare!! Thank you for giving us this masterpiece already. 🙇 Hope you're doing great!!

Hi! Thank you for your feedback and for all the praise! 💕

Honestly, I absolutely get where you're coming from in terms of the music. But sadly, music is something I can't do all that much about. I don't have the budget to hire a composer, so I'm stuck with using whatever royalty free music I can find. I will try to plan it out a little better in terms of when certain tracks play, though!

#duality game

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jujumin-translates · 1 year

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Misumi Ikaruga | [SSR] MANKAI Feature | Today’s Star: Akari Shinonome - Part 1

*Phone notification*

Misumi: !

Misumi: Waah, I got a LIME from Madoka!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*LIME Start*

Madoka: I’m at Grandpa’s villa right now.

Madoka: I found some paper airplanes.

△△△: I probably forgot them there when I last visited!

Madoka: Makes sense.

Madoka: It seems like the cleaning person found them and saved them.

Madoka: If you want them, I can bring them whenever I see you next.

*LIME end*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Misumi: Hmm…

Tenma: Hey, what are you staring at so intensely? Walking while on your phone isn’t safe, you know.

Misumi: Ehehe, sorry~.

Misumi: Umm, I was just replying to Madoka…

Misumi: …Alright! Sent!

Tenma: Okay, let’s go then.

Misumi: Yeah! Practice time, practice time~.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Door opens*

Kumon: Ah, they’re here, they’re here!

Tenma: Hm? What are you reading?

Kazunari: This month’s online survey results!

Misumi: Waah, I wanna look too~!

Muku: “Shiro from Sardine Search is so cute! I love him so much!” Fufu, I think so too.

Yuki: “Thanks to the streams of the performances, I’m able to see all the subtle changes in the performances that I otherwise would’ve missed out on.” …That’s a good point actually.

Kumon: It’s so great to get all this feedback~. I get super hyped just reading them!

Kazunari: Totally! Tenten and Sumi got a lotta feedback too.

Yuki: Here’s one that says, “I really liked all of the paintings Shinonome-kun from Sky Gallery did and I’d love to see more of them.”

Misumi: Ehehe, I’m glad~.

Kumon: This one here says, “After watching the stream again, Rio became my favorite Tenma-kun role!”

Tenma: Huh, Rio.

Muku: There’s a lot of feedback we got about roles other than the leads and co-leads.

Kazunari: All the characters are just that interesting thanks to Tsuzurun’s scripts.

Tenma: That’s true. Nice to see that fans seem to understand that too.

*Door opens*

Kumon: Ah, it’s like we summoned them here with our talking! It’s Director and Tsuzuru-san!

Tsuzuru: Hey, good work, you guys.

Izumi: Since you’re all here, can we quickly borrow you before you start practicing?

Izumi: You guys were just looking at the online survey results, right?

Yuki: Yeah.

Izumi: Perfect timing.

Izumi: As you can probably tell from the survey responses, we’ve started putting out streams of past performances…

Izumi: Since we’ve been getting more and more feedback on past performances, it seems like it’s become a topic of conversation among the company.

Kazunari: Definitely.

Tsuzuru: When I was reading through the feedback, I got the sense that a lot of it was related to the supporting characters too.

Muku: That is true.

Yuki: That’s what we were just talking about too.

Izumi: So we were thinking of something interesting for what we could do with that information.

Tsuzuru: And we thought it’d be interesting if we did spin-offs that focused on the supporting characters as the main characters instead…

Izumi: Exactly what Tsuzuru-kun said.

Misumi: That sounds like a lotta fun!

Kumon: Yeah, and super interesting too!

Izumi: I’m glad you think so. I already went ahead and discussed it with Sakyo-san and we came up with a plan.

Izumi: And we wanted to ask you guys to be the ones to kick the whole thing off.

Tenma: Us?

Izumi: Here’s the proposal--.

[ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #misumi ikaruga

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galactigoos · 2 years

Text

What Happened Last Night Pt.1 - Jack Russell x Reader

Summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar campsite with your leg caught in a bear trap. What the fuck happened last night?

Warnings: female reader, being nakey lol, bit of blood, broken bones, Jack being the fluffiest person ever, slow burn bc reader is going to have to deal with some shit

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/N: Ok so this is really only the first part of this story, but I wanted to get it out there and get some feedback before I get into a more plot driven second part. Depending on demand this might turn into a little series idk.

Also we only got 50 mins with Jack so be gentle if my characterizations a little wonky. Also Also for reference this does NOT take place right after the events of WBN. More like a random amount of time after that and there will be very little connection to the events of WBN.

Cross-posted on AO3 as always

Part 2 now posted!

Part 1-

You woke up groggy, disorientated, naked, and in more pain than you’ve ever felt in your life. All things considered, you had a pretty mild reaction to the elephant-tree-swamp-man… thing gingerly making coffee in a french press.

You screamed, scrambling to get up, then immediately collapsing in pain. The thing huffed as if he was frustrated with you for your reaction. Someone more human sounding groaned behind you, but barely heard them over the ringing in your ears. There was an honest-to-god old timey steel bear trap clamped around your very swollen, very broken ankle.

Shaking, you surveyed the rest of your body, finding various bruises and gashes littering your body. Your left ear felt hot and sticky, and when you brought your hand up to touch it, you found that the top third or so of your ear was only still attached to your head by a dangling bit of skin. You thought you were going to throw up. The irony smell of your own blood was almost all-consuming.

“Ted?”

The monster grumbled in acknowledgement, and you quickly shuffled to face your… captors? Rescuers? You made eye contact with an incredibly disheveled man wrapped in a quilt. His eyes widened, quickly scanning over your unclothed body and his entire face reddened. He swiveled clumsily to face away from you as you did your best to cover yourself with your arms. The man took a deep breath.

“Ted,” he said slowly, “who’s this?”

The monster grunts a response.

“What do you mean you found her like that?”

Another long series of grumbles.

“Like me? Like me… before?” The monster nodded, “Oh.” The man glanced back at you again, but very briefly. As soon as his eyes met yours he jolted a little and turned back to the monster, seemingly having forgotten your unfortunate lack of clothes.

“And you couldn’t have… given her something to cover up with?”

The monster responded in an indignant monster-tone.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. You did good buddy. Really,” the man said, patting the man-thing’s large hand as it huffed, apparently happy its efforts had been acknowledged.

The man cleared his throat, and hobbled over to one of the many suitcases surrounding the three of you. He made a point to keep his back to you and your nakedness.

You took the opportunity to look around at where the fuck you were. You were in a small campsite, complete with a firepit, a tee-pee made of sticks that the man had emerged from, and various pieces of luggage and other trinkets strewn about.

The man had grabbed some plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt and disappeared behind the monster’s back, groaning anytime he had to bend over. When he shuffled back into view, he was approaching you with the quilt, but once again keeping his head obviously turned to the side, not looking at you at all. You snatched the quilt from him and wrapped yourself up with it. When you stopped shifting around, the man finally looked at you, and smiled.

“Apologies. Coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the cup the monster was currently pouring the contents of the french press into. You shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth without throwing up everywhere, as the reality and enormity of the situation hit you. You were severely injured and trapped in the forest with a monster and a random man.

The man nodded, and stumbled closer to you. You shifted away from him the best you could, given your mangled leg and ever-churning stomach. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, and slowly knelt down next to you. He examined your wounds carefully.

“Ted, can you get the first aid kit?”

The monster obliged, gently handing a box to the man. The man smiled again at you, before digging through the contents.

You were at a complete loss for words. This random-ass woodsman and his pet monster– who apparently had the same name as your racist uncle– had barely addressed you, after presumably kidnapping you to their camp. You couldn’t remember most of the night before, but you knew you did not start out the night in the middle of the woods. Despite all that, you didn’t have much of an alternative to letting the man treat your wounds, so you didn’t put up much of a fight as he bandaged any gashes that weren’t covered by the blanket. It wasn’t until he was trying to tape your ear back together that he spoke.

“So, how long?” You furrowed your eyebrows and shot him a sideways glance, not wanting to mess up whatever he was doing to your ear. He met your eye and continued talking.

“Because for me, I’ve always been like this. It’s been in my family for generations. But judging by what you did to yourself in one night, I’m guessing you’re new to all this.” He sat back on his feet, still kneeling, and gave you a sympathetic yet expectant smile. He had shared so now it was your turn.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know where I am or who you are or what he is,” you gestured at Ted. “I just woke up in the woods all… beat up. With you guys. I don’t know what you want or who you think I am, but I’m not her.” You finished your rant with a shaky deep breath, willing yourself not to break down crying.

The man’s eyes searched your face, his expression now one of deep sympathy.

“How about we get you all patched up and then we’ll talk. Hmm? Is that okay, cariño?” You nodded, and he smiled once again. “My name is Jack, that’s Ted. He’s a friend of mine. He won’t hurt you.”

“Uh, okay. I’m y/n.”

Jack smiled widely. “Nice to meet you, y/n,” he said, dipping his head as he said your name. As he focused his attention on your leg, his smile faded into something more serious.

“I need to get this off of you. This is probably going to hurt. But I have to. I need to make sure these cuts don’t get infected and that your bone heals properly. You ready?” You gave him a curt nod and Jack took a deep breath and began to work.

You felt like your ankle collapsed when he wrestled the jaws of the trap open. You felt woozy watching fresh blood pour out of the many jagged marks on your skin where the trap’s teeth had dug into your flesh. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t pass out. You winced at every gentle touch of your ankle, from the stinging of the alcohol to clean your cuts to the bandaids laid delicately upon them. A constant stream of apologies came from Jack with his every movement.

“Ok. Now the worst part. Then it’ll be over,” he mumbled, applying more pressure to your ankle as he felt for the snapped bone. You involuntarily whined in pain.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. So sorry. Almost done.”

Jack’s hands halted their necessary assault on your ankle, then he firmly grabbed it, coaxing your bone into the proper spot. Even with closed eyes your vision became spotty and your head spun with pain. You felt Jack place a splint on your foot, and as soon as it was tightened and stabilized, your ankle felt much better. It still hurt like a bitch, but at least it was hurting in a proper, reinforced position.

When you finally opened your eyes, Jack was sitting down beside you, looking about as exhausted as you felt. His eyes fluttered sleepily and he had a dumb satisfied smirk on his face. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and reached an arm out to Ted with the other. Ted handed him a coffee cup. He took a large swig of it and offered it to you. You obliged now that you no longer had steel encasing an appendage.

“Thank you. For all of this,” you said, but Jack just took the coffee cup back from you, shaking his head and waving your gratitude away. The two of you sat quietly together, passing the mug back and forth. You felt oddly safe here.

At some point, Ted made a noise that made Jack snort and chuckle hardily. You looked between the two of them, smirking along despite not understanding Ted. They were… kind of sweet in the way they interacted. They truly were friends, despite the obvious species difference. Or maybe the post-panic wave of exhaustion that had hit you was so intense you were delirious. Either way, you leaned back, lying down and allowed the quiet conversation and crackling of the fire to lull you to sleep.

Will reader be as comfortable around Jack and Ted when she’s not exhausted and coming off of an adrenaline rush? How is Jack going to explain lycanthropy without sounding insane?? Will Jack melt my heart with his cuteness??? All this and more in the next part!

Feedback, criticism, comments, reblogs, and likes are all always appreciated. Keeps me motivated!

Tagging everyone who commented on my concept post. If you don’t want to be tagged in the next part just let me know! Literally no pressure I just wanted to make sure the people who encouraged by idea got to read it.

Let me know if you would liked to be tagged in the future!

Tags: @starfirette, @nicolewithanee, @fangurldayandnight, @zakizigekwe, @for-bebbanburg, @missdragon-1, @howlingco, @arvalee-knight

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beauty-and-passion · 3 months

Text

Plans for the summer (and the winter)

Hello, everyone.

I hope the weather in your place is nice, your days are long and you are healthy and relaxed.

I am here to give you an update on all the plans I had and the ones that came out in the meantime.

------

TMA

The reactions will still go on, don't worry. I started season 3 and I plan to keep them going until the end. Then I will start The Magnus Protocol too, of course.

I'm in no hurry with this series: I like to keep it going slowly and enjoy it ten episodes at a time until the end. So the updates will keep going during summer, winter and maybe up to the next year. Just keep expecting them, I definitely won't drop the series. I want to know how it will end.

------

CCCC

This project got my attention and I want to talk more about it. In the last ask I got, I was proposing two ideas:

a very concise analysis of all the songs of Volume 1, made mostly of resumes of the obvious parts, a few considerations and me approving every time these characters show how badass they are.

a short post about how differently the embodiment of Heart and Mind are portrayed here and in Sanders Sides.

The survey is here, and you're still free to vote (if you haven't already). Honestly, I would love to write these posts alternating them with TMA/others, so you won't see just one topic, but some nice variety. Just vote and let me know which idea do you like the most - or if you want me to do them both! I'm open to do that too.

