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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Gavin’s Divination Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 占卜之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Released on 16 September 2021 ]

MC: Gavin, I’ve been way too unlucky recently! I fell down while riding a bicycle, the water supply was cut halfway during a shower, and last week, three flights were delayed by more than two hours within the span of three days... Sob sob, life is so difficult...

It’s a Saturday, and Gavin has come over to my house to kill time as usual. The moment we meet, I can’t help but wail about how I painstakingly got through the week.

As though he’s comforting a small animal, his palm gently covers the top my head.

Gavin: You’ve already told me these things.

He pulls me over to sit on the sofa, then leans over to look at my knee. Knowing his intentions and feeling afraid that he’s genuinely worried, I hurriedly wave my hands.

MC: Actually, it wasn’t a serious fall, and my skin didn’t tear. There were a few red cuts, but they're gone now.

Even after confirming the veracity of what I said, Gavin doesn’t straighten up. His fingers rub my knee, conveying his belated consolation.

After a while, he rests an arm on the sofa while turning his head towards me.

Gavin: Want to drink milk tea or eat cake? Didn’t you say that with these two things, even the worst of moods can be turned into the clearest of skies?

With this reminder, a location instantly flashes past my mind.

MC: Let’s drink coffee!

I reach for my phone on the coffee table. Tapping on my saved searches, I show Gavin a shop.

MC: This one - Witch Café. The name’s a little outdated, but it’s really popular recently. I’ve seen many people checking in on Moments.

MC: The manager of this shop knows divination, and the reviews mentioned that she’s really accurate...

MC: Also, if the results from the divination aren’t that great, she could help turn my fortune around.

MC: The shop sells lots of objects used for changing one’s fortune, such as crystal rings and bracelets.

MC: I think what I need most right now, aside from you... would be a change of fortune!

Gavin bursts into a laugh, then lifts his head to look at me.

Gavin: It’s my fault for not learning divination to change your fortune for the better. Otherwise, you’d only need me.

Gavin’s quick wit causes me to do a thumbs-up.

MC: Wow. Your logic... makes a little bit of sense.

He scrolls down my phone screen, taking a casual look at the café’s introduction.

Gavin: Mm, it looks really interesting and isn’t very far.

MC: It’s really nearby. It’s only a few kilometres away, and there definitely won’t be a traffic jam at his hour. But it’s the weekend, so I’m not sure if we’d need to queue.

Gavin takes my phone from my hand, then pushes me on the back gently.

Gavin: Get changed. I’ll give them a call to make a reservation.

I immediately get up, giving him a deliberately formal bow.

MC: Understood.

The internet-famous café is even more popular than I imagined. Although it isn’t time for afternoon tea yet, the shop is already fully packed.

Fortunately, we’re seated in a relatively quiet corner next to the window. However, we can still hear a few ladies from the neighbouring table fervently discussing the results of their divination.

I tug on Gavin’s sleeve from across the table.

MC: Gavin, you’ve never believed in such things, have you?

Gavin: Divination?

Gavin nods frankly, then suddenly chuckles.

Gavin: I initially wanted to say that I didn’t believe it. But I suddenly remembered that an Evolver who can predict the future is sitting right in front of me.

MC: ...that’s true?!

Realising this, I sink into a deep contemplation. Gavin reaches out to scratch the tip of my nose.

Gavin: I meant that as a joke. It’s impossible to meet a second Evolver with a precognition ability.

I glare at Gavin angrily. He shifts his gaze, looking at the manager who is currently talking to patrons.

Gavin: But she is an Evolver.

MC: Really?

I turn my head to look. The manager is wearing a black apron, and she’s bending down as she patiently explains the divination symbol to a patron, her smile warm and amiable.

She exudes an aura which makes whatever she says very believable.

Just as my anticipation is hooked, Gavin stifles it with his words.

Gavin: But it definitely isn’t related to precognition.

MC: I see...

When Gavin sees that my anticipation has dampened, he pushes a blueberry cake in front of me.

Gavin: Don’t feel disappointed yet. Divination has never needed to rely on Evol. You’ll know if it’s accurate after giving it a try.

He digs a small piece of cake with a spoon, then brings it over to me. Munching on it, my eyes widen as I look at him.

MC: Incredibly! Delicious!

The cake exceeded my expectations. Thinking that the coffee might be pretty good too, I quickly lift the cup of coffee from the table.

In the meantime, Gavin picks up the explanatory card the manager had just brought over, and starts reading from it.

Gavin: It says that once you’ve finished drinking the coffee, you have to press the bell to call for the manager. The manager will obtain the divination results after observing the shape of the coffee sediments.

Gavin: Before the divination, you could think of the contents of the divination first.

Gavin: If you have a ring or another token, you could prepare it beforehand. Place it at the bottom of the cup afterwards to increase the effectiveness.

After reading this, he rests his chin against his hand while chuckling softly.

Gavin: It’s almost the same as the tarot cards we tried the last time.

I take the explanatory card from him. Opening it up, I give it a sweeping glance.

MC: ...so it’s tasseography. I did research on it when we were playing with tarot cards the last time. Afterwards, I realised how complicated it is to interpret the divination results, so I gave up on learning it.

Finishing the rest of the coffee in one gulp, I press the copper bell at the corner of the table.

Upon hearing the bell, the manager looks up and shoots me a smile while washing a coffee cup. After wiping her hands, she walks over to us.

Manager: Are the both of you done with your coffee?

Seeing me nod in anticipation, she picks up the serving tray on the table, placing it next to the coffee cup.

Manager: May I know how I should address you?

MC: MC.

Manager: MC, lift the coffee cup and sway it gently while contemplating on your divination question. Once you’re done, place the cup upside down onto the tray.

I follow her instructions.

After a short while, she uncovers the cup, displaying the shape of the coffee sediments inside it.

Manager: Based on the results, you seem to have been going through a rough time lately, and your mood hasn’t been great. Is this correct?

MC: !!!

I immediately look at Gavin, thinking that this is far too accurate.

The manager seems to detect an affirmation from my expression. She sets down the coffee cup, then retrieves two wrapped chocolate cookies from her apron.

Manager: I made them this afternoon, and they’re for you. Based on the shape of the coffee sediments, although you might have experienced some rough moments recently, all the unhappy moments have already passed. Over the next few days, you’ll receive good news in succession, and you’ll be happier.

While saying this, she leans over, her slightly curled hair exuding a floral fragrance which refreshes the soul, causing me to be left in a mild daze.

Gavin suddenly speaks up.

Gavin: You’re using Evol.

The manager pauses in fright. For a moment, she’s at a loss, and has no choice but to bow slightly with her hands by her side.

Manager: I’m sorry, have I offended the both of you?

Seeing her frantic expression, I hurriedly shake my head.

MC: I-it’s fine... we don’t discriminate against Evolvers. And I’m sure you didn’t have malicious intentions.

The manager’s shoulders slump in resignation, admitting her “little magic” to us candidly.

Manager: ...I just wanted to send a flower into your memories.

MC: Send a flower?

Seeing that I didn’t understand what she meant, she explains patently.

Manager: Sorry, that’s a phrase I use in the shop.

Manager: Through tasseography, I can truly tell that you haven’t been in a good mood recently. But it’s very difficult to change your future fortune.

Manager: In order to lift the spirits of patrons who do divinations, I use my Evol to alter their memories slightly.

Manager: However, my Evol has its limits. The only thing I can do is add something small that’s worthwhile of happiness into their unhappy memories, such as a flower.

Manager: Are you willing to give it a try?

Considering how frank she is, I can’t find a reason to refuse. Furthermore, no incidents will occur with Gavin around.

MC: Mm...

The manager’s hand gently glides across me. Although I feel as though nothing happened, she signals that she’s done. Gavin stares at me curiously.

Gavin: Are there any changes to your memories?

I inexplicably recall the time when I fell off the bicycle, and images beginning from the moment I fell surface in my mind -

The path in front of me is tilted, and I can’t control my plummet towards my left side.

These images are exactly the same as what actually happened, but in the very last snippet -

In an unremarkable corner of the crosswalk, a blue wild flower sways along with the breeze.

MC: A flower? There’s really a flower!

For some reason, seeing this flower enveloped in sunlight causes my emotions to become much more composed, reducing the annoyance I felt about the fall.

The manager releases a joyful sigh, then continues her soft explanation on why she does such things.

Manager: People often have a deep impression of negative things, while happy moments are fleeting. Unhappy memories linger much longer in memories.

Manager: So I thought - if I could add an element of happiness into the unhappy memories of patrons, such as a flower, or a ray of sunlight...

Manager: Their unhappy memories may become a little brighter. On a subconscious level, their mood would naturally become better.

Manager: With a good mood to lift them up, they’d focus on the positive aspect of things the next time they face something else. That’s why they’d find that their fortunes have truly turned for the better.

After saying this, the manager looks at the both of us before apologising again softly.

Manager: Even though I use Evol on patrons, I don’t have malicious intentions. Could you be magnanimous and not report me?

I toss a glance at Gavin, hoping that the Captain would close an eye this time.

After pondering for a moment, Gavin nods calmly at the manager.

Gavin: I won’t report you, but don’t use Evol on patrons in the future.

He looks at me from the side, then reaches out to grab a tissue before wiping it gently against the corner of my lips. Lowering my head, I spot blueberry coloured cream on the white tissue.

Gavin: I believe that your coffee and snacks are enough to bring patrons happiness.

The manager grabs my hand in relief, thanking me repeatedly.

Manager: Thank you both for liking my coffee and cakes. I’ll give another present to the both of you.

By the time we leave the café, it’s still early. Gavin and I aren’t in a hurry to go back. Holding hands, we take a stroll beneath the shade of trees.

We can’t help but bring up what happened in the café earlier.

MC: It turns out that it’s so simple to change one’s mood. Adding an element of happiness into unhappy memories is enough.

Surrounded by the chirping of cicadas, even Gavin’s voice reveals a refreshing and carefree touch of summer.

Seeing his slightly sweat-damped fringe sticking to his temples, I retrieve a tissue from my bag and wipe it for him.

Gavin: I remember that you once mentioned that the secret to maintaining a happy life is to focus on the positive side of things.

While saying this, Gavin takes the tissue in my hand and stores it into his own pocket.

MC: Mm, that’s right! Actually, such forms of self comfort are pretty effective.

MC: Even though I fell while riding a bike, I told myself that it was fortunate that it wasn’t anything more than a fall.

MC: When the water supply was cut while I was showering, it only happened because I didn’t pay attention to the announcement by the property management...

MC: I’d just learn from this experience and check the announcement board more often.

MC: Also, the flights were delayed due to torrential rain. It was an objective reason, and nobody could have expected it.

MC: A lady from the airline company even gave me orange juice and a small gift.

Gavin chuckles leisurely, meeting my gaze from the corner of his eyes.

Gavin: Many things may not have happened according to how you wished over the short span of a week. Immersing yourself in the state of mind that everything wouldn’t go smoothly made you forget to look at the positive side of everything.

MC: Mm, but I can’t help it... Maintaining an optimistic outlook is really difficult. It’s inevitable to feel discouraged.

While saying this, I tighten my grip on his hand.

MC: But now, I know that if I face any unhappy moments in the future, I just have to search for a flower.

Gavin stops in his footsteps, lowering his eyes and giving me a smile.

Gavin: Have you thought of a new method to cheer yourself up?

I release a matter-of-fact “mm”. Pulling his collar, I give him a gentle peck on the chin.

MC: Whenever I face an unlucky incident, all I have to do is tell you immediately, and I’d immediately be comforted by you...

MC: That way, I’d no longer be unhappy.

Gavin is taken aback momentarily. Then, he smiles faintly while looking at me.

MC: Whether it’s a fall or a delayed flight... The moment I share these things with you, the moodiness in my heart vanishes like smoke. The reason why I specially complained to you today was just to play coy.

I draw closer to him, swinging our interlaced hands.

MC: In the café earlier, I didn’t take the crystal bracelet she offered to change my fortune for the better...

MC: I already have a bracelet which can bring me the greatest luck in the world.

I lower my head. Fragments of sunlight fall onto the ginkgo bracelet, refracting resplendent and exquisite faint light.

MC: This ginkgo leaf makes me happier than any other flower. No matter when, simply looking at it lifts my mood instantly.

Gavin doesn't release my hand. Instead, he pulls my hand to his back, bringing me into his arms gently.

The verdant trees and chirping of cicadas intertwine. The clean fragrance of shower gel from the side of his neck causes me to wrap my arms around him tightly.

Gavin: I knew that you were playing coy. Trivial matters have never influenced your mood. You’re always very good at comforting yourself and seeing the positive side of everything. But the bracelet alone isn’t enough. The next time you come looking for me, I’ll definitely do something that’d make you even happier.

After saying this, he can’t help but release a resigned chuckle.

Gavin: ...even though I haven’t thought of what I’d do.

I burst into a chuckle, then bury my head into his embrace completely.