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LORE OLYMPUS

In my last post, I said I would write a new one for when the series is over.

Well, the series is over. And my post won't be kind, nor long: I already talked about all the mistakes of the series, so all that's left is me making fun of its stupid ideas and a finale that was the epitome of "how NOT to write a story".

It will be the first post to come out after this recap, so you'll have it very soon.

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EPIC THE MUSICAL

I just found out that The Thunder Saga will be released on July 4th, bless Jorge Rivera-Herrans for his incredible speed and his creativity. This man makes bops as if nothing, his vision is crystal clear and I respect him for that.

I didn't listen to any snippets and didn't look for any spoiler, because I want to be surprised by the songs themselves: so, once they're out, I will definitely write a post about them in a couple days.

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THE BOOK OF BILL

Once it's out and I will get it (probably from August 2nd, since that's the delivery day on my Amazon), I will become a mess and talk about it endlessly, so I apologize in advance for who I will become.

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A MANGA I MENTIONED

Eons ago, I said there was a manga I wanted to talk about. Well, that manga is finished. But I have to read it from the beginning, before talking about it. And right now, I don't really feel like it.

For now, I will keep this in the back. Maybe this winter (or even next year), I will talk about it.

------

SANDERS SIDES

I am sorry to say that I do not have plans for SaSi for now - well, except for hte post in connection with CCCC. Mr. Sanders is giving us nothing, so there's nothing really new I can write.

But that doesn't mean we can't talk. On the contrary, you can still send me asks and/or tag me in some posts and we can have a nice chat about anything, from details of the series to criticism. Having nothing new doesn't mean we can't have fun our way.

------

WHAT ELSE?

Those are my plans for now, but who knows what else will come in a couple months? I wasn't expecting CCCC and it came, it saw and it conquered without expecting it. So... who knows? Maybe in a couple months, I will get another suggestion and my plans will change again. I'm open to possible new things to enjoy.

As always, thank you all for sticking with me, thank you for your asks, comments, reblogs, likes and suggestions. Every feedback is wonderful and I am extremely grateful for it.

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

@royalprinceroman @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24 @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue @cynicalandsarcastic @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire

@riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan @arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @queen-of-all-things-snuggly @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

@thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @boopypastaissalty @nevenastark @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @coldbookworm @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

#beauty talks about stuff #blog updates #tma #the magnus archives #cccc #chonnys charming chaos compendium #lore olympus #anti lore olympus #the book of bill #gravity falls #sanders sides #epic the musical #a lot of good stuff to work on #and a lot of time to do it

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willkimurashat · 7 months

Note

I'm launching operation Make Luna a Love Interest. WLW deserve better than the crumbs that Fusebox has been throwing our way for the past four seasons. WoC deserve better than another Hope/Arlo/Willow. Straight players can romance almost every single male character and they know what routes they'd be able to unlock as the story progresses. LGBT players shouldn't have to guess whether a female character is an endgame LI or not. The least FB can do for us is to tell us which female characters can't be romanced the way they did with Seb and Nicky. I'd invite everyone who wants to join to bombard Fusebox with Luna love under their Instagram and twitter posts. I'd appreciate any support from straight allies. I know black female characters don't get as much fan support, but I hope I can get a shout from the accounts that I stan.

Hi anon! Sorry to miss your ask!!

But no, I totally get you, love, us queer players are fighting for our life here because wlw routes are basically an afterthought. Women li’s don’t have any distinct personality from the men li’s - all that changes is just the sprite, basically. Fusebox hasn’t had a good wlw route since Angie imo, and even then, why are these routes blocked by some weird machinations we have to do while picking which choices we want mc to say? Like, I legit didn’t know Elisa was an li because I never unlocked her route. And yes, characters of color are continuously being made as villains, which just makes me UGHH GRRRR FLAMES FLAMES ON THE SIDE OF MY HEAD😫😞

I got so excited when they revealed Luna because she is one of the most beautiful islanders they’ve ever released imho😍 but based in her application I knew she’d 99% would be straight. She’s already gone from my game because I went for Jin and she had close to no personality which is also very sad and frustrating - they just made her a placeholder...

I completely agree with your points and I would love fusebox to do better, but I genuinely don’t think they’d listen. Personally, I’m a little burnt out with them never listening to our criticisms/reading survey responses/giving the fans what they want. Season after season after season it’s the same thing over and over again. They take some feedback in from the players, but let’s not forget how they made a discord to “keep in touch with their fans” and then when s5 ended and people had THOUGHTS they deleted it lol. Sadly, they’re just a company looking for an easy cash grab:( That’s just my, albeit pessimistic opinion, but if any of you do wanna bombard their social media - please do. I’ll be over here cheering you on and doing my part by mayhaps fixing the poorly written characters in my fics💕

#thank you for the ask love!#litg #love island the game #litg s8 #litg tempting fate #litg luna #ask ab

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bluesdesk · 5 months

Text

Hello and sorry for being late again. Here's round 12, we have 5 games left! I've been busy with uni stuff :"D Skyward Sword lost to botw and Majora, I could see how this was going since round 10, but honestly I'm really sad it went like this. SkSw is my favorite after all, followed by Majora, and I think Majora or botw are going to lose this round :( There's still wind waker I'd like to yeet, I played the gc version and left out of boredom tbh.

A little off topic: I and a group of friends are making a video game for an exam! It isn't related to Zelda but it's an action-adventure. I'd love to get some feedback on the idea, and I made a survey. It's anonymous so you won't be tracked in any way! I mostly need people from 12 to 18 years old but really anyone is fine. When we have a demo, we'll most likely share it to get more feedback. I'd be really glad if you take a moment to take the survey! Thanks in advance :D

So, about SkSw! I really feel like people need to play it, and with motion controls if they can (mostly because I played it on the wii). With the motion controls I felt like I was really in control of Link's actions, movements, and story, it felt way more "real" and personal than any other game. The music is the best imo, you can really hear the orchestra! Also Zelda isn't a princess but a knight academy student, she can fight! And we have character development with Groose and an unlikely enemy that's Ghirahim. Yes you go to the same area more times but each time it's a different zone. In OoT you visit each area 2 times, and nothing has changed in appearance. Also SkSw is one of the few games in which Zelink can be considered "canon", the others being Spirit Tracks, TotK, Hyrule Warriors.

Back to the poll, remember to vote the game you think is the worst out of these in the list! Please don't vote a game if you don't know it! Knowing means having played the game (even not completed), watched a gameplay, read the wiki! Having read the manga is ok too, I can't think of any other things rn but I hope you got what I mean :D

Reblogs are appreciated, since for obvious reasons I won't tag this as Linked Universe, but the majority of my interactions come from that fandom!

<< Previous round

Rankings under the cut!

The CDIs

Triforce Heroes

Zelda 2

Hyrule Warriors / Legends / Definitive

Cadence of Hyrule

Zelda 1

Four Swords Adventures

Four Swords

Oracle of Seasons/Ages

Age of Calamity

Phantom Hourglass

Link's awakening/LANS

Spirit Tracks

Tears of the Kingdom

A link to the Past

A link between worlds

The Minish Cap

Skyward Sword

#lionessposts #zelda #the legend of zelda #nintendo #tloz #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda skyward sword #zelda skyward sword #sksw #zelda sksw #link #skyward sword link #skyward sword #ghirahim #zelda botw #breath of the wild #the wind waker #wind waker #zelda ww

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 16 days

Text

Limelight Series - Chapter 2

Happy Monday Everyone! Here is chapter 2 of the limelight series! If you haven't read chapter one, click here to read it and then come back to read chapter 2.

This series came way of a message/ask from @hobby27 she asked:

"I would love something with Jensen and reader. He sees her when he’s at a convention and he’s bonkers for her. She isn’t so interested in a relationship with him because of the fame. So he has to woo her. Make her understand that he’s not a typical movie/tv star. Slow burn."

So I give you the Limelight series- It's a Jensen x reader (plus size, curvy girl) story, Jensen meets the reader in a bar, he falls fist, she is reluctant of course, but secretly she fell for him the second he walked through the door. So can a small town girl and a celebrity make it work?

Warnings for the whole series: language, multi-pov and switching between the pov mid chapters (sorry I can't help it), Jensen coming off aggressive for a hot second but then cooling off. Some douche side characters and some lovable ones, body shaming, angst, fluff, swoon, Jared is there and Micha is mention.

This story takes place an AU where Jensen is not married but Jared is and has kids.

This chapter is 3K+. Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.

Thanks!

Once you're back in the safety of the kitchen, you finally take a breath. Oh, holy hell, you were breathing the same air as Jesnes Ackles!!!! And now you're cooking for him!!! AHHHH. You try to calm down, taking deep breaths. You have to play it cool. Come on, he's just a guy like everyone else.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" James' voice pulls you out of your panic.

You look up to see him standing on the other side of the small prep table that is between you, too.

"What?" You question. Feeling yourself come back together.

You familiarize yourself with the kitchen you used to know, like the back of your hand. Everything was the same; why wouldn't it be? You only gave up your kitchen and cooking career a few months ago. Turning on the deep fryer, and oven. You make your way to the small walk-in cooler.

"Are you serious? Were you going to leave me high and dry and not cook for them?" James questions as he follows you.

After surveying your limited options, you settled on nachos, picking up the ingredients and handing them to James to hold.

"No, of course not." You passively say, tossing items for him to grab, "I mean, I figured you would beg." You turn to face him, "I didn't expect his friends to be total assholes."

Waving at James to move out of your way and back to the kitchen.

James sets everything on the table and watches you move around the room.

"Yeah, I think that Evan guy is getting his ass handed to him right now," James says matter-of-fact, picking up a tomato and tossing it back and forth in his hands. "Jensen seems kind of taken with you."

You look at him, "Yeah, I am sure he's just a bit tipsy and being a good southern boy." You reply, dropping the tortillas in the fryer. "Plus, I am sure he doesn't want it to come out that he hangs out with assholes."

As you return to the table, you snatch the tomato from James' hands to start making a quick salsa. "I don't know; I think there is something there." James sing-songs.

Shaking your head in disbelief at James and his need to play matchmaker. "Just drop it. Shouldn't you be out there, ensuring no one runs off with the till or the liquor?" You question, really wanting some alone time with your thoughts.

******

Since James had let the rest of the staff go earlier in the night, it was up to you to deliver the food. You loaded the tray and hooked the stand in your elbow to set it down once you got to the table. You prayed to anyone who would listen that you and the food would make it to the table in one piece.

You make your way towards the booth in the corner. Jared sees you first and gets up to offer assistance.

"Here, can I help?" he asks sweetly, giving you a half smile. His hazel eyes are slightly glassy from the drinking, and his long chestnut hair falls somewhat.

"Umm, yeah, can you take the stand and open it up for me?" You ask, thankful that your voice is steady and that you're not feeling weak in the knees. You hold out your arm with the stand for him to take it from you.

"Oh yeah," he replies, grabbing it, setting it down next to the table on Jensen's side, and then sitting back down.

You try to avoid making eye contact with Jensen but fail miserably. Sitting down the tray, you feel his eyes on you. You look up, and he smiles at you. Turning towards the table, you put on your best hostess smile.

"Well, boys, I hope you're hungry. I wasn't sure what you would be craving, so I did some of everything." You pick up the dishes individually and sit them on the table.

"Classic bar food of wings, mozzarella sticks, beef nachos, and my favorite, perfectly crispy, hot fries." Setting the fries down closest to Jensen, your eyes linger a bit longer than needed.

Fuck, he is too hot for his own good. Slowing down your thoughts before they stumble out from your lips, you pull your eyes away and pick up the plates, napkins, and sauces to sit on the table.

"This all looks amazing, sweetheart." Jensen's deep Southern voice breaks the silence. "Doesn't it?" he questions, his eyes staring down Evan.

"Yeah, it looks great; thank you," Evan and his counterpart mumble. Evan looks up at you. "I am sorry about earlier, " he says, his voice cracking at the end.

Shit, he changed his tone real quick.

You smile, "Thanks." No need to dish out anymore to him; you're sure Jensen already gave him enough of an ass-chewing.

Picking up the empty pitcher, you ask. "Need anything else besides another pitcher?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks," Jared replies, filling his plate with food.

Giving the table a short nod, you pick up the tray to walk away and get some air. Are you star-struck? Yes, you are a human. But you're also cautious and know under any other circumstances that if you weren't the only woman in the room, none of the guys at the table, especially Jensen, would be paying attention to you.

Setting the empty pitcher in front of James, he fills it up without incident. "So, you good?" He asks, focusing on making the perfect pour.

Letting out the breath you have been holding, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You question. Running your hands through your hair and then glancing back at the table.

They're laughing and bantering back and forth, eating and enjoying life. If anyone was to come in and didn't know better, they would think they were just four average guys out for a good time on a Friday night. And really, that's all they are; regular guys, two of which have a bit of money and celebrity status.

You look back to James. He sits the pitcher down, "I remember you having a major crush on Jensen for the longest time. Wasn't he on your list?"

Oh, of course, he would remember the list. The famous people you would fuck list if you ever had the chance. The stupid list that never comes true. Shit why did you even tell him?

"Yeah, and I am pretty sure you had Misha on yours." You quip back, feeling your cheeks redden at the thought it might be possible.

"Yeah, but no one from my list is in the same room with me and has been giving me 'fuck me' eyes all night."

"OK, whatever, you're seeing things. Besides, if you hadn't sent home all your waitstaff, Jensen would be making eyes with someone else. I am just the only one left with a vagina in the room."

James lets out an audible laugh that fills the room and gets the guys to snap their heads over to us.

"Yeah, OK, keep thinking that, Y/N." He distracted himself by running the bar rag over the bartop. "You know you're a knockout."

Rolling your eyes at this. Hearing comments like this always makes you self-conscious. After years of being overweight, fat, curvy, whatever you want to call it, you have come to terms with guys that look like Jensen, guys that are part of the 'beautiful people.' Despite their 'great personality,' they don't go for the average-looking girl with clothing sizes in the double digits.

Ugh, your negative thoughts are coming to the surface, and you don't want to deal with them right now or with the present company.

"You know, you can deliver this to them." You mutter, feeling the need to escape from prying eyes. You spin around quickly to be met with a wall of muscle.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jensen says, a smile on his face.

You slightly stumble and take a few unsteady steps back. "Whoa, sorry," you say, keeping your eyes down, not trusting yourself to look in those gorgeous green eyes.

"No apology needed, Darling. I was wondering…" his voice is smooth and sweet, with his Texas draw coming out.

His hands find your waist to steady you. "You want to join us, knuckleheads? I swear Evan will keep his mouth shut." He gives you a wink.

"Oh, no, thank you, that's nice of you to ask, but…" You stammer out. Your mind is slightly hazy with his close proximity and the feel of his hands on your waist. Nope, not your waist, your hips, actually. All this attention- the fact that it's him and you're sure his friends are now watching- is creating a pressure storm of fear in your chest.

Jensen does not pick up on your sudden mood shift, which is that you're having the start of a small panic attack. He thinks you're just being coy and hard to get.

"How about this, sweetheart? I have the Impala parked out back. We could ditch these losers for a while and go for a drive." His voice shifts from Jensen's Texas draw to full-on Dean's deep, sexy voice.

Whoa, what the hell! Pushing his hands off you, "Yeah, No." You step out from his hold. You will not be another notch on his belt.

"Do you think I would be grateful just because you stood up for me to your friend?" you ask, wondering why he was suddenly being handsy and pushy.

"Your sweet, southern boy charm may work on most girls, but…ugh…just stop with the sweetheart, OK. You're leaning in hard with your Dean Winchester persona, don't you think?"

This sobers Jensen up. A boyish smirk falls from his face. "Umm..." he stumbles to backtrack a bit.

Well, that has to be a first—a female rejecting him—no wonder he's short-circuited and has no reply. Feeling disappointment wash over you, you want to go home.

"I have to clean up the kitchen." Keeping your tone neutral, you give James a side eye and head towards the kitchen.

*****

It's been half an hour. You have put everything back, cleaned every surface, and restored the kitchen to its spotless state. James only pops in to drop off the dirty plates and empty glasses.

"You know, you don't have to do this. Go home, and I can finish cleaning up." He says, setting the beer pint glasses next to the sink where you were standing.

Picking up the glasses, you set them in the sink and wash them up. "No, I got it. Besides, I would rather wait until they leave. Feeling a bit embarrassed by my outburst."

You've been replaying the whole night since you've been back here.

God, what were you thinking! You're not saying you had to let Jensen put the moves on you, but was he? No, he was just being nice, that's all. Like you could ever get a guy like him. Feeling your cheeks go scarlet again.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed by. Jensen's a grown-ass man; I am sure he has heard it before." James' voice pulls you from your thoughts. "Besides, they left a few minutes ago, so you're safe."

You rinse off the glasses and set them on the drying rack. "Yeah, I highly doubt Jensen has ever been rejected by a female in his life." You quip, pulling the bar rag from James' pocket and drying your hands.

"I am just lucky there weren't more people to witness my demise." You hand back the towel to James and cross your arms around yourself.

"Again, you have nothing to worry about." Playfully knocking his shoulder into yours, "You want to talk about it? You seemed like you had something on your mind tonight."

His voice is laced with concern for his friend.

"Nothing can get past you." You mutter, trying to play it off.

"I know you have dealt with your fair share of handsy guests. But this time, it seems to be the straw that broke you." Noticing your quietness, he adds, "But I get it; it's been a long night; we don't have to talk about it." Giving you the out that you desperately need.

You look up at your friend, his kind brown eyes saying so much. "God, what would I do without you?" You say out loud.

He pulls you in for a side hug, "You will never have to find out." Giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head. "You need a ride home?"

Shaking your head, no, "I am good."

"Good. Now get out of here, please. You have helped me enough tonight; I owe you big time."

"Honestly, it wasn't anything special, but you're welcome." Playfully knocking your shoulder into his, you push yourself up from the sink.

"Night, James." You say, giving him a half smile, and head towards the back exit.

*******

The temperature has dropped slightly since you first entered the bar tonight, but not enough to warrant your jacket, so you sling it over your arm and enjoy the stillness of the night. The quietness and cool air are one thing you miss from working late nights at the bar. Getting into your jeep, you plug in your phone and see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, it's Jensen. I wanted to apologize for my actions earlier. I should not have put my hands on you or asked you to leave when you don't even know me. I should have picked up that you didn't want to have anything to do with me.

God damn it. James! This has to be a prank, right?

You: OK, James, nice try. Like I said earlier, I am fine. There is no need to text me from your burner phone to make me feel better.

Unknown: Umm…this isn't James.

You know better than to keep engaging with a scammer, but this was too weird.

You: OK, fine, Keep it up, but you're not Jensen. Unknown: JPG.

Staring back at you is a photo of Jensen in the same outfit he was in tonight. Giving you his best sad boy face. Sitting on a beige couch, no other recognizable things in the background. No fucking way. It can't be.

You: Nice. Look at you putting your Google skills to use. What did you type in the search bar: 'photo of Jensen Ackles looking sad?'

Unknown: JPG.

Another photo pops in. This time, it's Jensen holding yesterday's Detroit Free Press newspaper.

Unknown: This is starting to feel like hostage negotiations or ransom demands. It's really me.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! How the hell did he get your number!

You: How the hell did you get my number!?

Unknown/Jensen: So now you believe me? That's good. I hoped I wouldn't have to send you more 'proof of life' photos. James gave me your number after I begged, groveled, and bribed him.

Are you fucking kidding me! Damn it, James! I am going to kill him. Feeling yourself wish for a sweet death. You try to even out your breathing. It's nothing; you're just texting the hottest guy ever. Getting some composure back, you reply.

You: So, how much is my number going for these days?

Jensen: A signed photo of Misha and possibly dragging his ass out to the bar soon.

You: Wow, that's all? Not sure if James got a deal or if you got screwed.

Jensen: I got the better end of the deal.

You shake your head at this. Even through text, he can still make you blush!

You: Well, if you say so. Thanks for the apology, but it wasn't necessary.

Jensen: No, it was. I was an ass, and you made it clear from the start you weren't interested in me.

You: I wouldn't say that. I know I am not your first or 100th choice of female companion, that's all.

Wow, OK, where is this boldness coming from? Looking back at the message you just sent, you want to delete it or backtrack on your last comment, but you see he is already drafting a reply.

Jensen: Why do you say that? You're beautiful. I was dumbstruck if it wasn't obvious. so... you're interested in me?

His second message bubble gets you. What girl wouldn't be interested? You want to reply that you're not blind.

You: You say that to all the local girls you meet?

Jensen: No, just you. I would really like to see you again. Are you free tomorrow?

Is Jensen Ackles asking you out on a date? For real? No, this can't be happening! If anything, it's not a date; it's more of a 'good press. Make things nice with the locals.' Feeling the tiredness of the day taking over, you want to keep the conversation going, but at the same time, you want to be in comfy clothes and your house.

You: Can I get back to you on this?

Jensen: Yeah, no pressure. Whenever and whatever works for you.

You: Thanks, I am just tired, and I still have to drive home.

Jensen: Wait, you're still out? Where are you?

You: Sitting in my car, parked a few blocks from the bar. I saw your text when I got to my car.

Jensen: OK, stop texting me and get home. You shouldn't be just sitting in your car late at night. Text me when you get home.

You: OK, Dad. It will take me about 20 minutes.

It's sweet that he's concerned, but it's Haven, not downtown Detroit - you are perfectly safe to sit in your car this late at night.

Jensen: I am starting a timer now.

Oh shit. Guess you better get going.

*****

Pulling into your garage and leaving your car, your phone dings with an incoming text message.

Jensen: You home?

Shutting the car door, you shake your head at this. Part of you wants to make him sweat. Yes, it's slightly sweet, but he just met you! Waiting for the garage door to shut before going in, you quickly reply.

You: Yes, Dad, I just got in.

Jensen: I am sorry. I'm just worried.

Shit, of course, he is a good guy. Not used to this, are we? Kicking off your shoes, you go to the kitchen to grab some water, then head to your room.

You: Sorry. I'm not used to someone worrying. Plus, the town is a safe place. I've lived here my whole life.

Jensen: So, you're a local girl. I bet you know all the best places to go. Can you take me on a private tour?

You: A tour of Haven? It won't be long. Plus, I am sure your schedule is jam-packed with convention stuff; you probably won't leave the city until you leave for the airport.

You're trying your best to give him an out and remind him of why he's here in the first place. You know that convention schedules are no joke, and the talent has little to no downtime. Schedule panels and photo shoots during the day and parties for the convention goers at night, where they must appear.

Jensen: I can move some stuff around. When is a good time for you?

Of course, he will 'just move stuff around.'

You: Jensen, seriously, I don't want you to move anything around for me. That's not fair to anyone at the convention.

Jensen: But I want to see you again. Please? My evenings are free, at least from scheduled convention appearances. I wouldn't be canceling on the fans.

You: You're sure? I don't want to discover that you bailed on your fans for me. They can be brutal.

Jensen: I promise. So, dinner? You pick the place, anywhere you want to go.

You mulled over the idea of dinner with Jensen Ackles. God, you would be an idiot to turn him down! Besides, a nice dinner with a handsome guy might be fun.

You: OK, 7 pm, I will meet you in the convention center's lobby.

Jensen: OK, great. Can I pick you up, too, so you don't have to drive into the city?

You: That's sweet, but I will be in the city anyway. See you then.

There is no need to explain tonight why you would already be in the city. Exhaustion is hitting you hard, and as much as you want to keep talking, your body has other plans.

Jensen: OK, night

You: Night

To Be Continued......

Tag List:

@lmhf1 @kr804573 @smoothdogsgirl @n-o-p-e-never @stoneyggirl2

#fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles x reader #jensen reader #jensen fucking ackles #jared and jensen #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x you #jensen and fans #jensen ackles x plus size reader #limelightseries #jensen ackles x curvy

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nobotderiz · 1 year

Text

Posit reticulum

Chrono Osmosis will take care of parasites.

Probably just about to be tagged out here too I bet. What am I doing? You will see or not.

youtube

Canada, you know what gave you away? Young girls faking surveys. Only old ladies around my place do that. Interns in psychiatry... Now you figure it out how to compensate for work, owned pupils.

Some rotten idiots wanted to keep secret eh? They gonna die due to it then.

I postulate that it means nothing all of this; you are exactly where it's at, all of you.

As it was ordinated by all of your clicks, chumps. Pensez-vous que c'est intelligent des jaloux qui se cachent pis qui se donne le droit de pièger en plus? No mercy for PINHEADS in bowling eh.

In case you wonder where the Donald got his 'tint' color idea.

You have to correct the nomenclature that was made by debilitated cokeheads. Using human engineers to devise terminology, arrogant imbeciles.

Swill of parasites of intelligence from America. Go lay eggs.

Insult non necessary? Feedback proper neither.

Le tout Positionnement, de par vous.

Algoticks, you figured it out or not? I knew most would not believe.

Sempiternal doubters... Go get a navel wash.

En tout cas, moé mon rêve c'est d'être entouré de chanteuses qui chantent pas.

'Mes chers crétins, c'est à votre tour de vous faire prendre par en dessous...'

Sérieusement, pas de vrai valeur crée. Mauvais investissement, énergie dépensée en vrai pour aucune valeur en fait... La crypto vaut rien si transactions artificielles s'estompent.

Je peux expliquer tout ce que ces montages évoquent. C'est vrai que la Quantum 'vision' va permetttre de décoder le tout venant au fur et à mesure.