Gavin: But there will definitely be things that I can do to add an element of happiness into your unhappy memories.

Dense green hues and shadows fall on his shoulders. Lifting my head, I see faint light riding the wind through crevices of large clouds in the faraway sky.

Leisurely and carefree ants pass by the slabstone road, winding around a fallen green leaf, and I can’t tell if they’re taking a stroll or scavenging for food.

Summer is flourishing, and this moment is incomparably tranquil.

My heart is filled to the brim with contentedness and happiness. Even my tone is relaxed and at ease.

MC: Gavin, you have to promise me one thing. If you’re unhappy about something in the future, you have to tell me about it immediately, okay? I can add many, many elements of happiness into your memories so that you wouldn’t even have half a second of unhappiness. I can guarantee that.

I lift my head to look at Gavin. With our close proximity, I can see his amber eyes reflecting large swathes of lush branches and leaves belonging exclusively to midsummer.

The gentleness flowing from these eyes aren’t stingy at all as they land on my face.

MC: We have to be the ever-fresh and blooming flowers in each of our memories, forever swaying in the wind.

Gavin releases a soft “okay”. He rests his chin on my shoulder, tightening his grip around my waist.

He murmurs at my ear.

Gavin: There’s no need for a guarantee. Your existence has always been the most brightly-coloured flower in my memories.

[ MOMENTS ]

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: In order to clear the existing stock in the fridge, it’s time to have supper!

Gavin: Pick between mala crayfish and barbecue?

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: Soda is always the best!

Gavin: Although that’s true, it’s best to drink fewer cold beverages.

Gavin’s Post: Different flavours of sodas seem to be really popular this summer.

MC: Pick between white peach and tangerine!

Gavin: I’ll pick the one you like less.

☕ Call: here

☕ Support the café (not the one mentioned in the date) by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THE FLUFF #the disjunct between his sprite and his outfit in the karma brings me physical pain BUT ALL IS FORGIVEN

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buckleydiazmp4 · 3 years

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for @one-more-offbeat-anthem ‘s 1k followers celebration

prompt: libraries

(also on ao3)

Stepping into the bunker’s library was like time stopped existing for a while, easily swallowed by the millions of words one could get lost in. Sam knew this, and so did Cas. Dean, on the other hand, felt more like a kid forced to do his homework, mostly because that’s what he did every time he set foot on the place. Research monsters and ways to kill them. Subsequently kill said monsters. Repeat.

Dean loved reading, just not about whatever lore they specifically happened to need. Whenever he found a book compelling, he’d take it with him to the Dean cave, or his room, or to a patch of grass near the bunker, if he felt like getting some air. He’d read for hours, if things like the imminent end of the world didn’t interrupt him so often. If a book was genuinely good, Dean found himself unable to tear his eyes from its pages by his own volition. It was always Sam or Cas who had to get his attention, sometimes with a lot of effort.

However, the moment he had to read a book related to a hunt, he couldn’t go past four lines without getting distracted or tired. Maybe he just hated being forced to do things instead of doing them because he wanted to.

This was why Dean never willingly set foot on the library unless it was necessary. Which was also why Cas was incredibly surprised when he found him sitting on said room’s hardwood floor, back against a bookshelf, a heavy and leather-bound book opened on his lap.

“What are you reading?” Cas said to Dean in lieu of a greeting. Dean, however, remained unaware of the angel’s presence, lost in the yellowing pages of his current reading material.

Cas waved his hands in front of the hunter’s face, hoping to get his attention. “Dean...?” Still nothing. He silently sat down beside Dean, and turned his gaze towards his profile. His expression showed the same precise focus he always had during hunts, his right brow slightly furrowed, his mouth turned just a tiny bit downwards.

Cas knew by now it wasn’t a good idea to scare him, so he tentatively placed his fingers on the crook of Dean’s elbow over his red flannel, and stroked down the length of his arm, until he reached the inside of his wrist. Finally, Dean looked up. There was a hint of a smile on his face, but it was accompanied by a (lovely, in Castiel’s humble opinion) red tint spread across his cheeks that suggested he was embarrassed. Cas guided his eyes downwards to look at whatever Dean was so focused on just a minute ago. One hundred and one accurate facts about angels, read the subtitle. Cas smiled to himself.

“I just… think it’s important to know more about my best friend. Y’know?” Dean spoke, a little sheepishly, but without a hint of regret or defensiveness.

Cas shuffled a little closer, feeling Dean’s warmth seeping through his own layers of clothing. He hadn’t yet removed his fingers from where they were posed on Dean’s wrist. Instead, he slid them a little further down. Dean let go of the page he was holding and slotted their fingers together, tracing little circles with his thumb on the back of Cas’ hands.

“Dean, you know you can just ask me, right? Anything you want.” Cas said, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

Dean took a little too long to answer, focused on his own thumb, idly drawing patterns on Cas’ skin. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He lifted his head then, tracing the angel’s features with his eyes until they landed on Castiel’s own. He only had to move a couple inches closer to connect their lips in a fleeting kiss.

Cas always thought if they ever kissed, there would be some panic involved. He imagined himself getting frozen, or Dean running away in horror. Instead, he looked at Dean and saw- calm. The slowly spreading smile on his face was one of those that came with a certain happiness, the kind that settled deeply in his bones and clung to his heart. This time, it was Cas who leaned forward first.

They kissed for a while, sharing each other’s space as if basking in the sun. Later, Dean leaned back against the bookshelf, and brought Cas’ head down to settle on his shoulder. Then, he said: “Go on then, tell me about you, angel.”

Some days later, when Cas asked him what his favorite place in the bunker was, Dean said the library.

#offbeat1k #offbeattraxx #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #chocolatecakecas #plantdadcas #userstarry #seraphcastiel #rambleoncas #bluefirecas #sara writes #deancas #spn fic #destiel #destiel fic

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chilly-me-softly · 3 years

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Lifespan • Mason Mount

Warning: mention of death, other than that I hope you like it x

When you started to think that something was wrong, that you were different from everyone else, you were afraid. Whenever you were on the verge of talking to someone about it, you simply couldn't; the fear of being seen as crazy or not being believed was always in the forefront of your mind.

It all started when you turned twenty-one, before that you had never had a chance to believe that something was wrong with you. Your sister had just become a mother and everyone in the family was so happy with the new arrival, including you, that you went to see them with your hands full of presents as soon as you could.

That little bundle was so small and defenceless, in his cradle carefree and ready to live all the life he had ahead of him. You took him in your arms, careful not to be too rough, cuddling him for a while, captivated by that little miracle and swearing to yourself that you would do anything to be an example to him.

Something shiny on his leg had caught your attention, a series of numbers running backwards like a countdown had you raising an eyebrow in confusion. 89:54:12...11...10...09... you had brushed it tentatively but nothing happened.

"You're all right (Y/N)? Is something wrong?" the new mother had asked, seeing you focused on looking at her son's skin and knowing how you were always looking for the smallest details.

Looking up at your sister and back down at the little leg, it was all gone. Just as it had appeared it was gone and you shake your head, "Nah don't worry about it. I'm just still in shock from this beauty"

Over the next few days that episode buzzed around in your head annoyingly, you were curious wanting to find out what it was but at the same time it scared you. What if it was a curse rather than a good thing? Several times you had gone back to visit your nephew and each time the number was different, lower. And you found you could only see it once a day, the sign disappearing just as it appeared. At its own pace. You could only see it on the side of the left leg, it was hard to see when covered up and you couldn't see it on yourself.

That thought now took up all your spare time, you had even researched it on the internet but had not been very lucky. You had found out what it was at your own expense.

You had errands to run that day and got up early, it was a nice day and you thought you'd leave the car in the garage and go for a nice walk. You look down at your phone as you wait for the pedestrian light to turn green and as you do so you realise your shoe is untied. You lean down to fix it and a sparkle draws your attention to your right, a little girl apparently alone with a backpack bigger than her on her shoulders is waiting beside you. 00:00:06 is written on her leg.

The light turns green and lots of people start walking quickly before getting stuck in the red light again. You hurry walking but when people start shouting to be careful you instinctively grab that little girl by her backpack pulling her to you avoiding an accident, a truck that didn't even stop.

"Thank you, ma'am"

"Oh my god are you alright?" you murmur shocked walking the child to the other side of the pavement safely as she nods and then goes on her way, you following her with your eyes. Until she collapses to the ground and you swear your heart skipped a beat as your legs start running towards her, 00:00:00 in red on her leg.

Mason immediately notices something is wrong with you as soon as he opens the door, your expression blank and your face almost colourless. He immediately wraps you in a hug closing the door gently and your grip tightens when he would like to pull away to look you in the eye.

"What's going on (Y/N)?" he asks worriedly, stroking your hair as you shake your head, you held on as you tried to resuscitate that little girl in vain; as they loaded her into the ambulance with the sheet on her tiny body and even as you answered the police's questions. And you're literally exhausted, tears start to roll down your cheeks as Mason forces you to look at him, laying his hands on your cheeks gently but firmly. "You're worrying me"

"There was an accident today" you murmur with a broken voice and he takes a step back to look at you entirely and make sure with his eyes that nothing is out of place. He pulls you to his chest again as he tries to get you to move towards the couch.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks softly not wanting to push you, you sit by his side leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. Your tongue goes to stop a tear that is falling down powerfully at that moment.

"There was a little girl" you tremble at the mere memory, "she was maybe twelve. And we were... there was a red light and then we crossed and she was alive"

"Oh babe" he sighs stroking your back, watching you shake your head.

"No Mase, she was alive on the other side of the road. Then... then she fell to the ground and-" a sob shakes your body as he looks at you helplessly.

"I knew it"

"What? Babe it was a random accident, you couldn't have known"

"I knew it Mason! I knew something was going to happen but I thought that having saved her from the truck she was going to be saved and instead..."

"What are you saying (Y/N)?"

"Mason, I'm losing my mind" you look at him genuinely scared and he wastes no time in wrapping you around himself again. "You just went through a traumatic event, it's normal for you to feel upset honey"

"No I- I need to tell you something" you sit up properly not breaking eye contact, watching him swallow but waiting for you to continue. And you tell him everything from the beginning trying to be as accurate as possible, from the birth of your nephew to the shiny writing on his leg; the research and testing to find out more and more every day, to that day when you really realised what it was by learning that you can't change fate.

"What's the point if I can't do anything to change it?" is the first thing you ask to a silent Mason, trying to absorb that strong informations all at once. And you can't blame him if he doesn't want to believe you, I mean it's kind of surreal, isn't it?

"You can see the date of people's deaths?"

"Apparently. But please call it a person's lifespan instead" he nods, his hand touching your knee to make you feel his presence and his thumb stroking you gently.

"Wow all this is just... wow. I wonder if there are more of you out there"

"You believe me?" you're on the verge of tears again as he smiles softly.

"Why wouldn't I, you have magic" he manages to make you laugh in spite of everything, a tear escaping your control but you promptly wipe it away.

"How does it work? Does it hurt?"

You shake your head, "I don't feel anything, just this light which is then replaced by numbers... I should have realised sooner" your gaze ending on Mason's legs who is thankfully wearing long trousers, no more numbers for today.

He follows your gaze, "Have you seen mine?" the question pops up and you quickly shake your head closing your eyes. "I can't see it if you've got it covered and I don't want to please"

"No hey it's okay, it's okay" slowly he pulls you with him until you're lying on the couch, you sigh settling yourself better in his arms focusing on his beating heart and nothing more.

"Have you tried searching on the internet?" you nod, "Yeah but I haven't found that much"

"Yeah but maybe now that you know what it's for you can look more properly"

"Some other time. I can't do it now"

"We'll do it together when you want to" he leaves a kiss on your temple as you give him a first sweet smile after all those tears.

Having someone to share all this with turned out to be a godsend. Just as he had said, since the accident Mason had been with you through everything and you had almost moved in with him.

You would have liked to say that you had learned to live with it, but the truth was that since that day you had been so afraid it might happen again that you no longer looked down. Mason had researched it for you, urging you to try this and that, sometimes much more excited about discovering new things about it than you were. But at the same time he'd also given you your space to decide how to deal with it all and you'd simply decided not to deal with it; not being able to do anything to avoid the inevitable had stopped you from studying how to live with it.

Your phone vibrates and Mason's name appears on the screen after a moment, your smile disappearing little by little as you accept the call. Hearing his voice calms you a little, but that doesn't mean you don't feel your heart in your throat when he tells you that he's in the hospital and that he and Declan were in an accident.

He needs you and you don't think twice about getting in the car and driving to him, phone to your ear as your eyes work further than your legs to try and find him as quickly as possible. And when you do, the relief is so intense that you hold him tightly to you as he groans slightly.

"How are you? Declan?"

"Just a few scratches. He was unconscious when they took him away" Mason sits back in the chair and you at his side stroking his back as you let him run through what happened with his mind, holding him in your arms when he breaks down just like he did to you when you needed him.