Pretty fancy now the excessive machine eh? It's Automate tick.

From magnetic to photonic back to magnetic, without fibers; no a/d converters, just tiny mirrors. Each time someone does a conversion to align with Turing or whatever precept, it starts a new strain.

For people who reported lots of tremoring during covid; they felt it inside, they probably felt nothing at all if they touched where it felt like it was tremoring.

youtube

Only the 'elite' would benefit from tracking and communicating ahead. Of all times and at every markable event, the super wealthy... If everyone on this earth wanted to move to America for a while, it's because anyone could...

... Fuck you ok.

The differentiation crew.

Looking for traces of the before.

Genome history of people now being sold on the web. I bet you that COVID was seeded in panic. It was real easy to derive... The great dismantibulation.

Some things just do not work for me here. Eradicate Parasite Strain, Y'en aura pas de faciles.

For those who could figure it out a bit, thank you.

The endgame is all of it, the prize is too great to renounce for a dictator. A dictator sacrifices nothing else than all the rest but him.

Be sorry for splattering this kind of swill just because it paid for audience.

#Youtube #PostByHIB

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ziracona · 2 years

Text

Hey guys; it’s been 84 years but I’m back with an update! Sorry it’s been so long. The feedback has been so kind and so meaningful, and I really wanted to continue much sooner. I wish I could have. I am glad at least I can now. As per the norm, Tumblr gets the slightly less polished update a day or two before AO3 -- And thank you, so sincerely, all for the continued interest, and for liking my story. Hope you have fun. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, ?)] {Some spoilers for original Grand Order run/through Temple of Time}

“Alright,” comes Doctor Archaman’s voice in my ear. So funny to be wearing earpieces to get orders like I’d get from a Master, instead of just hearing them in my head. Guess, since he’s not one, though, there’s no way around it. “I’ve got a visual. Ritsuka’s group is in position to breach, so we’re cleared to start.”

‘Alright’ indeed: go time. This’ll be fun! I’m feeling great, with my spirit core not ripping in half, and I’m very ready to tear some arms off. Crack my knuckles and my neck just for fun, limbering up.

“Any intel before we go?” asks the Doctor.

“There’s a few guards, some drones. We can all sense a few wards up, but it’s nothing beyond what we expected,” answers Archer, “Hard to guess what they’ve got inside, but, right now it’s quiet out here. I’d add there’s a lot of retractable plating up, so I wouldn’t be shocked to find some external turrets, but that’s about it.”

“Good,” says the Doctor, making a typing sound I can vaguely hear over his mic.

“So, we’re supposed to make this as real as possible,” I say, nudging Archer to get his attention. I am given a slightly irritated glance. “Like we’re trying to wipe them out, for another mage group. How would you do that, if you were here to wipe them out for real?”

“I’d have done more reconnaissance,” he answers in annoyance.

I internally roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, if you didn’t have a perfect Master, and you were just ordered to go in like this.”

He sighs. “I’d hit them with a mid rank noble phantasm from my arsenal, and see what an attempt to nuke the place did, without pulling out my best tricks and losing my major mana supply right off the bat.”

Mid-rank phantasm. ‘Course this fucker can do that shit. He just fucking copies other peoples’ phantasms and fires them off like arrows; annoying as hell. I guess that’s not a bad approach, though, tactically speaking, so I give a grunt of affirmation as I consider it.

“That what we’re going for?” I ask the Doctor.

“No!” says the Doctor in frazzled distress, “Because for all we know, their defenses are terrible, and that might actually work! We’ve got five people in there we don’t want vaporized off the face of the planet.”

Right, right. “So then?” I prompt, twirling my spear and then leaning on it.

“Okay,” says the Doctor, “Given what I can see on the cameras, I think our best bet is a frontal assault.”

“Isn’t that always the worst option,” asks David casually, matching my stance on his shepherd’s staff and leaning forward to survey the area.

“To win, sure,” agrees the Doctor, “To stall? No. It’ll buy us time, with an easy open escape behind us when we need to cut and run, and we should have plenty of room to maneuver, while keeping it mostly on the outside, to avoid collateral damage to the building while our people are inside.”

Fair enough. Frontal assault works for me.

“That said, I do have a plan beyond ‘go up to the front and start swinging,’” adds the Doctor, “Archer, from what I understand, you have wide barrage capabilities, and access to a large arsenal.”

I was going to ask which Archer, but I think we can all tell from that description.

“Correct,” affirms Archer.

“You’ll hit them first then, from the front. Lay out as wide and harsh a first barrage as you can; I want it to be overwhelming, and confusing. Keep at it once you’re in. You don’t have to do endless damage, so long as it looks like you can,” says the Doctor, “We want them guessing at numbers here: off balance, overwhelmed, and feeling as under immediate and immense threat as possible. I want everyone in that building out here, shooting back.”

Archer gives a nod, I guess more to himself than anyone, since it’s not like Archaman can see.

“Keep up the heavy fire. As soon as they come outside and start to fire back, I want you on top of the group and tearing through their forces, Lancer. You’re our battering-ram.”

Sure am. “Sounds good to me,” I agree, straightening up and twirling my spear because I enjoy the sound it makes.

“I want them terrified,” adds the Doctor.

I grin. That’s a can-do.

“Avenger, you have the ability to cast fear like an aura around you, right?” he continues.

“Yes,” agrees Salieri. He’s wearing full body armor and a mask now, which I have to admit, while not my color, is pretty sick, and definitely makes him look a lot more threatening.

“I want you to flank them, once the fighting has already started. Go in on our right, and cause as much chaos as you can. As much as possible, I want them to struggle even understanding what is attacking them,” says Doctor Archaman.

“Understood.”

“And David,” finishes the Doctor, “To the best of my understanding, you’re the only one with strong defensive capabilities.”

That ain’t true—I’ve seen Archer whip out a fucking shield based noble-phantasm before, twice now, and it’s really fucking annoying, but Archer doesn’t seem to feel a need to bring that up, and I don’t really either.

“I want you to hang back, and offer whatever protective support you can from the rear, while sniping—stick to your class strengths,” says Doctor Archaman.

“Hey,” I say in Archer’s head, “How come you’re ‘Archer’ and he gets to be ‘David’?”

“Because they know each other,” says Archer in tired annoyance without looking my way, “And he can’t call us both ‘Archer’. Besides, I actually prefer this. Archer is better than being called by name,” he adds almost bitterly.

Damn, if I’d known that it would bother him, I might have stopped calling him ‘Archer’ a long time ago, but it’s way too late to do it now. Ah well.

“Alright,” agrees David happily, “Shall we, then?”

We trade glances, and Archer gives a nod and flexes his arms in preparation.

“Go,” says Doctor Archaman.

Archer takes off so fast I don’t see him for a second, then there he is, taking the leap from the hill we’re on overlooking the building, into the sky by the front gates. The area is kind of secluded, well, for the city. It’s on the outskirts, surrounded by parks and bus stops. The building itself is an ugly, several story flat rectangle, with barbed wire fences and sensors, sentries, automatic lights. It couldn’t scream ‘compound’ much harder if it tried.

That’s not really going to be a problem for us, though.

For a moment, I hold, watching Archer wave an arm in mid-air, and a line of a hundred swords appear in the air behind him and slam into the building front like missiles. The mana explosions they cause when destroyed is impressive, even though I know how much he’s holding back, and about forty different sirens go off and I hear shouts, see people move. He strikes again, and again, working not just to do wide damage, but to change attack angle so its hard to tell it’s only him firing, and to kick up smoke and dust, lower visibility. Perfect.

The front gate opens.

I am vaguely aware Salieri has vanished, though I can sense him off to the far right, through our bond as servants to the same master. In place. Behind me, a few stones start to whizz past, now that personnel are rushing out. David’s sniping not for major threats, but for anyone shouting out warnings or directions, I have to assume for the fear-factor of hearing your comrades go down again and again mid-word. Not bad.

Yeah, not a bad amount of chaos.

But now it’s my turn.

Almost gleeful, I ready my spear and run.

There are golems amongst the humans firing mana rounds and bullets together from machine guns up in the smoke by the front gate. There are homunculi, and quite a few robots. All expected. I didn’t except the first thing I saw up close to be zombie though, and I’m almost thrown, because the fuck kind of military is using the least controllable familiars they can find as front-line defense? But hey. If it dies, it dies. And I run it through, spear taking what was its head in an instant, and flash pat it, ducking under a blow from the nearest golem, and slicing off the legs off a large tank-shaped robot as I go. I come up on a knee and swing in an arc, cutting open the four nearest humans, then throw my spear through the head of a golem on my left, as another barrage of Archer’s swords cuts a path through the enemies around me.

Fun, I think, calling back the spear, But not enough.

I scream. The chilling, inhuman cry of blood-lust to a warrior, and rush them. Loud, fast, laughing. I swing the back of my spear to knock some back so hard they crack against one of the large robots, then leap and carve a hole through a golem, jump through its broken stomach out the other side to send my spear zig-zagging through the heads of twenty zombies near me, kicking a human with enough force to send his body slamming into the open door and knock back several gunmen rushing to join, call back the spear and catch it in mid-air, and send it flying back to impale itself along seven bodies in a clump.

Wait, didn’t our master ask us to use less lethal force or something...? Eh, I can’t remember so it’s probably fine.

Gun spray slides past me as I move too quick, and I land in front of a line of humans and let one hit me, just for fun. For the intimidation of it.

It fucking goes right through my chest and I’m knocked back.

The fuck just-?

I-I recover, fast, but-

“Doc, they’ve added something to the bullets—I could sense mana, but the concentration’s enough to hurt,” I call to coms as I cut a swath through this new round of humans, then jump back and start tearing through the wave of zombies and ghosts on my right, sending bodyparts flying and doing my best to add to the chaos. The hell do they have so many damn undead?

“The regular rounds?” I hear the doctor ask in surprise.

“Yeah, at least some of the guns,” I say.

I can almost hear the guy thinking. Well, whatever. Just means work a little harder dodging, to the rest of us, and we’re all on coms, so we all heard.

I am far enough right for a moment that I can see Salieri tearing up a group of automatons that were on the wings, flanking right on cue. He’s taking pretty heavy fire from the snipers and turrets these guys have on the roof, and seeming to ignore my warning entirely.

…Right. Wait. Don’t Avengers get some kind of boost from taking damage for some bizarre reason? I’ve barely seen them around, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. Guess it doesn’t matter to him, then.

Jeeze, what a way to fight though. Kind of cool, honestly. He’s soaked in blood and has gashes in his arms and legs, bullet holes riddle his torso, and it’s not slowing him down at all—hell, I don’t think it’s even broken the man’s concentration.

Good for you, buddy, I think, spinning on my heel and launching my lance at the nearest turret, then mentally carving its path in the air so it takes two more before swinging in an arc and darting back into my hand.

“I think this is going pretty well,” I call as I pass Archer for a second, enjoying being in a real scrap. He’s darting in and cutting people up with his swords off and on, but mostly hanging back to send barrages in like he’s supposed to. Poor guy, I think with glee and no sympathy, Finally have to fucking use ranged attacks like an Archer. It must be killing you.

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

“I’m not sure I understand,” I manage as we rush down a hall.

Everything feels like too much. I-I’m struggling to think at all, a little. I can barely even try to believe this is even happening to me, but, I’m doing my best.

“We don’t either,” calls the Archer who identified himself as Billy the Kid with chagrin, taking a corner so fast he jumps and pushes off the wall not to lose momentum, and I follow suit.

“We only know that’s what happened and that we need to get back out there to help quick as we can; we have no idea why they’d be working on some kind of mental corruption thing against spirits, or why they’d use it like that,” says the girl who saved me, “We don’t even really know what Mercury is…”

I glance at her for a second as she speaks. It’s hard to do. I feel…

My head. It. I can think again, I can move. I’m not in pain. But. It’s become so strange to me, after all this time caught in the moment of death, I-I don’t know quite how to do it right anymore. I feel like every moment is too much, and there’s no way to quite filter it all. It’s hard to look at her, harder than looking at anything else. The air is hard to breathe, because it doesn’t catch in my throat and choke me and hurt, because it doesn’t only smell like blood and burning and steel. Because it brings relief instead of pain. There are so many smells I forgot existed, it’s hard to experience them. They overwhelm me.

It is hard to look at light, after so long in darkness. These walls shine, and they blind me. Even my own skin, my clothes. I forgot the saturation of color. I forgot what it felt like for the act of trying to see not to send spasms along the back of my neck, and stinging in my eyes. For it to not feel like straining. So many things do not provoke pain just to be, and the normalcy of them overwhelm my head. I have forgotten how to process anything but pain and fear quickly, I-I’d gotten so used to it.