"(Y/N) I need you to do something for me" you don't need to make him continue any further to understand what's going through his head.

"No Mason" you shake your head seriously, "don't make me do that"

"Please (Y/N), I need to know" he murmurs looking into your eyes.

"Why? Even if it was you couldn't do anything so why would you want to know?"

"I'd like to make sure he's going to be okay and because I could be around if him..." his breath dies in his throat at the very thought.

"I can't" and you try to stop him as he shakes his head walking away to get some air, putting a glass divider between you and him.

Your gaze drifts from him to the door where nurses come in and out, your leg shaking rhythmically. You don't want to be the one to tell him that news, it would destroy him. But then why does it have to be bad news? Yeah, but what if it is?

You look at Mason one last time before getting up, your mind not even registering what you ask the nurse in the hallway; her sweet smile leading you past the room you seek.

"I'll only stay a couple of minutes, thank you very much" the nurse walks away and you watch your friend from a distance, still undecided as to whether that's the right thing to do. Silently you step into the room moving closer until you're beside the bed, Declan has a few scratches on his face and an injured shoulder at first glance but the fact that he's been unconscious for so long doesn't give the doctors the green light to dismiss him at the moment.

His legs are covered by a sheet and for a moment you think it's a sign. Your hand freezing in mid-air on the first try. And then the glow starting to appear even from under the sheet, your hand moving on its own to uncover his leg and your eyes closing at that light more brightly than usual. Your heartbeat the only thing you can hear for a moment until you open your eyes. A few tears escape your control as you pull the sheet down as if you got burned, your hand going to cover your mouth as you hurry out of that room.

"Oh (Y/N) what have you done?" you almost clash with Mason and he's quick to wrap his arms around you as you try to pull yourself together. When he hadn't seen you where he'd left you once he'd gotten back, he'd known immediately and the guilt had hit him hard.

He shouldn't have asked you, not knowing the emotional effort you have to put into all that. Declan was going to be fine and even though his fate may be another, knowing that beforehand wouldn't have changed anything; he'd be by his friend's side no matter what and putting you in that position...

"It's okay, I had to do it. If I can't use it to calm those I love, then when?"

"So...?"

"I can't know what's next for him but Declan still has a long life ahead of him" despite everything it's a relief to hear and the boy cheers slightly, his gaze inevitably shifting to his bed visible from outside.

And maybe that's what it's used for, knowing to be able to spend most of our time with someone we love; no regrets.

"Go to him" Mason leaves a kiss on your lips before going to sit next to his friend. A solid 62:03:20 runs down his leg.

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #declan rice #my writing #original #football imagine #football imagines #football one shot

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sleepdeprivedsloth · 3 years

Text

Cold Foot

[MHA - Midoriya, Todoroki]

summary: Todoroki is caught walking around with a sock covering only one of his feet. Midoriya is determined to figure out the reasoning behind his unusual clothing choices. (platonic TodoDeku tickle fic)

potential warnings: tickling

words: 1.4 k

a/n: haha finally branching out into the dekusquad characters bc they are so sweet and i love them!! but yeah i hope you all enjoy reading this, much love <<33

The first time Todoroki walked out of his dorm room with a sock on only one of his feet, everyone thought it was just a silly oversight. It was still pretty early in the morning; maybe his brain just needed a bit more time to fully wake up and realize that he hadn’t exactly finished getting dressed.

The second time he was caught walking around half-barefoot, Todoroki received a few confused glances, but the majority of his peers chose to cut him some slack and let him be. It was a Saturday after all; maybe he was just too lazy to be bothered.

However, when his classmates passed through the common area and saw Todoroki lounging on the couch, both feet outstretched but only one wearing a plain white sock for the third time, they started to suspect that these occurrences weren’t accidental. Most had paused for a moment to take in Todoroki’s abnormal clothing choices, looking upon the scene with complete and utter confusion, but ultimately decided that it was best to just let the fire and ice hero-in-training do his own thing.

Not Midoriya though. Much like his peers, the green-haired boy had stopped and stared for a few seconds to internally ponder on the different possibilities as to why Todoroki chose to only cover up one foot, but it didn’t take long for his curiosity to inevitably get the better of him.

Midoriya casually made his way towards Todoroki and settled himself on the couch, sitting beside the intriguingly half-socked feet. Feeling the cushions shift from the added weight, Todoroki looked up from his phone and peered at Midoriya expectantly. “Can I help you with something, Midoriya?”

“Why are you wearing a sock on only one of your feet?” Midoriya promptly asked, as if he was anxiously waiting for his friend to acknowledge his presence. His green eyes subconsciously moved their curious gaze to the feet in question. “At first, I thought that the need to put on the other sock just slipped your mind, but you’re more attentive than that. You wouldn’t have missed something as simple as a missing sock. But then again-” Midoriya looked back up sheepishly as he stopped himself from going on a full-on rant, having to mentally refocus himself on the matter at hand. “A-anyways, I was just wondering why you only wear one sock, that’s all.”

Todoroki’s lips curled up slightly when Midoriya pulled himself out of his rambling. “Since the right side of my body can manipulate ice, my right foot doesn’t get cold like my left one does. There just simply is no need for me to wear a sock on that foot.”

And with that, Midoriya’s brain switched into research mode. He reached out and grabbed onto Todoroki’s right, unsocked foot, turning it around in his hands as he started inspecting it. “Huh, I never thought of it like that. But it does make sense, more so than the far-fetched theories that I had come up with..”

In his peripheral vision, Midoriya saw Todoroki tense up, his nervous eyes trained on the foot that was trapped in Midoriya’s grasp. The green-haired boy could just barely make out the slightest hint of a giddy smile on his friend’s lips.

It didn’t take long for Midoriya to piece the subtle signs together. A mischievous glint flashed across his playful eyes as he set his new plan into motion. “Hey Todoroki, you wouldn’t mind if I were to experiment a bit with this new found information, right? It would be a great addition to my notes on your unique half and half quirk.”

Todoroki looked a bit uneasy at the thought of Midoriya performing hands-on research on him, but inevitably agreed. “Sure, I don’t mind.” He tried to relax himself and picked up his phone, resuming his mindless scrolling from before. Midoriya just wanted more accurate and detailed notes, that’s all. What was the worst that could happen?

“Great~” Midoriya laid a hand across Todoroki’s ankles, effectively pinning them down against the couch cushions.

Todoroki’s head shot up to look at his trapped feet, eyes widening in surprise. “W-wait, Midoriya, what are you-”

“We already know that your fire side is more sensitive to the cold, but I wonder if it’s also more sensitive to touch…” Midoriya slowly dragged a finger down the length of Todoroki’s socked foot, starting just underneath his toes and traveling down to the heel. Up and down, over and over, again and again.

Todoroki choked on the laughter that was trying to force its way out of his throat as he instinctively tried to pull his feet away from the soft touches. Unfortunately for him, both feet were kept firmly in place by Midoriya’s strong hold. A small string of giggles escaped his lips when the torturous finger swiped against a particularly sensitive spot in the middle of his arch. “Nohohohoho! Midohohoriyahahaha!!”

Midoriya smiled at the sweet sound of his friend’s rare laughter, but he couldn’t break character just yet. “How does this feel? What would you rate the sensations on a scale from one to ten?”

With his mind being preoccupied with the soft, tickly feelings on his left foot, Todoroki genuinely couldn’t tell if Midoriya was purposefully teasing him or was just honestly curious about how much he could feel the sensations. Either way, the green-haired boy’s words caused a light blush to spread across his grinning face. “I dohohon’t knohow?”

Midoriya stopped the light tracing in favor of gently scribbling his five fingers against the socked sole. “How about now?”

Todoroki’s laughter raised an octave as his squirming became more desperate. “Ohokahahay okahahahay! Mahahahaybe a seheheven?”

“Hmm, interesting…” Midoriya momentarily stilled his fingers, allowing his friend a quick breather. “Let’s check your other foot now, shall we?”

A fresh wave of giddy panic flowed through Todoroki’s body. “Noho need! Haven’t yohou done enohough experimenting?” He started to lean forward and reach towards Midoriya, trying to grab ahold of his troublesome hands, but immediately fell back down the moment he felt fingers fluttering against his bare foot. “NOHOHOHOHO!!”

“Sorry, but we must compare the ratings of both feet to get the most accurate results,” Midoriya explained sympathetically, but both boys knew that he wasn’t really sorry. “Now, how would you rate the sensations on this foot?”

Todoroki tugged desperately at his feet, but Midoriya’s hold seemed unbreakable, especially since his own strength had been weakened from all of the squirming and laughing. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, as if to hold in the uncontrollable flow of laughter that left his face-splitting smile. “MIDOHOHOHORIYAHAHA PLEHEHEHEASE, IHIHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES! LEHEHEHEHET GOHOHOHOHO!!”

“My research isn’t complete yet, Todoroki!” Midoriya wiggled his fingers in between Todoroki’s scrunched toes. The fire and ice student threw his head back, his roars of laughter becoming even more hysterical. Midoriya beamed fondly at the sight of his friend finally letting loose from his much-too-serious persona. “If you would just rate how this feels, it would all be over~”

“AHAHAHAHA TEHEHEHEN! IHIHIHIHIT’S AHAHAHA TEHEHEN! PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAP!!” Todoroki called out, eyes squeezed shut to prevent his mirthful tears from spilling onto his flushed cheeks.

Midoriya stopped his tickling and brought both arms back down into his lap, giving his friend’s feet the freedom to move. Todoroki instantly brought his legs against his heaving chest and wrapped his arms around them protectively, resting his head on top of his knees.

With a victorious smile, Midoriya exclaimed, “Based on all of the research you have so generously helped me gather, I can now confidently conclude that your ice foot is definitely more sensitive to touch than your fire foot!”

“That’s nohot exactly accurate,” Todoroki argued, mindlessly tracing along the veins in the top of his right foot with an index finger. “My ‘ice foot,’ as you like to call it, was unsocked during the whole experiment. So of course it was going to be more sensitive than my-” Todoroki caught his mistake too late as he cautiously brought his gaze back up to look at Midoriya’s reaction. To his dismay, he was immediately met with the same mischievous green eyes from before.

“You’re absolutely right, Todoroki!” Midoriya agreed, slowly inching himself closer to his classmate. “We just simply need more data and then-”

Todoroki didn’t waste another precious second. He instantly leaped off of the couch and bolted out of the common area towards the elevator, already giggling uncontrollably as he heard Midoriya’s teasing words not too far behind him.

a/n: thanks for reading everyone! ler midoriya is just *chef’s kiss* i love him okay? omg and when characters who don’t really smile much (cough cough todo and baku) genuinely laugh it is so cute i can’t!! lol anyways good night/day yall :)

#bnha #bnha tickle #mha #mha tickle #midoriya #izuku midoriya #todoroki #shoto todoroki #ler!midoriya #lee!todoroki #ticklish!todoroki #tododeku #platonic #tickling #tickle fic

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softtrobed · 3 years

Note

hm would you write a fic about annie coming out to jeff? i love their friendship and brother/sister relationship :)

thank you so much for this request! i honestly got a bit emotional writing this. annie coming out to jeff is something that can honestly be so personal...

there's some focus on annie coming out to other members of the study group, but it does mainly focus on her and jeff. i hope that's okay :)

Annie had decided to come out to her friends in the same way she tended to do most things: efficiently and beginning by making a list.

Well, she supposed the most efficient way would be to come out to all of them at the same time, but this way would be more effective in the long run. She knew they’d all have very different reactions, different questions to ask, different levels of surprise, so if they all found out at once, most likely no one’s questions would get answered (not just the ones she would politely ignore), the group would start talking over each other, someone would yell at Pierce and it would almost be forgotten what the point of the conversation even was. This way, although it would take longer, everyone would hopefully be satisfied.

She told Troy and Abed first. That was the easiest, as because the two were a couple, she had no doubt they’d be accepting. Additionally, in the time they’d lived together, she had a feeling they’d already picked up on some of her not-so-straight behaviours: the girl-crushes she formed on the pretty women in the movies they watched together and her disinterest or non-romantic affection towards the men she knew she was ‘supposed’ to swoon over; the way she giggled and twirled her hair while on the phone with a certain girl from Greendale she’d recently reconnected with; the one time she didn’t delete her search history from the apartment computer and Abed may or may not have seen her recent searches, which included among others, ‘am I gay test,’ ‘comphet meaning’ and ‘can you be straight but think girls are really pretty and rarely have long lasting feelings for men?’

She’d come out to them over breakfast one day, and they basically had the best response she could have wished for. They were totally cool with it, but didn’t make it a big deal. They joked about how she was no longer the token straight roommate, she hugged both of them, and the day went on as normal.

Annie had crossed their names off her list with a big smile on her face.

Next had been Britta. Annie had also guessed that she’d be accepting, as what had happened with Paige last year had been a bit misguided but well-intentioned. At least Annie didn’t have to worry about Britta only wanting to be her friend because she was a lesbian, because they were already friends, and Annie suspected Britta had learned her lesson.

As expected, Britta reacted well. Perhaps too well, loudly proclaiming her supporting for the LGBTQ community before asking a string of questions about what it was like dating girls and if kissing them was different if you were sobre and/or not doing it to prove you weren’t homophobic. Annie explained she didn’t know - she actually hadn’t kissed a girl yet - but did wonder if Britta’s questions weren’t just due to her being an ally. She could be wrong, but she had read something about queer people having a way of spotting each other. Still, it wasn’t her place to assume anything, and she put the thought out of her mind as she crossed off Britta’s name.

Next was Jeff. This was a bit trickier. Once again, she didn’t think Jeff would be at all homophobic (unless he turned out to be one of those men who only viewed relationships between women as hot, but she’d cross that bridge if she came to it), but coming out to him made her nervous for another reason. Ever since they’d kissed at the Transfer Dance, his feelings for her had seemed unclear. At first, he’d seemed determined to forget it ever happened - which she’d found unfair at the time, but now appreciated - but lately, it was possible he had actually become interested in her. It felt… really weird, when she thought about it for too long. Not only was she definitely not interested in him, but, partially due to their age gap, their relationship felt too close to a father-daughter or older brother-younger sister relationship to be romantic. Sometimes she wondered why she’d ever liked him like that at all.

Although, since she’d extensively researched what comphet was and realised that was undoubtedly what she’d been experiencing, she could understand a bit better she’d never really liked him to begin with, she’d just latched onto a seemingly unattainable man to convince herself she could be attracted to guys, yet again.

As everyone packed up their stuff to leave the study room, Annie remained seated. “Um, Jeff,” she said. “We’ve both got a free period now, right?”

“Right,” Jeff replied, not looking up from his phone.

“Would you mind if I talked to you about something?”

He looked at her curiously. “Yeah, sure.”

Troy, Abed and Britta had clearly all realised what was going on. Abed gave her a small, supportive smile, Troy gave a quick thumbs up, and Britta winked in a way Annie guessed was meant to be subtle, but no doubt everyone in the room saw.

“Come on, guys,” she said, ushering the others out of the room. “This sounds important, and private, and we’ve all got classes to get to.”

Shirley stopped, muttering that she’d forgotten a textbook, but Britta practically pushed her out of the door as Abed said in a deep voice, seeming to have taken the opportunity to act like a security guard, “Keep it moving.”

Annie smiled as she watched them leave, her friends dramatics a pleasant distraction from what she was about to do. She turned back to Jeff to see he’d put his phone down. Clearly, he knew this was serious. “So,” he said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Annie opened her mouth, let out a squeak, then closed it. This was going to be difficult. Maybe she should have just come out to everyone at the same time, the consequences be damned. That way, she would have got it all over with at once.

“Annie, is everything okay?” Jeff sounded so genuine in his concern, a relatively rare sight. “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she assured him, finding her voice, but he didn’t look convinced. She took a deep breath. “I was thinking recently about that time we kissed.” He looked confused for a second. Didn’t he remember that night? Not that she cared, of course. “You know? During the dance at the end of our first year? I had just decided not to move to Delaware with Vaughn-”

“Right, right,” he cut her off. “I remember. Sorry, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly. “So, I’ve been thinking about our kiss, and-”

Once more, he interrupted her. This was just getting annoying. “Annie, look, I know I’ve been giving… pretty mixed signals about my feelings for you, or if I even have any, but lately I’ve taken a good look at myself, and realised that it would never really feel right to be with you. For many reasons, none of which are your fault. It’s just that you’re much younger than me, and you often feel like a little sister to me - as well as a friend, of course - so I’m sorry, but-”

“Jeff.” Her firm tone silenced him.

There, she thought. How does it feel to be interrupted?

“I don’t want to be with you either!”

“Really?” he checked. “Because it wouldn’t be your fault if you did, I’m the one who needs to keep whatever feelings I have for you in check. Plus, I mean, I wouldn’t blame you…”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile began creeping onto her face. “I swear. I was going to say that I’ve been thinking about that kiss because of how, back then, I thought I really liked you. In a romantic way, I mean. But recently, I’ve realised that I just made myself think I liked you, even loved you. I wanted to convince myself I could be attracted to men, so just like with Troy in high school, I picked an unattainable - or so I thought - man. In his case: someone cool and popular who I thought would never notice ‘little Annie Aderal.’ With you, a cool, older guy who just saw me as a child.”

“Annie.” Jeff’s tone was serious but not annoyed. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

She nodded, her lips a thin line. “I’m a lesbian, Jeff. I really hope this doesn’t change things between us, although, honestly, knowing you don’t want to be with me is a big relief, because I was worried I’d break your heart or make things weird, but…” She paused. She was getting ahead of herself. “Well, have I made things weird?”

“Of course you haven’t! Thank you for telling me, that was really brave, especially if you thought I was still interested in you.”

“Thanks,” she said. She quickly added, “It’s not that I thought you’d react really badly. I don’t see you as someone who thinks he’s somehow entitled to any women he has feelings for, but still… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He stood up, walking around to her side of the table, presumably to remove the physical and metaphorical distance between them, and gesturing for her to stand up as well, which she did. “You haven’t hurt me at all, Annie, I promise. I care about you, so much, even - no, especially - as a friend, and I just want you to be happy. Even if I was madly in love with you - which, thankfully, I’m not - I could never be upset at you, or anyone, for this.”

Annie could feel tears forming in her eyes. “Aww, Jeff!” She practically threw herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug which he happily returned, laughing.

“Okay, we don’t have to make this all dramatic,” he said, but Annie was sure he sounded a bit choked up.

They came apart, smiling at each other for a few seconds before Jeff hesitantly reached out and gave her a pat on the head. “For old time’s sake,” he explained.

Annie had never felt happier while being given a head pat, which didn’t say much, she knew, but it was accurate, as she’d probably felt happier in general at some point in her life. Still, this was definitely in her top ten.

That night, she crossed off Jeff’s name, remembering the days she would doodle hearts as she wrote down his name, or paired her first and his last. This time, she instead drew a little smiley face. That was far more accurate, she thought. The thought of Jeff no longer made her heart flutter in her chest, but he made her smile, and she was more than happy with that.

#community #nbc community #annie edison #jeff winger #troy barnes #abed nadir #britta perry #shirley bennett #pierce hawthorne #lesbiannie #trobed #community fanfic #my writing #ask #lesbiannie-rights

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

Inferno

Warnings: Violence / Gun Violence, Post-Apocalyptic Themes, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Death / Major Character Death, Pandemic, Major Injury Word Count: 6,705

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

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

An arid landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The familiar rows of brownstones and businesses of Brooklyn have long since vanished, replaced by a sun-baked desert. On the horizon, two figures stand facing one another, their muscles tensed and their focus solely on the other. Neither notices Sackler’s advance toward them.

The leather palm of the fingerless glove that the gunslinger wears creaks with the brief flex of fingers. You are itching to reach for the weapon holstered at your hip, eager to pull the warm steel from its confines to unleash the fury that you’ve been waiting to deliver for years now. But now, you know, is not the time. You will not be the first to make the move. No, this is dependent upon him , the man dressed in all black who stands opposite you with a look of smug determination.

The rough terrain crunches beneath Adam’s shoes and the dust that kicks up clings to them with each step forward that he takes, but as he draws nearer he notes how the sky grows increasingly darker. Large, grey clouds, swollen with an impending storm darken the sky and blot out the sun until a familiar rumble in the distance can be heard. It isn’t long until the first bolt of lightning strikes, effectively halting his steps. The electric current crackles and sizzles on its path downward and it’s then that Sackler realizes the strangest thing: the bolt does not disappear into the ground but rather into the fingertips of the man in black who now holds his hands upwards towards the sky.

Adam’s gaze shifts to where you stand. Your hand has since migrated to the gun at your hip and your thumb has lifted the leather snap of the holster, making for a quicker, easier draw of the weapon. It’s like slow motion, watching the scene unfold before him as your head swivels while your hand grips the gun and lifts in one fluid motion. With a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet rips through the air, the bang of the gun mirroring the echo of the thunder that accompanies a second bolt of lightning that careens down towards the parched Earth.

The moment that the bullet nears the man in black, it’s as if someone has flicked a switch and time has resumed its correct rate of movement once more as the man lowers his hands and faces his palms out towards you, both deflecting the bullet and sending a stream of electric current in your direction. Your eyes widen and just as the current reaches you...

The familiar blare of an alarm clock startles Sackler awake, immediately causing his eyelids to part to now take in the sight of the stark white ceiling above him. Gone is the dry landscape of some foreign desert; he has found his way back to the comfort of home. A large hand settles atop his chest and he takes a moment to puff out his cheeks and exhale a long breath whilst he feels the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath his touch. This is not the first that he has dreamt of you and the man in black, nor does he suspect that it will be the last, but this time, he realizes, was different. This time the man in black had seemed to have the upper hand, something in which he’d never managed to in dreams prior.

Sackler had never believed much in astrology or dream meanings and the like, but the brevity and the sheer vividness of each one chipped away at his stance little by little until finally he’d found himself up and out of bed, pouring over page after page of varying dream meanings. From the cracked, barren wasteland of the desert to the storm that raged above, every meaning—if Sackler looked close enough— could feasibly be tied back to one problem or another in his life. But even with the research and the meanings loosely tied to reality, he still found the tiniest seed of doubt sprouting in his gut—a little flutter of worry that something just wasn’t quite right .

The scrape of a wooden chair across the linoleum floor sounds out into the small apartment when he rises up from his spot at the table, suppressing the unease for the time being. Sackler grabs his backpack and slings a strap over his shoulder before making the short stroll across the space to retrieve his bike. He’d forget about this for now, chalking it up to nothing more than a dream. Because that’s all it could possibly be...couldn’t it?

***

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Shoshana stands beside Adam, her hand gently swirling the wooden stirrer to mix her cream into the coffee that she holds.

The noncommittal hum that she receives in response isn’t to her liking, however. She huffs and nudges Adam’s ribs with her elbow, careful to not waste a single precious drop of the still piping hot liquid.

When Adam turns his head to look at her, she speaks up again. “You have to come! Marnie already said you’d told her you’d be there.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he replies, eyeing the board overhead that contains a multitude of hand-written items available to order. A brief moment of silence follows and then: “Wait, what time does it start?”

“Adam!”

A pinch is delivered to his side, eliciting a dramatic yelp in response to minimal pain. “Wh— ow! What?!”

“It’s six o’clock. And don’t be late,” Shoshana says, pausing momentarily to blow gingerly across the heated surface of her coffee before taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You know how Marnie gets.”

Sackler’s lips purse, thumbs hooking around the straps of his backpack while his eyes continue to peruse the board overhead. Another moment passes before he feels a nudge, this time another elbow, in his side. “Why bother, just get it black like you always do.”

He huffs out an amused breath and smiles down at Shoshana who mirrors the expression prior to excusing herself and pivoting on her heels to make her exit. He watches as she steps out of the door, the bell overhead ringing to signal her vacation of the premises; when the familiar blonde head of hair disappears among the crowd on the other side of the exterior wall’s windows, Adam’s gaze slides over to the clock that adorns the nearby wall. One thirty.

With a sigh, he turns back to face Ray who is already in the process of sliding him the usual: one black coffee in a plain off-white insulated cup complete with lid. Tossing down enough money to cover both the coffee and tip, Adam flashes Ray a grin and turns to follow Shoshana’s path back out onto the street.

***

The unassuming brick building that sits on Willoughby is lit by a pair of skyward pointing spotlights, illuminating the red brick against the dark backdrop of nightfall. Inside, the stark white of the walls and grey concrete floors reflect the blinding fluorescents overhead. Art is dotted sparsely along the walls, ranging from geometric abstraction to realism. Hushed tones fill the space as would-be patrons, guests, and painters alike all speak to one another among the art.

The soles of a pair of scuffed tan leather boots carry Adam further into the gallery while his gaze sweeps the area, roaming from one piece to another. The hands that are shoved deep into his one good pair of pants flex within the stiff material of his pockets as he stops in front of a painting by someone with a name he doesn’t recognize. Like nearly every other piece of art in this place that he’s laid eyes upon, this one is loud; bold, bright colors are splashed across the canvas in such a way that it almost appears angry, as if someone had been in the throes of being upset when making this. Though, what the fuck does he know about art?

Adam snorts to himself and pivots, stepping away from this piece and moving on, one after another until…

“Hooooly shiiiiiit,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

“It’s a masterpiece isn’t it,” says a familiar voice abruptly to his right. “I’d say it’s my best work yet.”

Sackler’s gaze slides over to the nameplate that sits beneath the painting, though he doesn’t have to. He knows precisely this belongs to by their voice alone.