It's hard to hear sounds again. To hear footsteps, and breathing. Talking. They don’t make my head ache to try and understand. My own movements don’t send pain that cascades and echoes for hours. It’s strange. It doesn’t hurt to be. It doesn’t hurt to think. But, it does. Differently. It hurts like fear—it hurts in that it overwhelms me; it feels like trying to hold too much at once. It is all hard.

It is impossible to look at her for long.

I cannot think about everything that just happened, because it’s too much, but I can’t look at her long without thinking about it.

I don’t understand. Not just what they’re telling me about the people who purchased my body and spirit like a pound of spices. Them. I don’t understand them.

She’s so small. Little. She must be a teenager. Japanese, like me, but her hair is red like mine is. I am not afraid to see her, and it’s become strange to see a human and not be afraid. I am…overwhelmed. She saved me. I thought I was going to be dying forever. I don’t know how much of my head is left—I-I know I’m struggling with it. But some of it is still here. She saved that. Why? I don’t even know who she is. Or what. And she doesn’t even want to own me in return.

It is very strange.

It’s beyond what I can understand right now. It hurts and confuses me to look at her, and try. But, I want to at the same time.

I just can’t. Not yet.

The cowboy isn’t easy to look at either, but at least he is so different, from everything I am used to. It helps. And it is…nice. We’re somewhat close to the same age, I think. And he told me he wouldn’t lie to another spirit about a thing like this. I appreciated that. I don’t think I’ve told him, but, it helped. I should. I should think of…

“There!” calls the girl, pointing. Up ahead, I can see it too. I had forgotten to look at all, I was just following. This isn’t good. I’ll be cut down in battle before I can be of any help at all if I don’t remember how to use focus.

The exit—an exit, I-I suppose. A door. Open, and past it I see night sky.

Oh, that is also too much. I had forgotten the look of anything but the inside of a building, and I am trying hard to readjust to a version of me that was ready for things like this, from before, but a part of me hasn’t accepted that it’s even over, and I’m alive at all. That I’m not still in that room, with my head halfway off, dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dy-

“Kotarou!”

? O-Oh. That. The cowboy.

I remember to focus again as we near the exit, and take in that Billy the Kid is pointing to something outside.

Oh.

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

SHIT!

I hear the shouts—mostly their own guys, but a few from us. It’s chaos.

God damn it! This was going so well! What kind of idiot-!

“We’ve lost visuals on Salieri!”

That’s the doctor, calling out. Shit, that is bad.

“Lancer, was he hit? Could you tell?” The man is frantic. One of Archer’s swords swings in my direction at random and almost takes a chunk out of my side, and I slide about five inches left just in time to avoid it. He’s shooting massive barrages at everyone—I don’t even really think he’s aiming. Wait…

Shit—okay—what did the Doctor ask? –‘Was he hit?’

No, I think, irrationally angry, scanning for the Avenger myself in case he’s been hit since the first barrage. They’ve shot their fucking missiles at least twice now. I don’t see him though. Which I should—hell—I should at least hear him! We were close like eighteen seconds ago! How fucking far did he go? I can sense him at least, faintly, but it’s weird? Erratic. Not in the way Archer is, at least… All I can tell for sure is he’s somewhere to my far, far right.

“He’s back the way he came from!” I call, trying to avoid more swords as about six slice in my general direction, pivoting to use my spear to cut down a golem in my way as I go, doing my best to fight toward the hoard of undead, demons, and ghosts now moving like a slow wave towards the exit gate, “That’s all I can tell! But he’s not hit!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure!” I snap back. Of course. Of course he would do that!

A barrage of smaller swords comes spinning out in every direction again, and I hop out of the way of three and deflect a fourth with my spear, finally zeroing in on Archer, about 20 yards away. Shit.

“Cu Chulainn—”

Shit. The doctor must be worried for real to be using my true name.

“—drop back! We need to find-“

“—No!” I call back, “We fall back, and this gets worse! Just don’t let the rpgs hit you—something in them makes things frenzy, got it?! Like a fucked-up madness enchantment!”

“-I know! -But—no, head back—We’ve lost connection to Salieri and Emiya! Even if the Avenger isn’t hit, something’s gone very wrong with him! We need to-“

“—Regroup, I know—I know!” I snap back, starting to carve my way forward in the crowd again, taking advantage of the chaos to down enemies so preoccupied with the guy on their left going rabid with his arsenal of swords that they barely register me. I run a mage clean through without him even having time to turn his head and look. “Get someone else! We leave Archer alone or give them time to regroup too, this shit gets worse—I can keep the mages distracted, and I can handle Archer! Take David and find Salieri, and try to do something about the fucking wall of undead shit heading for the city!”

“—Handle?! –How! Lancer, you realize you can’t kill him, right?—and holding back,” starts the Doctor desperately.

“—Yeah, I ain’t gonna kill him!” I snap back, annoyed more by the situation itself than him, but pretty irritated by now. A couple of mages finally take notice of me and try to land a few mana shots and a stun spell, but they’re so slow that I can dodge easily and take a shot back without even losing my breath. “I’ve fought him non-lethally before! He’ll be fine. I’ll see if I can’t snap him out of it, and I know I can take him. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drag his unconscious husk back and let you people fix him. That’s more than the rest of you can say about the other half of this! I’ve got this—you two handle the city!”

“… You’re absolutely sure?” asks the Doctor.

“I’m positive,” I reply. I’ve almost caught up to him. About fifteen feet off now. I ready my spear.

“Okay,” says the Doctor, and his voice is gone from my head.

Past Archer, I’m very aware the rpgs have gone off about six times now—one almost took me out—and they’re hitting their own people to have a shot at us. The effects are sporadic, but less pronounced on the mages it seems. It’s like they panic, more than go rabid, but it has some weird effect for sure. No real effect at all on the golems and robots at all. The homunculi and anything undead though? They get caught in the blast radius, and suddenly they’re a seething mob, gunning for anything in sight. It won’t take long for them to crawl over the growing stack of bodies by the far wall, and make it out of the compound entirely, and the homunculi and undead aren’t even the biggest problem! It’s all the fucking ghosts. Before they were a pain; now with whatever magic shit this is coating them, they’re all trying to be the fucking star of a bad Hollywood paranormal horror flick. Things are flying past and screams echo in the night. I’m at a distance from the worst of it, but I can feel the hatred and chill in the air from the malice on those things alone. They aren’t so big, which is great, and a second ago they weren’t shit as a threat, but they’re more than a little suped up now, and there’s just way too many of them. And the idiots with the guns are still firing! Guess…maybe we scared them a little too much, huh, I think with a grimace.

Still, we ain’t handling any of that shit well as long as we’ve got a heroic spirit like Archer going berserk in the middle of it, so he’s the top priority. If the idiot hadn’t taken a round straight on like this, he’d be better than the rest of us are at holding these things back, with that area of effect he’s got with his phantasm! But noooo.

Idiot!

I mean. I get it, I guess. I know why he did what he did. I get it. That first rpg round went off, he sensed something we didn’t, and the Avenger was going to just take the round head-on like he’d been taking everything else for his damage-boost Avenger thing, and yeah so of course he—I mean, sure, probably something like Salieri going full-tilt monster on us would have been a lot worse, and it was the only tactical choice, and I guess his stupid shield just didn’t quite make it up in time, and it was one of them or the other. But even so! Even so! This fucking guy! With his endless ‘heroic sacrifice’ shit, while being the edgiest motherfucker I know, just…it all pisses me off to no end, and this is no exception to that rule! Kind of glad I now have an excuse to slug him.

“Hey, ARCHER!” I shout. I wonder how much he’s in there at all, and how much it’s just the spell running his body. He turns at his name, in a stunted way, like a man asleep, and I slam the back of my spear into his head.

He moves back, quick even with something this wrong with him, but I catch him enough to slice his forehead open, and I’ve sure got his attention now.

Alright. Perfect.

“Wake up!”

I go for another hit with the reverse of the haft, and he jumps to try and get some distance on me, summoning his little shortswords, and just barely parries it, but the force alone knocks him back out of the air and into some of the closer automatons. Barely even registering them, he’s up again in a second, slicing through the ones close enough to try taking a shot, and running for me.

“Get it together!” I snap, catching his shortswords with my haft as he swings at me, “You’re still alive in there, right? So shake it off!”

He ducks under my lance and goes for my gut with a blade, and I swipe his legs out from under him before he can. I leap after, trying to capitalize on him being on the ground, but he’s too fast—rolling out of the way so my speartip hits concrete, and hopping up and back, firing off a barrage of swords at me as he goes.

Okay, how in there?

I’ve seen my fair share of shit. There’s a sliding scale from ‘madness enchantment,’ to ‘under command seal,’ to ‘the grail got them,’ to ‘totally fucked up by magic,’ and he seems…

-He stops retreating mid-motion and shoots forward so fast I barely see it, and I have to duck to avoid a dagger, spinning on my heel and elbowing him in the gut as he goes for a second swipe, and knocking him back.

Shit, it’s hard to get a look at the damn guy’s face!

Okay.

I said I could take him, and I can, but I was kind of hoping this would be easier than literally beating him unconscious and dragging his body back. I mean, I’ve done it before. I can do it again. But shit. He doesn’t make it FUCKING easy, and I’m not exactly looking forward to the state my spirit origin’s gonna be in after that, either.

Maybe he won’t be as tough. He’s fucked up. That’ll help, right?

He’s back even faster this time—Well, at least I got his undivided attention—and attacking with a vengeance. Swings for my head, and I knock the first blade back with my haft, catch the other with my speartip just in time. I swing for an uppercut, quick, and rake him across the chest with my spear—not deep, he’s too quick for that, but this is good, because it means he is reacting slower than usual.

Okay. Alright, I can work with that maybe.

Archer ducks forward and makes a slice for my leg, and I parry him easily, but the barrage of swords he summons to run me through the back at the same time almost get me. Thank god my hearing’s so good. I catch the whistle of wind just in time to twist and slide out of the way, knocking one aside with my spear. I know he’ll go for my back the second I show it to him, and he does, and I’m about to dodge, when I decide it’s better to just let him. I need the guy to fucking hold still –for just two seconds—and he’s more floaty than a fucking kite! This might be my best shot at that. This is going to hurt.

I’m ready to dodge to limit the damage, but as I feel it coming, I realize I don’t have to. The dagger goes in at my abdomen, on the right side of my back, and yeah, it hurts, but also, what the hell? That’s the best opening he’s had, and he blew it—I mean, only our heart or our head being destroyed can actually kill one of us, so-?

No time to really think about it though. The second the blade is in, I reach back blind and clamp my hand around his wrist with a death-grip. I hear a bone crack and a cry of surprised pain from back there, and with my right hand still firmly around his own, I step backwards and ram my back into him, kneeling a little as I do, and I drag the arm forward simultaneously and use his sudden stature above me and all my body weight with it, to push him on top of me and then launch him over my side and onto the ground on his back. As he goes over, the guy rakes the knife in his free hand across my back, but I don’t care, because I’ve got him then, and quick as a blink I ram my lance through the arm I have the death grip on, clean through and into the concrete below, pinning him by it.

He cries out as the blade goes through, and I use the second of shock to make it on top of him, using my weight to keep him pinned down, one hand on my spear, the other catching the hand he still has in use as he makes a swipe for my head with it, leaning forward and using my body weight to force it against the ground, when usually we’d be evenly matched in a grapple. I’m breathing hard, leaning over him up close, and I’ve finally got a look at his face.

He's grimacing, teeth gritted, but not anger so much as intensity. Sweating too, breathing hard. There’s a film over his eyes, like if he’s in there at all, he’s down deep past something else. Not like a Berserker, then. Berserkers are too much all at once: not there, but for another reason. Ah, shit. So, I know less about what’s going on or what to do about it than I thought.

Well, let’s see if I can get any real reaction. He did focus on just me when I attacked, so there’s some amount of logical reasoning left, at the very least.

“Archer!” I snap. He’s struggling with me, trying to get a leg positioned so he can kick me off, and I gotta say, he’s pretty fucking good at that and it’s getting on my nerves. I should hit him. Yeah, that might help, but if I do, I have to let go of his hand, and if I do that, he’s going to throw me off. Shit.

Oh, wait.

I ram my forehead down against the bridge of his nose as hard as I can.

It makes a very satisfying crack, and he cries out, surprise and pain, but more surprise.

I jerk my head up fast, trying to get a look if there’s anything different in his eyes. He’s wincing, still struggling, but that hasn’t done much except hurt him, looks like. Maybe if I hit him harder?

“Come on! Snap out of it! This is getting irritating! You think I want to babysit you all battle, bastard?” I spit in annoyance. He looks up at me, and there’s almost something there—or maybe there is, for a second. He’s listening for a second anyway, and there’s a glint of almost…confusion. And he winces, like the confusion hurt.

Yes! It’s working, I think, and trying to keep the magic off guard, I slap him in the head with my own again, cutting open a cheekbone this time.

“Ow!”