“I call it The Duality of Life and Death,” says Booth with an air of smugness. “You see, the Gunslinger, they’re the embodiment of life; all light and warm tones, whereas Death here is in all black, being kept at bay by the Gunslinger’s trusty weapon.”

He cannot believe what he is seeing. In fact, he is so focused on the painting before him that Sackler fails to register any and all words that leave Booth’s mouth. It is as if this artwork has been pulled straight from his most recent dream. Everything, right down to the bolts of lightning, tinged purple by the storm, is an accurate portrayal of the vividness of the dream he’d lived through the night prior. Impossible. And yet…

“Shut up,” Sackler mumbles just loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Excuse me?” Booth balks at the audacity of Adam’s sudden intrusion upon his well-rehearsed pitch and not so modest boasting about his talents.

“How much?”

The conversation lapses, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of the murmurs of the other patrons. Booth huffs out a laugh, unsure of whether or not this is a genuine inquiry.

“Too much for you.”

“How much,” Adam asks again, this time more forcefully. His head turns and, for the first time since Booth’s arrival, he directs his full attention to the man beside him.

Another brief silence follows. “Fifteen hundred.”

“I’ll give you seven,” Adam counters.

A scoff follows the attempted negotiation. “Absolutely not. Fifteen hundred and not a penny less.”

Sackler’s jaw twitches in irritation and he knows without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Booth is taking him for a ride with the price, but he simply cannot walk away from this. Not when the coincidence is far too great for him to ignore.

“Fine. You have yourself a deal.”

***

Hours later, Adam finds himself back in his apartment fifteen hundred dollars lighter and one painting in hand. Having disrobed down to the grey pair of boxers he still dons, he settles his weight heavily onto the edge of his mattress, his eyes fixated on the acquired painting that now hangs on the wall directly opposite of where he sits.

It’s uncanny, he thinks to himself, unable to shake the familiarity of it. Just as in his dream, the Gunslinger— you —are looking at him, and from even this great distance, your stare seems to pierce right through him. He stares and he stares and he stares until finally, sleep begins to wrap its tendrils around him, pulling him further down into a groggy state until he gives in and lies back against the mattress.

His eyes slowly slide closed, thoughts still on the painting, on his dream, on you . In the distance, an impending storm rumbles.

***

‘As many of you in the city have noticed, there has been a rather unusual weather pattern that’s settled over us, bringing with it an unsettling amount of rain and near hurricane level winds. Our storm tracker seems to indicate that this weather pattern is swirling in place, only delivering more debilitating rain that’s quickly turned to flash flooding in the area. The Hudson and East Rivers have both begun to breach their respective banks. But this isn’t the only unusual thing to come from the storm. There have also been strange electromagnetic pul—’

The nearby lamp flickers and then shuts off just as the television screen turns black, cutting off the meteorologist mid forecast. This has been, provided Sackler’s been keeping count accurately, the twelfth time this morning that the power has cut out. If this time is like the others, he can expect it to come back within the next five minutes.

He puffs his cheeks out prior to exhaling a deep breath, his eyes casting downward towards the phone in his hand—the very one he’d only just allowed himself to be talked into purchasing a mere three days ago. A large thumb taps the darkened glass screen to bring it to life. Twenty-eight percent, reads the small battery icon at the upper righthand corner. He sighs, opting not to waste more of the battery life by calling anyone. There’s no use, he knows. Instead, he tosses the device to the side, watching as it bounces against the worn cushions of the couch he sits on.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Rising up from his spot on the couch, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he crosses the small space of his living room to approach the window that gives him the perfect vantage point of the street below. Rain batters against the window, blurring his view, but below he spots a figure striding with purpose down the street.

Behind him, the microwave beeps and the light of his lamp clicks back on with the sudden return of electricity. Static sounds from the direction of the television and then:

‘In other parts of the world we’re seeing an emergence of a previously unknown virus. To date, there are no cases that we are aware of within the United States, but the CDC is urging anyone with the following symptoms to make a report—’

The story fades into the background as the figure draws closer and grows more visible even through the streaks of water that continue to distort the view from the glass in front of him. His eyes widen in recognition of the long, brown leather duster that hangs down nearly to the pavement. The holster isn’t visible beneath it, but the gun held firmly in hand is a dead giveaway.

“You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Without hesitation, and without allowing his mind to catch up with the actions he now takes, he pushes himself away from the window and makes a break for the apartment’s door, leaving behind the nearly dead phone on the couch.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Plants of varying nature have long since begun to sprout through the cracks in sidewalks and pavement alike, their tendrils crawling up brick exteriors of buildings and brownstone homes. The hustle and bustle that the city is known for has quieted to a deafening degree; where once there were horns and shouts, now there is nothing more than the occasional whipping of the wind and, if one were so lucky, the rare sound of another survivor’s voice.

The illness that had swept across the globe crippled economies and decimated nations, including this very one. Businesses shuddered, families suffered, and in the end, no hope for a cure had been found.

Except for you, that is.

Ever since your arrival to the city where the man in black has taken up residence, it has been claimed by you that you are the only one who can put a stop to the man who’d brought a near end to civilization as Sackler knows it. Back in the realm from whence you have emerged, you have failed to stop him once, but this time, you vow, you will not falter in your mission.

The unmistakable metallic sound of a can being opened can be heard nearby. Sackler turns his head to look over at where you sit, your body curled over the pot that sits atop the lit tabletop burner. His face scrunches in distaste when he watches you dump the tin of beans unceremoniously into the empty pot in order to heat them up. It is the involuntary sound of displeasure that emanates from the back of his throat that captures your attention.

“What,” you ask as your head lifts to look in his direction.

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug just as his attention shifts to the window of the apartment you find yourselves in currently. His head shakes once, twice, and then: “I don’t think I have it in me to eat another can of fuckin’ beans. At this point I think my blood’s made of it.”

The soft snort that emanates from where you stand pulls his attention back to you. He hadn’t heard you pick up the wooden spoon that you now hold, but he watches as you gently stir the warming beans, bringing them up to the desired temperature.

“It’s not like we have many options these days.”

Sackler notes how you refrain from looking in his direction, and instead direct your reply downward towards the soon to be meal. He grits his teeth together, jaw muscles ticking in visible agitation at the remark. It’s been one year, three hundred and sixty-five days, since the man in black’s arrival to Earth and only you, or so you’ve claimed, are the one that can stop him—only you can stop the sickness that he’s wrought on the planet and its people, and yet here you stand in his shitty apartment’s kitchen of all places, cooking some fucking beans.

It’s enough to drive him mad.

“We might not have options, but you sure as shit do,” he snaps, now having lost his patience. “That man, or whatever the fuck he is,” he says, pointing a finger in the direction of the window, “is out there. We know where he is, where he’s been for the last year and still you haven’t done shit about it!”

The wooden spoon once held in your hand now clatters against the side of the pot, the beans forgotten as Adam watches you twist off the flame and turn to face him with a sneer.

“I told you, it isn’t that simple. He’s dangerous , and he’s stronger than he’s ever been. And in case you haven’t noticed—”

“All the more reason to get it done, Kid! No use standing around here wasting time.”

“—I’m the last one of my kind left!”

Silence fills the space when your respective outbursts subside, and it isn’t until then that Sackler notices that you’ve taken steps to bring yourself closer to him. He wonders if you’ve noticed it too. Adam watches as your lips press together into a thin line, evidence of your displeasure with him and the situation the two of you find yourself in.

In a moment of seemingly perfectly choreographed movements, the two of you reach for one another, hands grasping at fabric, skin, anything and everything that you can reach. A groan of satisfaction tumbles from Sackler’s mouth the moment that he draws your body closer until you are firmly pressed against him, the sound greedily inhaled by you amidst a clashing of lips.

***

Hours later, when the light sheen of sweat covering your bodies has cooled, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against his, Adam turns his head and deposits a kiss to the crown of your own. In immediate response, you exhale a barely audible sigh.

There is a palpable energy that fills the space now; it is not the same explosive kind from earlier, the very one that led the two of you to the mattress you currently find yourselves on, no… This time it is different, uncomfortable. Sackler’s lips press together briefly, his jaw working in the familiar way you’ve come to notice in the short span of time that you’ve known him.

“I can practically hear the gears grinding in that head of yours, Kid,” he murmurs.

In reply you hum, though a moment of silence elapses before you respond. “We can’t,” you begin, the two words spoken with a quietness to rival your earlier sigh. Quickly, you lapse into more soundless thought.

Sackler’s arm tightens around your form, holding you closer to him; it is a wordless response that speaks volumes. Don’t , it says. Let us have this one moment of peace before the inevitable storm comes raging in and one of us finds ourselves swept away .

“Adam…” His name is a whisper, spoken so softly that if there were any other remaining souls in this building, not one would hear.

“Don’t,” he exclaims more forcefully than he’d intended. The words that follow are quieter, mournful, even. “Just don’t…” A shaky breath is inhaled and Sackler closes his eyes, an all too familiar ache beginning to make its home in the depths of his chest.

Beside him, bedsheets rustle as you lift yourself up out of the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Slowly, Adam’s eyelids part to look up only to find that you have propped yourself up by your elbow to peer down at him with a pained expression etched onto your features. A hand lifts and his eyes flutter closed once more when the sensation of your fingertips delicately tracing his cheek can be felt.

Such a tender touch only seems to feed the ache.

“We can’t be together.” The pain that he feels seems to be echoed in your own statement. It is a realization that drives the proverbial knife deeper and then twists. Your fingertips skim along his lips which now quiver with unshed sobs for a love that has died before it has even had a chance to bloom. “It’s too dangerous.”

A large hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you in place so that he may press kiss after kiss into your open palm in what feels like a desperate bid to prevent this moment from fading from existence. Adam shakes his head and slides your hand over to rest against his cheek, nuzzling into the touch before opening his eyes once more. This time when he looks up at you, he can see the tears that have gathered at your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks at any moment.

You exhale a trembling breath and when you close your eyes, the tears fall freely. Sackler lifts his hands, thumbs wicking away the moisture from your face as best he can. With a gentle hush, he guides you down to lay against him again, this time with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You understand that, right,” you ask through the sobs that now begin to rack your body.

In response, Adam wraps an arm around your back, his other hand now cradling your head as you rest against him. “Yeah, Kid… I do,” he whispers in reply, his own tears now blurring his vision.

***

A rustling of wrappers can be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. When Adam cracks one eye open, it’s to find that the light of an early dawn has begun to creep its way through the sheer curtain draped across his window, spilling in to illuminate your form as you work to close his backpack. He groans and lifts a hand to rub his palm against one eye, working the grogginess from it whilst he begins to sit upright.

“Whasssgoin’on,” he slurs, voice still thick with sleep.

He’s met by the thump of the backpack as it lands against his chest, and coughing out a breath, he wraps his arms around the material in immediate reaction.

“Get up,” you say, now turning your attention to your own gear, ensuring that you have everything that you need. “Get dressed and make sure you take that with you. We’re heading out.”

“Out?” The sleep that had laced his voice has dissipated entirely, now replaced with a brief bout of confusion. “Out where?”

Sliding your gun into its holster, you pivot simultaneously, the soles of your boots scuffing the old worn hardwood floor. “We have a stop to make. I need more ammunition and then we’re headed into Manhattan.”

It takes him a moment, but when the weight of your words hit him with full force, it’s impossible for you to miss the look of recognition that passes across his face. He scrambles from the bed, momentarily discarding the backpack in order to grab his clothes from the pile he’d discarded on the floor just a day earlier. At long last, after everything he has endured over the course of the last year, after everything that you have endured, as well as the two of you together, the day has finally arrived. And yet…

There is a small seed of hesitation that has sewn itself into the depths of his belly, sprouting up into worry.

***

Brooklyn remains as quiet as it has been for this past year; a gentle breeze cuts through a brownstone-lined street, rustling Sackler’s hair and causing the near floor-length duster that you wear to billow in its wake. The soles of your boots scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles that have torn up from the once heavily-traveled road. Beside you, Sackler adjusts the strap of the backpack that dangles precariously from his shoulder.

“You know you aren’t going to find any ammunition in any of the stores around here.” The words leave him matter-of-factly, as if he knows this to be true.

Your head swivels to look over at him and your eyes squint slightly as if to ask for further elaboration on the subject at hand. In automatic response, his hands lift, palms facing outward as if in defense though the two of you carry on walking alongside one another.

“Gun laws,” he says. “They’re super strict here.”

You huff out a grunt in reply and mutter a barely audible ‘that’s fine’ in return to which Adam quickly follows with: “T-that’s fine? What do you mean that’s fine? Hey! Hey , where are you going?!”

Stunned into momentary silence, Adam watches as you veer off course and make a beeline for one of the passing brownstones that sits vacant. “I don’t need a store,” you call out from over your shoulder.

With a swift, solid kick of your boot to the center of the door, you manage to dislodge the lock and allow yourself entry. The interior of the home is dark in spite of the sun that hangs high overhead just outside—a byproduct of city living. Upon further investigation, the home looks tidy, orderly, as if whomever used to live here locked up and left long before the sickness that swept the nation one year ago was able to settle in and take hold of the building’s occupants.

“Up here,” Adam says, the sudden boom of his voice cutting through your thoughts.

He is already halfway up the wooden staircase that leads to the second floor by the time you look over, taking the steps two at a time to reach the landing. It isn’t long until you are close behind, following him into one of the spacious bedrooms. Sackler’s backpack falls to the floor with a light thump just as he all but dives to the floor, his lean body stretching out as he peers beneath the bed. A hand reaches under, retrieving a small black case along with two boxes.

“Check these.” He rises up from his spot on the floor and immediately pivots to make his way into the large walk-in closet.

The sound of hangers sliding along metal rods can be heard as he pushes row after row of clothes aside in order to hunt down what he suspects will be a second weapon. By the time that he re-emerges, it is to find that you have scattered the boxes of ammunition from beneath the bed on top of the duvet. Beside the discarded ammo sits the black box, now opened to reveal Glock.

“This isn’t what I need,” you reply before turning your head to look over at where he stands at the threshold of the closet. “But that is.”

Just as you nod your head to the boxes of ammunition belonging to the very same revolver that sits on your hip, you stride across the expanse of the bedroom to approach him. Sackler hands the boxes to you without hesitation, watching as you squirrel the individual bullets away in the bandolier that sits snugly around your waist.

When the last of the ammunition has been tucked away, you lift your gaze to find Sackler staring back at you with an expression that you can’t quite pin down. There is an air of wistfulness about it and something else you cannot put your finger on.

“Ready,” you ask, lacing the question with an enthusiasm that is so manufactured that it feels bitter and foreign in your mouth.

Sackler nods but does not respond verbally. Instead, he turns and makes his way out of the bedroom first with you following close behind. Back by the bed, still lying on the floor, remains the backpack that Sackler had brought with him on the first leg of your journey.

***

Even from the Brooklyn Bridge, it is impossible to miss how the tallest residential building in the whole of the city looms above all else. But here, now, standing just beneath it on Park Avenue, makes all other vantage points pale in comparison. The front wall of the building that once housed luxury accommodations is all glass, pure and pristine—not a single pane disturbed or broken, unlike the remainder of the buildings that have gone neglected since the planet’s downfall.

“This is the one.”

“Yeeeeah.” Adam’s head tips back, eyes squinting to peer up at the sheer size of the building. “I figured.” When he rights his stance, head turning now to look over at you, he rolls a shoulder into a shrug. “Nothing says ‘the villain’s in here’ like the only untouched building in all of New York, and my guess, the world.”

You hum out an unintelligible reply—a grunt of sorts, something that requires no retort from Sackler, but receives one nonetheless.

“Hey,” he calls out, a hand snapping out to grasp your upper arm just as you begin to take steps towards the building’s front door. Only when you turn to face him again does he ease his grasp and then release it entirely. “Whatever happens in there—”

“Adam…”

“—whatever happens in there…” Sackler pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly, eyes searching your own. “That son of a bitch is dead, yeah?”

He watches as your head nods, albeit a bit more slowly than he’d like. When he says nothing, you nod again, this time with more conviction. “Yes.”

In turn, Sackler nods and utters a ‘ good ’ before following you through the front door. The lobby of the building is just as the outside stands: untouched and in good condition just as the day that it had been prior to the man in black’s arrival to the city. Despite the lack of people in the space—security or otherwise—it’s impossible to miss the hum of anticipation that shoots through the air like electricity. Every hair on the back of Adam’s neck seems to rise with the feeling, and his eyes dart around the room whilst he continues to follow your lead to the nearby staircase.

“Woah, hold on,” he whispers as the stairwell’s door clicks shut softly behind him, his hand once again reaching to grasp your arm to effectively stop your advance towards the stairs.

“What?!” The words that you hiss out in reply echo slightly against the concrete walls and floor alike.

A gentle tug pulls you closer, and though you don’t resist, it isn’t lost on Adam how your eyes narrow ever so slightly at the abrupt halt of your plans. “Something’s... off … It,” he starts, sighing and releasing his hold on you to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It feels wrong.”

When your brows crease in momentary confusion, he elaborates.

“You don’t think it’s weird that no one’s here? There’s no, I don’t fucking know, evil henchmen or some shit to stop us?”

A huff of air is expelled just as you turn your gaze upward as if to look to the floors above where you will undoubtedly find the man at long last. Adam watches as your lips press together momentarily before you look back to him and whisper once more. “Does it really matter? He’s here,” you insist, your own hand reaching to grasp his forearm. “You feel it. I know you do.”

When silence fills the space between you, Adam nods once in affirmation to your statement. He does feel him, it’s impossible not to. The crackle of electricity in the air has only grown more intense even only having moved a few hundred feet upon entry into the building.

“Come on,” you say, loosening yourself from his hold just as your hand slips from his arm simultaneously. “Let’s finish this.”

***

Thunder rumbles beyond the panes of glass that makeup the exterior walls by the time the two of you reach your destination and the final floor of the eighty-five story building. The door staircase’s door leads to a small hall that in turn leads to a solid black door complete with a tiny peep hole that the former occupants undoubtedly used to peer out at any visitors. Sackler surmises that now such a peep hole is useless and unused.

The feeling of unease that has settled into the depths of his stomach only seems to grow when you reach for the handle, turning it without resistance and finding that the door is unlocked. It’s a trap, he wants to call out, but that—he knows—would only serve to verbalize the obvious. You are just as aware as he, and yet…

The two of you push onward, stepping into the penthouse apartment that overlooks the entirety of Manhattan. Beyond the panes of glass that makeup the living area, Central Park stands empty, bathed in the purple light of the rapidly impending storm. To your left, movement captures both yours and Sackler’s attention and when your heads collectively turn to find the source, a sweeping sense of dread drapes over Adam like the heaviest of blankets.

“I see you’ve finally found me.” The soles of the boots the man in black wears, land heavily against the cool marble tile that covers the floor where he walks. “It only took you, oh,” he pauses briefly, pretending to check his watch, “a little over a year now. I thought your tracking skills were far superior than that, Gunslinger. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough,” Adam sneers, taking his place beside you.

The man’s gaze slides from you to Sackler and back again. There is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before his lips part, stretching wide across his face in a toothy grin. Laughter fills the space as his head is thrown back momentarily. Though the sound fades, the amused grin remains when the man’s attention is turned to you, effectively dismissing Sackler.

“Who is this? Is this the reason you’ve taken your sweet old time?” The man tuts in disapproval, his gaze flitting to where Adam stands, sizing him up with a single sweep down and then back up again. “You always did have a weak heart,” he mocks. “It’s a wonder you are the last one of your kind standing.”

The clouds that roll in now block the sun entirely, casting a dark shadow over the city that spills over into the living room and draping itself across the three of you. Outside, lightning strikes nearby as thunder rolls ominously overhead. The hand that rests at your side twitches in eager anticipation of the quick draw that will undoubtedly occur sooner rather than later.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s gaze once again slides over to where Adam stands, hands balled into fists as if in preparation for the fight to come. The charged air seems to thicken to an uncomfortable degree and for a fleeting moment, Sackler wonders if this sullen energy is radiating from the man himself.

Another strike of lightning illuminates the space, followed rapidly by another that seems to pass through the nearby floor to ceiling length windowpane. With a wave of an outstretched hand, the man sends the bolt in your direction, seeking to put an end to this before it can even begin. Your hand lifts to retrieve the gun from your holster, but quick of a draw as you are, not even you are quick enough for the event that unfolds before your very eyes.

Whilst the bolt comes careening towards you, a large body steps in front at the last possible moment, absorbing the blow.

“No!” You cry out in disbelief, pulling the gun free and firing off three shots in rapid succession, two of which hit their intended target.

As the man in black clutches at his torso, stumbling back behind a nearby piece of furniture for cover, you collapse down onto your knees beside a wounded Sackler.

“No, no, no, no, no, Adam.” The gun in your hand clatters to the floor heavily whilst your hands now roam over his body frantically. You know that there is nothing you can do, the blow has been dealt and the damage has been done. No amount of wishing can save him now.

Sackler chokes, splutters, and wheezes as he struggles to catch what little breath he can. “Kid,” he manages to gasp through labored breaths.

An anguished sob sounds from the back of your throat upon hearing him. Tears begin to fill your vision, spilling over onto your cheeks as your head tips forward to rest your forehead against his shirt near the blackened edges where the lightning bolt made contact with his chest.

“Kid,” he rasps again.

A large hand settles at the back of your head when you lift it just enough to peer down at him. He’s gone impossibly pale, and the realization makes your heart shatter into the smallest pieces imaginable. He is, you know, on the verge of death.

“I—”

“No, Adam. Don’t,” you hush softly, bringing your own hand to his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. “Just rest, you’re going to be okay.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, like ash after a fire has decimated everything in its wake.

There is a slight shake of his head, and the hand at the back of your own presses just enough pressure for you to follow his lead, allowing him to draw you closer. Weakly, he lifts his head up from the ground to meet you on your descent. The tears come effortlessly now when your lips meet, and the hands that once roamed his form now hold his face as you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

“Kid, I—” A series of coughs wrack his body as you help to lower his head back down to the ground. “I. Kid.” Sackler’s eyes roll as he inhales an arduous breath. “I lov—”

The breath leaves his body in a rush, chest stilling and body falling limp.

The golden rays of the setting sun part through the black clouds and cast themselves upon the scene as if to highlight the tragedy that’s just unfolded. But now is not the time for mourning; there will be a time and a place for this later, though every fiber of your being screams for you to stay with him now.

Rapidly you blink, seeking to dispel the tears from your eyes and rid yourself of your blurred vision. Slowly, you push yourself up and onto your feet, grabbing your gun as you go, your gaze still focused on the now lifeless body that lies in front of you. This mission, the one you’d been on solely for yourself and the realm from whence you have traveled from, is now a quest for the man you’d come to love so completely. For him you will do this. For him you will see to it that the man in black will be no more, that order will be restored to Adam’s world once more and that things will revert to the way they once were.

This will be his legacy.

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

Tagging my fellow Sackler lovers!

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thebeautyoffanfics · 3 years

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Hm can I get some headcanons for Mitsuba, Kou, and Nene with a best friend who has tourettes (specifically coprolalia) hehehehe :)

(platonic) mitsuba sousuke and gn!reader, (platonic) kou minamoto and gn!reader, (platonic) yashiro nene and gn!reader

a/n: of course!! I don’t personally have tourettes, but I had a period not long ago where I went on a “learning about Tourettes” spree, so! I hope my knowledge is at least somewhat accurate :D If not, I do apologize- I sincerely hope I don’t misrepresent anything! Either way, thank you so much for requesting!! <3

warnings: none <3

word count: 1,608

Mitsuba Sousuke <3

To be completely honest, he was slightly thrown off when he met you. He never met someone with Tourettes, and wasn’t insanely familiar with it- especially coprolalia.

After you explained what it was, he’d nod, unsure what to say. “That’s… something I’ve never heard of.” He told you honestly, resting his head on his hand. Yet, he didn’t think any less of you than he thought of anyone else.

Once the two of you got closer, he thought it was cool to learn more about Tourettes. After a while, he likes to think that he has a pretty decent grasp on it, and feels rather proud of himself.

When the two of you become closer, he occasionally will openly laugh at some of your tics. He doesn’t mean anything rude by it, and will tell you he wasn’t laughing at you. If you brush it off, telling him that it was okay, he’d be a bit more comfortable when you said something particularly funny.

At some point, if he hears you tell someone to fuck off, he’ll snort every time. He’ll look over at you, a hand by his mouth as he says, “You tell them, (Y/N).” Tell him to fuck off, and he pretends to be offended- of course, he isn’t actually hurt, he’s just obliged to act that way. All in his personality, y’know-

On a bad tic day, Mitsuba definitely doesn’t laugh. He genuinely feels bad for you, because, even if you say some admittedly funny things, he knows it isn’t easy. No matter how you tell him it’s fine, and that it’s basically a part of you by now, he knows that doesn’t make it any more ideal.

While he isn’t exactly sure what to do during those days, especially should you have a tic attack, he stays with you throughout it. If anything had upset you, he does his best to comfort you- overall, he sits there with you, not judging you, and making sure that you don’t end up hurting yourself.

Mitsuba is surprisingly patient with you- if you’re struggling to get a sentence out, he sits there, head on his hand, his usual less-than-impressed expression. Despite that, he doesn’t mean any harm, and you’re aware of it.

Genuinely snorts sometimes- especially if you’ve developed a new tic, and he doesn’t quite expect it. Honestly, as I’ve said, he doesn’t mean any harm- and he’ll control himself if he hurts your feelings. It simply catches him off guard sometimes.