That’s almost a word! Great! More defined than just a cry of pain. He tries to lash out in return though, and actually gets a good kick against the inside of my knee—hurts like SHIT, but I power through, and ram my knee into his in return—not exactly a win for either of us, I gotta admit, and curse under my breath.

Behind me, I hear sounds of the battle. No WAY I can look—if I do, I’m gonna get run through. I’m actually not sure why he hasn’t tried that already. Maybe he thinks I’d snap his neck? I could. I would, usually, in a fight like this. If he doesn’t remember we’re on the same side, I guess that logic path makes sense. Anyway, I hear crazy amounts of fighting still, but it’s getting further away. Kind of good, because while I took him down in the middle of enemies we’d already taken care of, no way they’d avoid taking shots at me for more than a few seconds if the battle wasn’t being drawn off. Bad though, because it sounds like David’s still alone. I can’t hear music at all—no Salieri. And that’s a hell of a lot of crowd control for one guy with a rock.

I gotta speed this up.

“This is going to hurt you a lot, but you’ll just have to get over it,” I decide, and I rip my spear back out of his hand and go for his chest.

There’s panic in his face for an instant, and then I hear the ‘shing’ of swords in the air all around me. Holy SHIT he summoned a lot of them. I have to roll off him to the side on a knee, and swing my spear behind me in an arc, deflecting as many as I can, and one still slices through my arm. He rolls backwards and springs up, but I haven’t lost focus, and I’m up to meet him, slashing at his chest. The man barely gets one of his daggers up in time to parry the blow, and I shatter it, press on hard, harder. No more swords being summoned around us; it’s all he can do to parry and dodge as I press him harder and harder.

UGH he’s so flighty though! It’s always hard to pin him down.

Wait. He doesn’t remember, then-

Hopping back suddenly, I give him a little room. He’s breathing really hard now, wary and intense, surprised, until he sees me ready my spear to throw.

“Your heart is mine,” I call, voice cold, and I see the realization and horror on his face. Immediately, an arm goes up—I can only assume going to desperately try and summon that shield of his. Perfect.

I try not to grin.

“Gae—” I let the mana surge around me, and then dash in with every ounce of speed I can muster, leaving the phantasm unfired.

It works. Taken off guard, he falls back a step in confusion, going for a normal counter suddenly instead of a shield, and I slice into his chest. I’m quick—I get the rune carved in just two motions. I think I’ve done it perfect until I realize his sword is in my side.

Shit, I think, mind registering pain faintly and on a delay. No stopping now though. I get my haft up and ram it into his neck and push him back against the building wall, hard, try to hold him while I wait for it to work. Please work.

I feel the dagger go in deeper as his back hits the wall, and twist. I expect it to rip out and try to come in again, but it doesn’t.

We stop, panting, me with a forearm pressed against my haft and his neck, a hand keeping it steady, him with one arm holding a knife in my side, another just limply hanging there with an unused dagger. I meet his gaze, and he looks…confused. No, distressed. Both, but. Maybe distressed about being confused. Blinks, then winces.

It’s working. I notice he didn’t aim very high, either. Kill shot for one of us is only head or heart. I’m going to walk off a stab in my side, and that’s twice he’s done that now. So, whatever control that magic has on him, it’s imperfect, or it’s weakening fast. I need it to go faster, though, so I let go with one hand and dig my fingernails into the rune I carved, Algiz, for protection, and I flood the mark with mana.

He jerks like he’s been shocked and gasps, or tries to with my spear crushing his throat, and I can feel the crackle of mana as my spell dispels whatever that shit was that got on him. Its energy sloughs off, like mud, and suddenly he’s looking back at me with focus and an expression I remember.

“Welcome back,” I pant, grin with an edge to it, “Now get your fucking sword out of my side.”

Archer glances at his hand like he didn’t realize it was attached to him, blinks, and rips the blade out. Hurts like shit, but I don’t show it, and I back off, relaxing my stance and letting him breathe freely.

“I don’t remember anything that happened after—” He stops, brow furrowed, and glances down at his chest and the faintly glowing rune there under his ripped shirt.

“Seems to have worked,” I offer, glancing off towards where the battle has moved to now that I can. They ain’t far, but it doesn’t look great. Well, least we’re back to almost our original numbers.

“Okay,” he says, not pursing that line of questioning. “Salieri—did the blast-“

“—Yeah, yeah, you did what you wanted.” I give him a look. “Only hit you. He went MIA right after though, anyway. No clue why. The rounds fucked up their undead pretty badly too, and they’re trying to rampage towards the city.”

He lets out a sigh, then winces and looks down at his right hand and the hole through it, then holds it up and gives me a questioning look.

“You’re lucky I didn’t take a limb off,” I reply.

Archer decides to let that go and follows my glance towards the fighting instead. “Let’s go.” He summons his daggers.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” I say, spinning my spear into a better grip and turning to face them with him.

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

“We’re here!” calls Robin into his earpiece. We took the roof exit like we did to get in, for speed and the vantage point. I’m pretty relieved now that we went with that, because the entire front of the building has become a sea of utter chaos.

“Great! Robin Hood, circle back towards your left—the compound wall facing the city! The biggest problem right now is the spirits and undead,” calls back the doctor, “Caster, the last we could tell, our Avenger was headed in that direction too, but we’ve lost him completely since.”

“You sure you don’t need someone to back up the Lancer?” asks Robin.

“He was very sure,” says the doctor.

“Okay,” says Robin, unconvinced. He glances at me.

“You go ahead,” I call, surveying the scene myself, “I’ll do what I can to help on my way, but I’m not the tankiest member of this party, so don’t expect too much. I’m going to get Salieri.”

“Okay, but how?” calls Robin, taking off for the left side of the compound.

“Don’t worry,” I say into the coms so they’ll both be able to hear me, “I don’t have to find him. I just have to be loud. He’ll come find me.”

“Are you sure that’ll work?” asks the doctor, sounding relieved at the potential fix.

I am more than sure. There is no sliver of doubt in my mind.

I run for the far side of the roof. Robin has vanished, probably literally, but I want to be as noticeable as possible. I summon music around me. I am certain anything would do, but I want him quick, so I call up ‘Per la Ricuperata Salute di Ofelia,’ our song, and I blast the piano melody with all my might.

Out ahead of me, in the oncoming storm of corpses and ghosts crawling for the city, there is a sudden flash of pitch black energy that shines, and I hear a piano answer my call, filling in the next phrase.

Oh? I feel my energy surge, in a way it never has before. Almost like…

Filing that away for much future use, I increase the volume of my own energy, playing with a note of desperation. To me!

The answer is immediate. I may as well have shouted his name, and I feel very smug. There is a frantic flash of light from near the gates, and I see a figure moving so fast it’s a blur even to me, and it vanishes and he’s here, dripping blood and covered in that horrifying armor of his I can’t say I care for, but certainly him, right at the edge of the roof as I’m about to reach it.

“Antonio!” I call happily.

He’s breathing raggedly. “What? Why did you call me?” he manages, “-There is no emergency?”

“No one could contact you,” I say, “We were worried.”

He stares at me. I can’t see his face with the mask, but I know his body language by heart. “… The negative emotions of the poltergeists, the regrets and rage and wrongs. It...pulls me in.” he offers in a somewhat stunted way after a moment.

Ah. That makes sense, after having experienced his fear aura myself once. “Wow, and you heard me through that and came out?” I ask excitedly.

I can tell he gives me a look. “…You…”

“Oh, I was in trouble,” I infer from his tone, explaining quickly, “Look.” I point out at the place where hoards of zombies and homunculi are trying to climb over each other to scale the outer wall. Ghosts are just passing through, unbound. Oooh…too quickly. I see David out there, taking out scores with his staff and sling, and then there are some bursts of poison that must be Robin’s work, but there’s just so many enemies.

“See all of that?” I ask, gesturing, “I am supposed to go stop it, and I’ll surely be cut down to ribbons on my way alone. I’m just a Caster.”

“I...” He gives me the shakiest, blankest look voice I’ve ever heard.

Hmmm.

“...will be swallowed again like before, if I go out there,” he says slowly, turning to look himself. Watching Robin and David trying to hold back the tide of chaos.

I watch him for a moment, thinking about the inflection in his voice, and then quietly walk up beside him. “You can never fight ghosts, then?”

“They are usually no trouble at all,” he replies without moving, eyes still fixed on the battle somewhere beneath that mask, “Maybe even easier than many things to absorb the hate of into my own strength. But whatever spell hit them that lost us the Red Archer has made them frenzied; it has made them too loud. Like their heads are screaming. Seeping into me with a clarity and frantic need they don’t usually have. I am inundated by their memories of fears and pain and wrongs, everything they can recall that has ever made them want to lash out and flee. Without my trying. ..Too much to absorb the way I should. And I cannot shut them out.”

“…But you shut them out to come to me,” I say.

He glances at me.

“That is different. I did not shut them out. You overpower them.”

I raise an eyebrow and blink.

“I can always sense you, even if you’re on the throne,” he explains, a weariness in his voice, “You are like the sun to me. I was made to end you. There is nothing that can hide you from me, not in this world or the next. I am bound to you. When you try to draw me, you eclipse even myself.”

I stare for a second.

“…Well then,” I offer, beginning to smile, “we go together. If you’re with me, you won’t be pulled in by them.”

He turns to me. “If I am with you, I will kill you, Amadeus.”

“You aren’t right now,” I offer as a cheery counterpoint.

Oh, the wrong thing to say. There is a very sudden scary spark in the aura around him and his posture changes. He radiates hate and intent to kill at a level that makes me want to jump off the roof.

“It is a mistake to continue considering me a joke,” says Salieri in the most completely empty, unattached voice I’ve ever heard.

“But I’m not mocking you,” I offer, raising my hands quickly and grinning at him. “I just mean this would work! Even if you’re…” I gesture at the whole…thing, he’s got going in front of me. “You are still a Servant. You’re capable of following a Master’s instructions, aren’t you? And we’re supposed to go fight those things. Isn’t it a pragmatic offer?”

The bloodlust slightly lessens.

“You can stick close to me, so I’m the loudest thing you hear, and I’ll bring you to things to kill. I don’t get mowed down by a mob, and you don’t get buried in the noise—and you can not kill me for a while, can’t you? Like I said: pragmatic.” I smile and place my hands on my hips, proud. “Well, what do you think?”

Salieri reaches up and removes the mask, and sighs. His face is haggard and pale, and so very recognizable to me. It makes me smile more.

“Must you keep grinning at me?” he petitions quietly in this voice he keeps using like he thinks everything I do is a joke at his expense.

“Yes, I think so,” I reply readily.

He looks up and meets my gaze, so sadly. I smile back at him.

“…Very well. We cannot stay here together, doing nothing, and it is our order. But you’ll need to stick close. And watch your back, or I may well run you through it,” he says wearily.

“Okay!” I reply happily.

He gives me a look and replaces his mask, then draws his sword.

“Shall we?” I ask with a little nod, and I leap off the roof.

I hear the thud of armored boots land behind me, and race off for the battle. I suppose I should check to make sure he isn’t swept away or something, but I feel like he’s probably as reliable as he used to be, so I just decide to assume he’s there and keep my eyes on the prize up ahead.

“Doctor! Salieri is recovered!” I call proudly mentally.

“Uhm—That’s great!” comes back Ritsuka’s voice in my head, “But uh, the doctor can’t hear you unless you talk into the coms.”

Haha, oops, I think, and hurriedly call, “Salieri is with us again—on our way to join the archers by the gate!”

“Wonderful—thank you!” comes the doctor’s voice over coms, saturated with relief, “Billy, Ritsuka, and Fuuma Kotarou are heading our way now, and Cu Chulainn got Emiya—they should be there with you already.”

No more class code names, I see, I think, amused. He’s not doing so bad for trying to help direct a battle from miles away though. And true to his word, I see the Lancer and our last Archer up ahead, hitting a flank about the time I’m reaching the back of the group. They seem a little bloodier, but mostly unharmed, and they’re really tearing through enemies here, so I’m liking our chances more and more.

Time to focus on my own battles, though.

Robin and David have done a wonderful job of slowing their progress, but the numbers haven’t dropped as much as I expected, and some of them have made it over the fence. I see David at the front, taking them down headshot after headshot with his little sling like it’s a carnival game, but they have breached containment. Well that isn’t very good.

How are we having such trouble?

No time to answer that, because there’s a score of zombies here at the back by me, and I call up a burst of music and send it crystalized in the air like little daggers, slamming into their backs, throwing them against the ones in front, and that takes a little focus. The ones not downed turn, and make horrible moaning shouts that send a shiver down my spine. About ten crawl over the bodies of their downed compatriots and make towards me, and I summon up another burst and kill them, pushing on.

I haven’t got a real plan here though, beyond kill stuff. Man, I hope ‘kill stuff’ works. Or. That someone else is actually thinking. Someone else is thinking, right? Surely. So many of us.