BUT, if someone (an ignorant someone, as we are all painfully aware that people can be extremely dense, to say the least) makes a negative or insensitive comment, he’s ready to go off on them, should they be aware that you have Tourettes, and be aware of what it is. So, he will go off- scolding them, calling them rude words, explaining that you can’t help it.

If it’s one of those “stop cussing” comments, especially coming from someone who you’ve already established with that you have Tourettes, he’s the one saying fuck off, right to their face. He’s not going to put up with people like that, and he sincerely hopes you won’t either.

Though he knows that you have Tourettes, he won’t treat you differently because of it. He’ll brush off your obscene outburst, usually with a snicker, continuing the conversation at your own pace. He didn’t befriend you because of it- and he wouldn’t stop being your friend because of it. Overall, Tourettes or not, you’re his friend (Y/N). And that's how he's bound to treat you.

Kou Minamoto <3

I’m sorry, he’s honestly really clueless-

He tries, he tries his absolute best. He supports you, and he listens to you explain what it is, but he’s just a bit thrown off by your tics. He won’t be rude, of course! He just does his best to understand, and doesn’t judge you in the least. He may be clueless, but he’s still a sweetheart <3

When he hears you suddenly blurting curse words out, he sort of assumes it's a normal part of Tourettes. Once you explain that it’s not as common as portrayed- actually, that only about 10% of those with Tourettes have Coprolalia- he’ll raise his eyebrows, his eyes filled with interest.

“Ah, you’re special then! Wait-”

While Mitsuba laughed in the last set of headcanons, it was your turn to laugh- Kou… he tries his best. He never means any harm, and would never do anything he thought would cause harm. That involved some… interesting words of encouragement. Sometimes unnecessary, oftentimes much appreciated.

If you need help on a particularly bad tic day, he’s there for you immediately! Struggling to type? Hand over your phone! Struggling to write? Don’t worry, you can take his notes! He’s your #1 supporter, as he would be for any of his friends- he’d feel rude if he didn’t try to help you when you were struggling.

Feel free to refuse his help, of course! His feelings won’t get hurt, and he’ll just be happy that he offered to help!

Change your mind, and he’ll immediately help you, no worries about refusing it previously- he’s got ya, he’s got ya.

Like Mitsuba, he’s also very patient. Sitting there, his eyes holding the same interest in your words as they would if you were continuing on flawlessly. He’s rather good at ignoring your tics, focusing solely on your intended words.

If someone makes a rude comment, he’ll get defensive- but, he’ll calmly, though a bit cooler than his usual tone, explain to them that you have Tourettes. If they continue to be rude after having him explain that, he’ll be less kind. Kou doesn’t put up with rude people, especially towards his best friend. He’s gonna defend you all day long, if that’s what it takes.

Don’t bother with an “I can defend myself, Kou-” because he’s well aware. He’ll say that he knows you can, but he’s going to defend you no matter what. You’re his friend, and it’s his job to protect you- or in his eyes, it is.

He treats you just the same when you’re having a tic attack. He isn’t exactly sure what to do, so he figures doing the same will work. He may ask if you’re alright, but he typically leaves it at that. Actually- he isn’t entirely sure what a tic attack is until you explain it. Once you explain it, he’ll ask you what he should do when it happens, and he will follow your instructions exactly- whatever they may be.

Overall, he’s Kou Minamoto! (Y/N)’s best friend and #1 supporter and #1 defense!!

Yashiro Nene <3

She had a slight grasp on Tourettes before meeting you, and definitely takes your words, along with some research she does at home, to understand what it is completely! She even looks into Coprolalia once you tell her you have it.

Like the other two, she’ll do her best to treat you normally. She’s well aware that you’re just as human as anyone else in the class, therefore you don’t deserve to be looked at as anything other than. Who cares if you’ve got any sort of disorder? You’re a person, not a circus act, and that’s final.

If you want others to ask questions, or are comfortable with jokes being made about it, that’s 100% your business. Yashiro isn’t going to get defensive if she knows it’s alright with you. In fact, if someone makes an offhand comment, she gives you a certain look, basically asking “is that alright?”

Depending on your response, her reaction is different. If you don’t mind, she ignores them. If you do mind, she’ll glare at them. Yashiro isn’t the best at harsh words, but she still stands up for you, giving them a piece of her mind.

Yashiro is probably the most casual about it? She’s not quite as protective as Kou, but she isn’t quite as casual as Mitsuba. She’s just… an average, loving friend. Defending you when you need it, and holding the patience and care that you’d expect from, you know, a friend.

She’s a professional at brushing off Hanako’s teasing by this point, so brushing off your outbursts is no effort! Just as she pretends Hanako isn’t there, she’ll pretend your tics aren’t there. She’s patient with you, as the other two are, letting you take your time. She won’t get offended if you interrupt her with a tic, instead letting it happen, then continuing like nothing happened.

Yashiro definitely makes sure to establish that there is no need for you to apologize!! She’ll touch your arm, looking you in the eyes and telling you that you can’t help it, therefore it’s not something you should apologize for! You didn’t mean any harm, and she’s aware that suppressing the tics is either hard, not good for you, or nearly impossible. Especially around her, she doesn’t want you to feel obliged to suppress your tics.

“You’re my friend, (Y/N)! Don’t worry about it, really. It’s not your fault, so don’t apologize.”

Should you have a tic attack, she’ll try to comfort you, making sure that nothing caused it to happen. If something spurred it on, she’ll get you away from whatever it is, while also getting you away from anything you could hit yourself on, should you have tics that involve moving your body. Once it’s over, she’ll make sure you’re alright, doing her best to continue to comfort you. Overall, Yashiro really is a sweetheart. She’s your friend, and glad to be just that- and, as your friend, she’s going to stick up for you, and treat you like any other person should. We love her <33

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elinaline · 4 years

Text

Why is no one talking about this ? or a guide to making the difference between scientific breakthrough and predatory bullcrap on Tumblr

First of all, I want to preface this by saying that I am myself doing a PhD in material science, so I know what I’m talking about, and I also know that academia tends to advantage senior scientists that are already well-known for their research, and that some countries are still under-represented despite their brilliant researchers (it is for example well-known in the field of soft matter that Indians and Chinese know what they are talking about, and yet most of the citations will be Western Europeans and Japanese people). However, I too often see tumblr posts showing the allegedly revolutionary findings of a random scientist that paradoxically no one has heard about, eliciting a strong emotional response and many reblogs, to turn out to be a fake published in a predatory journal that has been refuted years ago. It’s tiring, it creates distrust towards science which is the last fucking thing we need right now (looking at you, anti-vaxxers and 5G fear mongers), and it endangers people as it promotes pseudo-science bullshit (looking at you essential oils fans, and Didier Raoult).

So how to know if the thing you are sharing is truly a cool albeit under-promoted discovery, or if it is someone trying to sell you something dangerous and unethical ?

Without getting in the details of the article, a first easy thing to do, especially if the findings are presented as a huge scientific breakthrough, is to Google it. If it is truly so big, you can be guaranteed that some news outlet will have talked about it, so you can search some key words and the name of the authors to find what is said about it.

For example this post claimed Pr Ezeibe in Nigeria found a cure to HIV, so I went and googled “ezeibe nigeria hiv cure” and here’s what the headlines look like:

Lots of articles from newspapers of different political sides, half of them written by Nigerian authors, all of them suspicious of this finding, for valid reasons.

Now if you don’t believe news websites (I mean, me neither on some topics but not on everything, but that’s another subject entirely), you can examine the articles more in detail.

The first thing you want to search then is in which journal was the article published ? If you come from a news website you will have to go back to the original article, it’s sometimes a bit of a hassle because newspapers can be shit at citing their sources, but every scientific finding is published in a journal in a very codified way. However not all those journals are equal ! If you can be pretty trusting of any journal published by Springer, Elsevier or Wiley, some more independent ones will require further examination. Indeed in science, whether it be STEMs or humanities, there is the notion of predatory journals. Those journals that send hundreds of emails to researchers, and will publish any article as long as the authors are paying, like this Chinese journal publishing last week a joke article linking electric scooters accidents and hydroxychloroquine without checking it. Luckily, you can find lists of predatory journals that are updated and checked regularly, here are three of them: [x] [x] [x]

Now, not all articles published in those journals are false science however. And some journals are balancing on an edge between pseudoscience and really cool weird findings that could find no other publisher, like PLOS One which has some really interesting publications, and some others with a more -ah- discutable review I’d say. At this point if you still are not sure of how accurate the article is there is only one solution: you have to read it.

When reading an article to try and fact-check it, you are basically doing the job of a reviewer, and that is searching for some specific items. First of all look at the references: how many are they ? Are the citations concentrated in the introduction, as if the author was just trying to show how relevant they are, or are they disseminated throughout the text to explain some models and comparisons and draw common points and differences with other systems ? What proportion of the references are self-citations ? In those citations is the author working alone ? or are they in a team ? Are the co-authors always the same and if yes is it the continuation of a project ? or are they changing, and from various labs working on a similar domain and sharing their expertise ? I would say if the author is quoting themself a lot (as in maybe over one third of the references being themself), if the team never changes when the subject does and everyone seems to be in the same lab, I would be wary, but it can also mean that they are leading the way on a particular topic (that was the case of my team director last year, the lab had conceived a new composite material and was naturally the first to publish on it regarding different aspects), in which case if you’re really curious you can go even further and see how many citations in other works those references have. If it’s a lot of self-reference on different topics that are almost not cited by other authors that’s a huge red flag.

Other things to look for are the sample sizes, the statistics and the calculation for the error margins, especially if the sample sizes are small (small being generally under 100 for complex systems), if there are figures how are the axes ? Are there error bars ? How are these error bars calculated ? Are there guides for the eyes ? do those look coherent or could any other guide be placed instead and the conclusion would change ? If there are models are those deducted over a hundred data points or just three ? Where do these models come from ? If you’re feeling in a math mood you can try to look up the scientific units in the formulae to see if they’re homogeneous or full bullshit but that’s getting a bit too invested.

With all those hints you should get a better idea of how precise the researchers were and whether the article is interesting or if it is full of false claims ! Of course it cannot prevent genuine error like when we thought we’d proved the existence of superluminal neutrinos, but at least it should stop you from reblogging sensationalist titles leading to a general distrust in scientific research.

If you’ve come this far thank you so much for taking the time to read this !

#long post #here ya go #I tried to be as exhaustive as possible #predatory journals #pseudoscience #peer review #how to make the difference

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kieraelieson · 3 years

Note

“I thought you said you can’t dance?”

@ Logan?

“Come on, please?” Roman asked. “I just wanted to dance and it’s not the same with a figment, it really isn’t.”

Logan, who’d already come this far into the imagination, and didn’t feel inclined towards making a fool of himself, shook his head. “I can’t dance in the ways you would want to, Roman.”

“What ways would you dance?” Roman asked, more hope in his face than before, and the imaginary stage shimmering at the edges, ready to mold into something entirely different.

“No, that’s not what I meant—“

“Oh, please, Logan! I’ll let you pick the dance, I’ll let you pick the music, everything!”

It was hard to resist favors for Roman without good reason. He didn’t have something he was supposed to be doing instead, and he wasn’t risking anything except for his own pride in front of Roman. And… and the worst part was that he’d been on a research ‘rabbit trail’ the day before and actually had a dance he’d studied and had considered attempting.

“I… suppose…”

Roman’s eyes practically sparkled.

Logan sighed. Apparently he was, indeed, making a fool of himself. “I’ll set the scene…”

Roman stifled a sound that would assuredly have been loud and quite possibly embarrassing, bouncing up on his toes.

Logan closed his eyes, concentrating very carefully. The imagination became malleable around him, and he formed it carefully and as accurately as possible.

He only opened his eyes again when he could hear the footsteps and music. Roman was looking out over his work, and Logan couldn’t see his reaction.

Then suddenly Logan’s wrist was grabbed, and he was pulled into the swirl of the dance.

“It’s like Tangled!” Roman cheered, glowing and happy, easily picking up the steps and flow of the dance.

It took Logan a few more seconds to stop stumbling, but he did eventually do so, and found he did indeed enjoy the dance.

“I thought you said you can’t dance?” Roman said, a slight tease offset by his genuine grin.

“Certainly not ballroom dancing,” Logan said quickly. “But I’ve been curious about this for a while.”

The dance whirled them away from each other then, and the next time Logan saw Roman he was almost literally glowing with happiness and enjoyment. And any tiny bit of embarrassment he’d felt fell away, as he grabbed for Roman’s hand to pull him back into the same circle with him. And Logan couldn’t help meeting Roman’s smile with one of his own.