The zombies are slow, and that’s great, but some ghouls with sharp hearing are near the rear too, and tearing back towards us now, so running over bodies of things I’ve killed, I summon up another sonata and slice at stomachs and heads. A few of them fall, but two lose limbs and keep coming. I cast again at the one in front, and its severed clawing hands hit the pile of corpses below, but it keeps coming, stumbling in an armless rage, and makes a lunge for my arm with its teeth. A sword flickers past me and Salieri is through it, swinging his little silver blade in an arc around him and felling six more, glancing back at me as they fall. I beam at him, ecstatic. It’s so fun! This is like having my own bodyguard.

I do not see the demon behind me until Salieri lunges at me and drags me towards him with a hand, and I’m seeing it where I just was as I trip forward.

Exactly like having a bodyguard!

“Pay attention!” he snaps, cutting the thing in half for me.

I am suddenly feeling like it would be really fun to see what happens were I not to, but I suppose he has a point and I have some kind of blah-blah-blah duty whatever to a master as a servant. Well, I do actually like this one at least. ...Yes, alright.

I spin on my heel and send a cascade of music out in a half circle past us, knocking shades back, and cutting down another zombie.

There is the sound of a grand piano behind me and I see flames like shadows explode from inside the nearest dozen ghosts, who go shrieking to the ground.

We continue, side by side, or back to back, ducking past each other to hit threats, or swinging at a larger ogre together, trying to fight our way towards the others. It’s easy, the fighting. They’re not terribly strong, and Salieri is slaughtering things like death itself around me, and yet, somehow, we are making extremely slow progress towards the goal.

“How are there so many?” I ask, suddenly confused in a not good way, glancing behind us as I cast a barrage at some ghouls charging us, from behind the safety of Salieri’s shoulders. There are…more monsters back the way we came. Again? How? “They aren’t summoning more, are they?”

“No,” answers Salieri, raising a hand by his neck, and suddenly there is a bright red bleeding gash through his armor, clear across his throat, and I think for a horrible second that some monster I can’t see has slit it and feel real fear, but then he rips strands of blood from his own throat and holds them like the strings of a violin and raises his sword like a bow and plays them.

I think it’s most singularly horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. Dear God, I’m so glad he has the mask on right now. I think if I’d seen him do that like this with his face, I might have fainted.

This is a thing??? This is a way he fights??

I hear the music, beautiful, which is horrid, and for once not even a little funny at all, and a shrieking wraith headed our way is blown to bits.

“They’re re-forming.”

‘Re-forming’? I try to echo Salieri’s words in my head.

“How?” I manage to ask, trying to get my head focused back on not being stabbed by nearby ghouls.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, ducking as a large ghost summons a scythe and swings it at him, and slashes it through the side as he comes up again, “But I would guess it’s whatever magic they used that made things frenzy. If it’s got enough power to disrupt even a heroic spirit, it must be formidable in intensity. And they can’t have just been trying to hit us, the way they were firing.”

A solid point. Why didn’t any of us think of that?

I guess because it seemed so un-helpful to them or anyone.

Which, it still rather is. But I guess it wasn’t pointless.

“Doctor,” I call into the coms, “We’ve got a problem. We’re blowing them away, but they keep coming back, almost immediately. Like—a rapid resummoning, almost. We think maybe whatever was shot into the crowd, it’s uh…given them the magical energy to keep coming back. And we have no idea how long that will last!��

“What? All of—” There’s some muttering from the doctor on the coms then that I can’t make out, and then he’s back, “Okay! Okay. Uhm. Let me think. Let me think…If…if they’re reforming, but without anyone doing active summoning…?”

“No, no active summoning,” comes Emiya’s voice over the coms.

I shoot down a ghost and glance up to see he’s right—far as I can see, anyway. No humans left out here. There were some, at first, but they’ve either successfully retreated, or one of the spirits who got here before us has already taken them down. Or…their own monsters ate them. Also possible.

“Okay. Then, that means they used some kind of mass summoning to the area itself, for these, not ritual summoning as familiars,” says the doctor, clearly thinking a mile a minute, and I think from his tone, onto something.

“What does that mean?” comes Ritsuka’s voice worriedly over coms, “F-For us?”

“It means…It means we can’t kill them.”

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

Oh.

The girl who saved me and the cowboy said there were a lot of monsters waiting, but I wasn’t expecting the scene outside.

I guess it’s a good thing. For once. How familiar this sight feels. The ground past the open door is littered with corpses—some human, more golem, or mechanical, some monsters. Some things that must have been human once, but, a long time ago. It’s like the aftermath of a battle, and the horror of that feels more familiar than the rest of the world, and the part of me that has the best chance at continuing to survive right now recognizes it and steps forward.

Only, this is not the aftermath of a battle yet. The...the cowboy was pointing when he called my name—at what? –Ah, there!

Off to the far left, the fight continues. Down by a gate and fence, leading away from the building. I see—…huh. Ghosts, yokai, undead. Very little of anything else. It seems strange to me that those would be the strongest, among all the piles of dead things I see around, but I move the thought back and focus on the present. There are several heroic spirits fighting the throng—they seem to be in sets of two right now: a red…saber? and a blue lancer, trying to contain the far right side, a caster and something else I’m not quite sure of on the left flank, and out front I see another archer, and someone with a staff and a sling who might be several things. They’re struggling, though—not to not be injured, but to keep this many things in one place. There must be…something between two and three-hundred creatures here, and they’re all moving erratic and fast. Towards the city lights I see in the distance—towards life, like they said.

They aren’t even focused on the immediate threat.

That’s very strange.

“Come on!” calls the cowboy, pausing ahead of me to look back. I….hadn’t realized he was moving, and I was not. This is very bad. I’m going to be cut down for sure, I think with some real worry.

“Right,” I call back hurriedly with a nod, taking off after him.

As we get close, he sets the my rescuer down and says, “Just call if anythin’ starts to come close, got it?”

She gives him a nod, and he tears off like a lightning bolt for the fighting, revolver flashing. I see an undead thing twice his size go down, and two behind it with it as the bullet goes through it and into them.

Kunai in hand, I start to follow, but I hear the girl call to me, and so I stop.

“Are you sure you’re okay to fight?”

I turn, and her face is worried for me. How impossible to think of. ...She...She is still so hard to even look at. To try and think about? I...

“You were almost dead a minute ago,” she adds nervously.

“…I am fine, My Lord,” I promise, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Okay,” she replies, “Be careful.”

The worry is still there, with her words. It is so…unprocessable to see that.

I. I wish I had time to ask her…a-anything. I would like to know a lot of things. She is very hard to look at, though, and I have orders, so I turn away and face the fighting. Try to think where I’m needed most, and fulfil my task well. Okay. I don’t have much power, but, if we’re trying to keep these in a small area, redirecting should be fairly…simple. Right. So, even with my abilities, I don’t need to go where anyone else is for backup, if they don’t need me. That helps. The caster and whatever is with him are having very little trouble in the back, and the saber and lancer together if anything are doing better. Which leaves the front, or the left side. The cowboy has joined the front, which makes three there now, and that seems to be helping, but even with them all, it’s a struggle. There are just so many. The left side near the front seems the weakest spot to me, though. The spirit with the sling is keeping an eye on it—I see him catch a straggler through the head as I assess the scene—but, still. It’s the weakest. Alright. There, then.

I conceal my presence, and start to move, when I hear my rescuer again—I-I think she’s speaking to me, and turn, but, she isn’t.

“What does that mean? F-For us?”

I....guess she’s speaking to another spirit.

I refocus on my task and start to move again, but, the moment I do, I feel something. …Behind me...?

Something’s wrong.

I stop, look. And...Nothing around us has changed. Battlefield behind us, gone still, continued battle ahead. That’s all. …A-and yet. … Usually…u-usually I would listen, to my senses immediately. They keep me alive. But. But, I-I know I’m not fully myself right now. I have an order—to help, with the fighting. I should go. I was told to go.

But, I don’t want to. I take a step again, and the ground under my foot feels wrong.

What is this?

It’s like something is…calling to me. Telling me I shouldn’t be here…like this is…something…else’s turf. It makes my blood feel wrong. A boundary. A warning? What?

I lean into the feeling. I reach for the part of me that isn’t human, and smell the air. There is something very wrong in it.

…What is this? It’s bad. I don’t know what it is, but-I feel—I-I feel something stirring.

‘This ground is cursed,’ the part of my blood that is not human says, and I feel it beneath my feet.

Oh.

Oh, I felt it when I stepped out, but I was still too dead to recognize it. Which means- No no no!

Panic in my chest, I whirl around. Where. It would wait, for something to attack, and it has something now. It has my new lord. –There! There, behind her! The humans, the golems, the machines, the beasts, they stay, unmoving corpses and unconscious bodies in a silent grave of a battle, but the oni, the ghouls? Bodies start to shift. There is a chill like hate in the air, and I see something translucent and pale rising up from the ground like smoke behind her, far too close, and it is big.

She doesn’t see it. I don’t even think to call—I just run and grab her, and I-I am still so half-here at all I forget I concealed my presence, and she does not see me either, until I snatch her off the ground, and she shrieks in surprise as I leap back and the big spirit swings at empty air with hollow claws, and howls in rage.

“Sorry, My Lord!” I say worriedly, landing as far back towards the other spirits as I can. Five—eight—fourteen? Fourteen monsters back there up by the building, probably more will rise, and the spirit is coming after us fast. I turn and bolt.

“Kotarou?” she gasps out, and then seeing the scene, “Th-They weren’t dead either?”

“They were,” I say hurriedly. The roof? No—the hill outside. Vantage point, no monsters there yet. No spirits to come back. I change course for it.

“I-I’m okay!” she calls in my head—I think to all of us spirits, “But more of the things came back to life by the building!”

The ghost is still coming after us—a few of the ghouls too. The others, I was fast enough they don’t seem to have seen us. Good.

I jump and turn in the air and strike the flint at the end of the fuse to a bomb against my armor, then fling it with my free hand, aiming for the ghouls. I hit three of the four and they stumble and fall.

The spirit’s close now—big—the size of a horse.

“Hang on!” I call to my lord, landing on the little hill between her and it, and I move my hands in a flash of practiced motions, “Rin-Pyo-Toh-Sha-Kai-Jin-Retsu-Zai-Zen!”

The cuts hit the ghost and it explodes. I send a kunai after the last ghoul, and turn back to my lord as it falls.

“You should be safer here, but one of us should stay to guard you, My Lord—those things are looking for life, and you’re the nearest living being. S-Some of them might be drawn to you before the town.”

Eyes big, she gives nod. “No, I’m okay,” she says out loud—not to me, so I’m confused for a second, until I notice she’s tapped something in her ear. Oh. There must be other humans helping too, then. “We both are. Uhm—S-Sorry, you were saying?”

She listens for a second and then something occurs to her, and she looks at me. “Oh! You don’t have—hang on—”

Ritsuka takes out her earpiece and holds it out. It takes me a second to get that she wants me to lean in and try to hear it with her. I move stuntedly, on a delay, and go to lean the side of my head by hers—almost against it. I use every bit of precision I can to avoid actually touching her. I think it would be more than me head can handle right now, and kill me if I did. Even this feels so surreal.

“Okay, keep going,” she says to the device, and I hear a man’s voice I’ve never heard before.

“—Generally, I would even say ‘almost always,’ when a mage summons a monster like this, we summon them as a kind of familiar to fight for us, but, that’s not the only way they can be summoned. You’ve of course heard stories of hauntings before—cursed places, or objects. Things attached to a location, or grudge: those are much much harder to control—sometimes impossible—but, they’re much harder to get rid of too. Cutting them down won’t work—or, well, I guess eventually it would probably have to, at least for a while, but if they’re ritually tied to the area, unless that bond itself is broken, they’ll keep regenerating. Usually this wouldn’t be as big a problem for us, but it looks like those weapons Mercury was using on the crowd—while highly irresponsible, and probably prototypes—are some kind of…research weapon to supply incredibly high doses of magical energy through physical contact, to keep those things regenerating far, far faster than something like it should—it’s probably what they were using Kotarou as an energy source for.”

Me?

It's…a horrifying thought, that all of these monsters, are running around with pieces of my…essence? Or life force. I…I still don’t completely understand what’s going on, but any part of it fills me with rage. I was being used as some kind of catalyst, then? L-Like a human sacrifice. And for what? To make an army of ghosts frenzy? All the things they—

I think a little too hard about the things I have experienced so recently, and have to shut my eyes to try and push them back. I can’t. I don’t have time to try to work through any of them!

It’s enough to make me choke, just almost thinking about it, and with my eyes shut, for a second I’m terrified I’m back. I open my eyes again, trying to get a hold of myself, and I feel something touch my hand, and jerk away on instinct.

My master is looking back at me with surprise, and I see her hand frozen where mine just was.

Oh, I think, overwhelmed by shame at that. I open my mouth to apologize, but she smiles at me like she already knows and doesn’t mind, before I can make a sound, and then she’s back to focusing on what the man on the coms is saying.

Carefully, I make myself relax, and try to do the same.

“It’s terrible, used like they did here—impractical, uncontrollable. But used like…well, like a magical bomb almost—dropped into the middle of enemy territory, this kind of thing would be incredibly effective. And if you could replenish energy with long-range missiles, essentially…A-Anyway, none of that’s important right now. Just—the situation has changed.”

“Meaning?” prompts another voice I haven’t heard before.

“Meaning, we’ve been doing everything we can to keep back the tide already, but this is worse than we thought. Think about it. Any story of a haunting you’ve ever heard. How bad, and how hard to stop that is. Any of these things, even one, if it gets lose? Summoned tied to the area, and charged up on magical energy, it’ll take a priest banishing it to really get rid of the thing, and even what should be a fairly powerless ghost could rack up a body count out of a horror story by the end of the night. We cannot let any of these things get past us.”

“Well, I understand,” comes the first voice I do know—the American cowboy, and for some reason, I feel huge relief at something familiar. I guess that’s foolish, but… “But we’re already doin’ all we can, and they ain’t stayin’ dead! I dunno how much more we can do ya for, and even with all of us here, there’s like three hundred of these damn things, and eight of us! We ain’t in any danger of goin’ down, but you got any idea how hard it is even for eight heroic spirits to wrangle three-hundred angry monsters?

He's joking a little, even in this situation, so I think he must be very good under pressure. That’s reassuring to know. I-I like him.

“The best thing would be to try to keep them contained long enough to make a banishing circle around them—I-if I was there I’d—!”

“ — I can make something like that,” comes a new voice again, playful almost, and also very sure. I – well I assumed it’d be the caster, with magic knowledge, but he’s actually pretty close to us, and I look over and I can see he’s not the one talking.

“David, excellent,” comes the first voice, heavy with relief, “Does anyone else know—?”

“—A little,” says someone else I haven’t heard before, but I’m looking right at the lancer and saber when he speaks, and I see the lancer’s lips moving, so it must be him.

“I can,” I say automatically, and Ritsuka looks at me in surprise, then beams and pushes a button on the coms and holds it out to me. “I-I can,” I say again.

“Fuuma Kotarou?” checks the first speaker.

“Yes,” I reply, thinking fast, “And, I-I can get everyone into one spot, too, but I think…I think it would take any of us, even as fast as we are, too long to put down any kind of good seals in the middle of them.”

“He has a point,” says the one identified as ‘David,’ “Especially since anyone doing that won’t be able to help hold the tide back. Too many are over the fence now — as soon as we break formation, there are going to be a few getting through the holes we have to hunt down. Do we have a plan for that?”

I hear the first man curse to himself, and frantic scratching of pen against paper. I wonder who he is. Ritsuka didn’t mention him. But, now is probably not the time to ask.

Think. Focus. How to get…

“I think I can do it.” Another new voice. Ritsuka looks towards the lancer and saber when she hears it, though, so I do too, and sure enough, it’s the man in red speaking. “How long do you need?”

“’Do it’?” echoes the fist man, “Do which part-?”

“You need all of them to not move far, while someone sets a banishing seal,” replies the red saber—or—I thought he was. He’s fighting with swords. But, as I watch, he leaps back into the air and summons a bow, and fires off eight shots into the crowd, knocking a score of ghouls back. “My phantasm is a reality marble. If the assassin can get them all together for even a second, I can release it without picking any of you up, and move them all out of the way inside it, give you time to make a trap, and then drop them back in.”

“But can you keep them from going too far apart inside the marble?” asks the lancer dubiously, cutting through a wraith and then flinging his spear through the nearest four zombies and ripping it back out.

“Yes,” says the…archer? in annoyance, “But not this many for very long without some slipping through. How long do you need?”

“That’s perfect!” says the first man, ecstatic, “How long—David, Cu Chulainn, Kotarou—is—”

“I could do what I need in about a minute,” says David.

“Sure,” agrees the lancer, and I nod, then, realizing no one can see me, flush and add:

“Yes, that works for me too.”

“I can’t banish things, but I know traps,” says one of the three I haven’t heard yet, “I can make it very hard for anything we don’t get immediately to get back up again.”

“I can do that too!” calls another, and I see the caster speaking.

“But will you really be okay alone? With…three-hundred monsters?” asks Ritsuka, and I look and again see such genuine worry on her face. I forget to think for a second, lost in the impossibility of that to understand.

“You could take Salieri,” suggests the first man.

“No,” calls the caster, blasting a handful of zombies back as he does, “He can’t go anywhere without me! I suppose I could go too, though,” he adds with great disappointment.

“No, I’ll go,” says Ritsuka, “You said they’ll be drawn to me, right?” she adds, looking at me, “Because I’m a living human. If things go wrong, I can be bait to move them back where they go inside the marble, and if things go really wrong, I can use a spell to help.”

“…Are you sure?” asks the red archer.

She nods. Like I did, and then also seems to remember no one can hear that. “Yes. We don’t have to fight and win, just run away for sixty seconds. Y-You can carry me, right?”

“Yes,” comes the answer, and the red archer aparates and appears next to us.

“Let me come too,” comes the cowboy’s voice, “I can’t do much here, but I could help in there.”

I hear his revolver fire four more times, and then he appears by us too, skidding to stop by the taller archer, who glances at him, and gives a nod.

“Okay. Be careful,” comes the first man’s voice, “Everyone know what they have to do?” We’re given a second to disagree, and no one does. “Alright. Go.”

Ritsuka takes back her earpiece and gives me a hopeful nod, then the red archer picks her up and gives me a nod too.

“You can support two noble phantasms?” I check worriedly, feeling foolish for not having asked before, but Ritsuka just gives me a very sure nod.

“Are you okay to use one though? So fast?” she checks.

“Yes,” I affirm, heartrate speeding up.

“Then let’s do it,” says the red archer.

Alright.

I let out a breath and turn and survey the scene.

The last few monsters are still back by the building, but that shouldn’t be hard. Only a hanful of them now. The rest are still almost completely contained by the spirits fighting them, even without Billy the Kid and the red archer.

I raise two fingers and fold the rest of my hand into a fist, focusing. I feel for my link to my master, and draw on the magical energy there, feel it coursing through me. I am ready. I need to be. And I let myself feel all the things I’ve been working not to; the pain, the hate, the rage, the confusion. I let it mix in my blood and boil, shut my eyes and taste it. Focus on the blood, on the kin who have past, tied to it. Feel for their spirits, and open my eyes again with a surge of mana around me.

“All hands, assemble!” I shout, and I feel them. Fuuma clan ninja, hearing my call, fragments of spirits from beyond the grave clinging to duty with pride, “It is our fate to shake order to its foundations! Cast the mold of chaos! Immortal Chaos Brigade!”

With the scream, they come to me. Two-hundred Fuuma clan ninja, summoned like darkness itself, and casting everything around us into bitch black shadow.

No words, no signals needed. I have clarity in my head for an instant, for the first time since waking here. We in that moment are of one mind, them and me. Some run for the stragglers, the others towards the waiting mob of foes, and with us, we brings a hurricane of fire. It burns in our footfalls, the only light in this hell we create, shrieking like a phantom itself, and driving all in its path back. We close in as one, chaos incarnate, the monsters falling back in the face of the flame, the blades, the darkness. The utter frenzy of the onslaught. Until they are in a little ball, pressed tight, the unfortunate few on the outside caught by the flames we send, screeching as they burn.

“Now!” I call, and I see the red archer leap like a burst of flame himself, landing right in front of the flames, lit by them like a fiend himself, and he stretches a hand out so his fingertips almost reach it.

“I am the bone of my sword.” His voice is calm, and hard when he speaks. Not the way I am accustomed to hearing someone call out the name of the mark their life left on history. There is something about it that catches me, even through my own focus.

“Steel is my body, and fire is my blood. I have created over a thousand blades. Not choosing the battlefield. Never yielding, never never knowing victory, never amassing anything. The bearer lies here alone, forging iron in a hill of swords. Yet, these hands will never hold anything. So, as I pray: Unlimited Blade Works.”

There is a flash of energy like the weight of a thousand lifetimes carved away to merciless nothing in an instant, and they are gone—all of them. My fire with them, and I let my kin vanish, staring for just a moment at where they all were. For just that last instant, I could see light like clockwork when he spoke, and it has filled me with a feeling I don’t know.

But, there is no time.

Someone calls ‘now!’ and we are all moving then.

I dash forward like the rest, my mind a ticking clock. Barely thinking, just moving. Just trying. I summon a staff, and carve a circle, running as fast as I can. I meet the lancer halfway, doing the same, and we break, a completed circle between us, him leaping from one part of the circle to another, carving runes, me across it, adding cross-strokes to the shape, sigils inside. Fast. Come on. Cleanse, break, return. I carve in words, forming talismans, things I know by heart.

Thirty seconds.

I am vaguely aware of the caster behind me, bursts of mana. The archer who said he laid traps hurrying past the rest of us to leave wires and pressure plates and poisons where it won’t break the lines of our seals. Of the man with a staff who must be David. He has already finished whatever else he had to do, and is sitting at the far side of the circle from me, the side by the waiting city we’re trying to protect, and he begins to play kind sort of harp. It is perhaps the most spectacular music I-I have ever heard. Not in a showy way, but, it feels like...waking from a long rest, or holding your mother—cool water in a desert. I feel a little of the confusion that has been working so hard to bury me since I was rescued lift, and I wonder what on earth he is? A-A caster as well?

But, no time. No time. Focus. Ten seconds. The lancer finishes, and kneels by a rune—ready to activate it by hand, I realize. I carve the last of my own sigils, and leap back to the side of the circle nearest the building, and bite my thumb, running the blood through the last mark I left, and then placing my palm down as well, ready.

Four seconds.

The caster has fallen back, on the left side now, and he mimics my gesture and lets out a breath.

Two.

The archer leaps back as well, near David, and readies an arrow in his crossbow.

One.

We get five seconds more than we needed, and then there is a flash in the air, and they’re all back at once, and I flood every bit of energy in me into the circle.

Vaguely, I am aware of the cowboy and the red archer leaping back to safety with the girl who saved me, and then there is an explosion of light around us as we all activate our traps at once.

“Return!” I shout, and the outline of my seal lights up red around me, and shrieks fill the air. There is a bright blue flash starting with the lancer, and then ripping around the circle like a spark through gunpowder. The music from David exponentially increases in volume, and a white glow saturates the air, and snaps, taking things with it. I feel a sharp pang in my gut, but I push it away and focus. I will not fail now. I will not fail a master who saved me the way she did. I know I can do this. Come on. Come on! We can! We’re so close! Hang on. Purple and green explosions go off as physical bodies trigger the traps the archer left, and I feel energy rip from my body as things try to fight back, and then it’s over, and I am left staring at a circle of ash, and eight or so struggling revenants clinging to life.

W-We did it!

The lancer and the heroic spirit who has been staying by the caster go after them with a vengeance, and I try to stand up and help too, but I collapse the moment I try.

I-I’m—I’m out—?!?

I am surprised, but I’m surprised too late. I try to catch myself, and land painfully on a forearm. My ears vaguely register the sounds of violence past me as the last monsters are cut down, but I can barely see my own fingers suddenly.

N-No. No, please. I-I can’t be vanishing, right? I-I thought.

I hold up a hand and try to see, but my vision is so blurry, I can’t tell.

Something calls my name, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. Look up and make out what I think is the cowboy above me.

“You okay?” I hear with ringing ears. He seems so far away.

“Kotarou?”

It’s…my master this time. I see her run up beside him and kneel too.

“Hey—hang on!”

A-Am I dying, then?

There are more people around me, voices, but I can’t see or hear so well. W-What? I…must have...d-done something...wrong…I…

“I-I’m…s…” My vision is…s-swimming. I… “…s-sorry, Master…”

Then I don’t remember any more.

But, there is not real pain when darkness takes me this time. A part of me is expecting, waiting for my head to be cut, but there is only still and calm and quiet in the waiting blackness. It is so different that I could break. And I think…I-I think it must have all been very worth it, whatever happens now. Right? Even if I go back to the throne and forget it all. Because. Because I-I can be proud of that. It was impossible, but someone came and saved me when I was too far gone, s-still, and...and I was able to do what she asked me to, even with so little left. s-so...I...I think it...it’s okay, this time, even if that’s all I get. I am...glad. But the gladness itself is too blindingly bright, and I have no more strength, even for thoughts.

#The Kid (fic)#The Kid #fate go fic #fgo au #fate au fic #fate fic #Fuuma Kotarou #Ritsuka Fujimaru #Cu Chulainn #Archer Emiya #Antonio Salieri #Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart #Billy the Kid

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