#my own work #prompt fill #Logan sanders #Roman sanders

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 3 years

Text

The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

#Spider-Man #Spider-Man AU #Peter Parker #Earth-61610 #Cape Code Authority #Reed Richards | Mister Fantastic #Flint Marko | Sandman #Scrier #story #long #Odyssey Prelude

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inmyarmswrappedin · 3 years

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i am catching up on some of your posts from yesterday and i wanted to add that i don’t think that the remakes have exactly tarnished og skam, but maybe more like watered it down in some viewers’ eyes? a lot of people saw og skam as unique in its format and way of portraying teens along with important topics. but after three years of the same stories being repeated across the remakes, it seems like some people have just gotten tired of those same stories and that then gets translated into people forgetting that they were actually new and unique when just og skam was airing. i don’t know if that makes sense? the stories got wrung dry, honestly. which is why i so wish that the remakes had just used the skam format and told their own stories, so that the universe could expand in terms of who is being represented and also so that og skam could just stand on its own once again.

Hi anon! 🍒 This is an interesting ask (btw thanks for the thoughtful asks you guys have been sending me all this time! I genuinely enjoy not just reading your asks, but giving them a platform and discussing them). I feel you in some aspects, but maybe not others.

I agree that the remakes have watered Skam down for some viewers, but I wouldn't say they have watered down the stories per se. I think it's more, like, for some people Skam is simply a show that drops in clips during the week with yellow timestamps and a lead character. That is all that Skam is and nothing else. But if you've been reading my tumblr long enough, you might've caught discussions about how Skam made use of the illusion of "realism" to actually show idealism and hope. However, for some viewers, Wtfock is just as realistic as Skam even when it is continually cruel and disdainful towards its characters. This is a way in which (certain) remakes have watered down Skam, because Skam had a very specific mission statement and feel and intention, that people don't think it's an essential part of Skam that should be kept throughout the versions. And this also goes for aspects like showing a character's vulnerability, for instance. (@lightsandlostbells explained how that was lost in some remakes because they cast actors who, simply put, were too old and self-aware to convey teenage vulnerability anymore.)

I also feel like Skam was really good at finding very specific and personal moments that hadn't really been shown on mainstream TV before, like Isak taking that gay quiz for instance. That was the first time I saw a gay character do that on a piece of media, and yet soooo many people resonated with it! It's small stuff like Noora losing her shit over the fish cakes, which was such a poignant portrayal of controlling one's intake of food not to lose weight (as EDs are often portrayed on TV), but to have control over something when your life is unraveling. I feel like this kind of scenes came about as a result of the extensive research NRK did before sitting down to write the show, like I genuinely feel they listened to the people they interviewed and sought to be accurate and respectful of their experiences. (However limited by their own views as white feminists/white moderates they were.) The remakes, for the most part, have lost these small moments, because they're more focused on dropping as many clips as possible to keep tags alive, more focused on having lots of things going on, maybe to make up for shorter, less intimate clips.

This is how I feel the remakes have watered down Skam (and tbf, the extent to which the remakes have watered down Skam varies as far as I'm concerned, like I don't place Druck and eskam and Austin with Wtfock, France or Italia, and I don't think anyone will be surprised there). Because I think if the remakes had focused on truth over spectacle, I genuinely feel people wouldn't be as tired nor the stories as wrung dry. I feel like they focused more on telling the story than telling the emotional truth behind the story.

At any rate, I feel like if a story is adapted well, it can be adapted over and over and over. Like, how many versions of Romeo and Juliet are out there? Or Pride and Prejudice? But not every version of these stories is equal, which I also feel was something the wider Skams fandom had issues with facing for a while. Like, it was kind of verboten to like one remake more than another, and even more so to like a remake better than Skam. (And for as much as this ask is all about how the remakes watered Skam down... Here's the thing: Some people like those remakes better anyway. And that's fine!)

You could say, "well, people don't just mainline 8 versions of P&P in a single year, maybe those stories would be wrung dry if people did." And like, while I do think all the remakes try to capture international fandom to a bigger or lesser extent, or at least enjoy the international attention... I also don't think any team is expecting people to watch all 8 versions lol. I don't think all that many people involved with a Skam (whether crew or cast) has watched all 8 versions with all of its seasons. So like, that's on us for feeling like we have to watch everything or we're somehow being unfair to a remake or another. And it certainly doesn't help when stans of a particular remake will be like, "well, you're just looking for reasons to dislike this remake, Sander forgave Robbe so idk why you're still talking about it!!" as if I had some sort of vendetta against the Belgians or some shit.

I do miss Skam (or when Skam was at its best rather, like I don't miss Noora's season lmao, though it had its small moments like I've mentioned), but I also feel like... Maybe the people who enjoy the "watered down" remakes never really enjoyed Skam for all that it was, but only certain elements of it. And like, I can certainly relate to that!! Because I definitely enjoyed certain elements of Skam while not liking some other aspects and liking how the remakes did them more (like, for instance, I MUCH prefer how eskam did Nora/Alejandro over Noorhelm and idc that it's "watered down" Skam and that we don't see as many small moments with Nora G as we did with Noora). And I get that Skam stans (or, like, evak stans, because I truly only see this sentiment about wishing that Skam hadn't been wrung dry from evak stans, sorry, I've never seen it from Noorhelm or Sana stans, and Mohnstad stans seem to be angrier that none of the remake P-Chrises capture Herman's raw sexuality (LMAOOOOOO) than anything else) got to have a fandom without comparisons to other evaks or without complaints that evak was too white, cis and male. Honestly, when people draw certain comparisons between Isak and a remake Isak, I too want to scream. But otoh, without the remakes, I wouldn't have David (or Shay, Jo, Cris, Joana, Eva V, Nora G, Amira N, Lucas R, and many others) so you know... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ask #Anonymous #skams adjacent discouse #my inbox has become a refuge for bitter skam stans and ykw I'm cool with it #because I hope to see YOU ALL here when I start posting about skam scenes #(and compare them to the remakes but dw I'll only really be mean to skam for the isak/sana bench scene)

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op-sheepy · 3 years

Note

6. dark law, 19. Davy Back, 36. the whimsical captain trafalgar law, 55. marine pet AU!

Oh, good eye. Those are some of my favorites.. Here is another long one under the cut. Also sorry for the late response. :D

---------------------------------o

6. Dark Law

Essentially my take (one of them at least) on what would have happened had Corazon not taken Law from the Donquixote pirates but left anyway when he thought Law had ratted him out.

Some details regarding this:

Rocinante returns to the marines and was able to submit the intelligence he'd gathered. This doesn't do much except inconvenience Doflamingo, as already acknowledged during Law and Doffy's fight.

Vergo gets discovered so he just goes back to the family.

Law does not eat the Ope Ope no mi since Doflamingo never intended for him to. At least, initially.

Because, I'm assuming, not everyone can perform the "Perennial Youth Operation," as it was stated they needed to be 'wise' or 'knowledgeable' and being a doctor does not really automatically equal that, Doflamingo had to kill the users he had chosen when none of them could do it so the fruit could go back to the circulation and he could feed it to the next potentially qualified person he could find.

Law's Amber Lead Syndrome got healed by one of these users though it was only because Law, himself, taught them how to (being familiar with the disease through his father's research as well being a good doctor)

Eventually, everyone realizes that Law is actually the most suited to wield the fruit (all the other smart doctors either having a fruit already or are simply inaccessible), certain that Law would be able to figure out how to do the ultimate technique. So, reluctantly, because he does care in his twisted conditional way, Doflamingo gives the Ope Ope no Mi to Law.

Law at this point had been raised as Doffy's right hand, all according to his plan. While he truly considers Law family and might genuinely regret making him give up his life, Doffy would still ask it from him because there is nothing more important than Doflamingo and his goals. A sentiment that almost everyone in his family considers true.

And Law... well...

Doflamingo rested both hands on Law's shoulders. His tinted glasses peering down, voice heavy with regret, "I wish there was another way."

Law's face remained impassive only broken by a small wistful twitch of his lips. It almost looked like a smile. He grasped Doflamingo's arm and directed him towards the operating table.

"You have taught me many lessons one of which was the futility of wishing for better circumstances." Law seated him and prepared his equipment.

"You taught me to take advantage of any situation by using whatever it is at my disposal." Carefully, he opened a package of sterile gloves. It wasn't really needed but the ritual of opening the pack and putting the gloves on one hand at a time always helped settle his nerves.

"I had expected you to do the same so I'd been prepared for this even before you gave me the fruit." Law lifted his eyes as he slid the first glove in place. "Don't feel too bad. I really am grateful for everything you've done for me. This is just me returning the favor."

He slid the other glove and stretched it over his hand. Softly, almost a whisper, without taking his eyes off his would-be patient, "I wish there was another way too." The snap that followed the release of the glove was too loud in the small operating room.

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19. Davy Back

Early Heart Pirates stuff. And another workaround for writing with at least one of the nameless Heart Pirates.

A Davy Back Fight is initiated for an abused crew member of the opposing crew because Penguin couldn't help himself. The rules are a work in progress, hence this fic's state in limbo.

I really like writing about how these guys were when starting out. They probably looked too adorable, to be honest, so in the harsh North Blue they must have had a hard time getting treated seriously. Not that that would have bothered them (I honestly think they exploited it a lot.)

The enemy captain stared intently at each Heart Pirate then at the list of members given to him. The man didn't bother controlling the upward curl of his mouth.

"No powers. No weapons. Sumo wrestling with your navigator and hand-to-hand combat with your doctor."

Shachi choked and struggled a little bit to get his breathing back to normal. He waved away Penguin's hands patting his back. The pats were a little too harsh, clearly an admonishment if the accompanying glare was anything to go by.

Penguin almost felt sorry for whoever it was being matched against Law. Bepo, while just as incensed by the other crew, was way too conscious of controlling his strength to ever really hurt anyone too badly. The captain, on the other hand, could turn someone into a useless writhing lump of agony by systematically dislocating joints Penguin hadn't even known could be dislocated. Gruesome as severed body parts looked, the powers could at least make it painless.

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36. The Whimsical Captain Trafalgar Law

More Heart Pirates stuff though would feature some of the allied crews as well. This is actually a series/multi-chaptered (or would be).

A Heart Pirates adventure fic where they all go along with their captain's whims all while trying to figure him out. His crew is so used to it they barely even flinch anymore.

Not to say they understand him because who knows what goes inside their captain's head. In fact, they debate that sometimes (a lot of times) the crew being divided among those who think Law has got a plan and those who think he's winging it (often switching really).

"You can't possibly tell me there's some sort of plan behind this."

More than half of the crew looked a bit skeptical, the rest looked defensive.

Clione held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'll follow the captain wherever same as you. But you gotta admit that there isn't always a method to his madness. He really does do things on a whim."

"I disagree. The captain's just saying that but he knows what he's doing. Pretty sure there's a reason behind all his actions..." Protests started, so Penguin amended, "...that isn't just him being a bastard on purpose because he hates someone. Which is a pretty valid reason since we are pirates."

"How about that time we raided the flour factory?" Ikkaku asked.

Penguin's reply came immediately. "Discreet incendiary." A beat. "...also he hates bread."

Before they could celebrate, Shachi interrupted, "His dislike of bread counts as a reason and since it's incidental it doesn't count as a whim."

With narrowed eyes, Clione tried again. "The monastery? Dressing up as monks."

"Medicinal plant in the courtyard bred by this one priest."

"Marineford?"

"Allowed us to get intel and allies."

"And the emergency operations without anesthesia?"

"Possible drug interaction. Emporio Ivankov and their hormone powers."

So continued their back and forth. By the end of it, Penguin and Shachi looked way too smug. Truthfully, they both agreed Law was more impulsive than he let on, often unaware of it himself. But they knew the man they chose to follow always had a plan and purpose (though not necessarily present at the start, but semantics)

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55. Marine Pet AU

Haha... Another one of those difficult to explain ones. Starring the Marines (particularly the original three admirals and Sengoku), and the Shichibukai.

Uhm... So everything's the same except the Shichibukai aren't pirates. They're animals. That's it.

It starts with a wayward flamingo wearing eyewear harassing officers near one of their HQs. Also the Marines need to improve their public image. For some reason, the best they came up with is to get a mascot. Hitting two birds with one stone. (Except they can't really hit the bird. They tried)

So the Marines build a zoo or a habitat. Here are the only types of pirates the World Government can tolerate. Aren't they cute and fluffy?

The public eat it all up. It's popular so now they have to commit. And really, these animals become so important their safety and wellbeing become the higher-ups' problem.

Kizaru is having fun. Aokiji is resigned. Akainu tries (he doesn't quite know what but he'll do what's best for the Marines even if that's getting that damn flamingo away from the reptile enclosure for the tenth time that week on a Tuesday.)

Will feature other marines as well as all of the Shichibukai. All of them.

He checked the schedule and sighed deeply.

Boa, Doflamingo, Mihawk.

He had the most troublesome ones. Briefly, he contemplated just letting his subordinates handle them but quickly scrapped the idea.

He wouldn't say these animals were attached to him and the other admirals but they got more difficult to handle the lower the rank as though these creatures' egos get ruffled. It wasn't a matter of ability. It was perhaps more accurate to say that they had respect. A modicum of it.

It should be Boa's feeding time. Another sigh escaped him as he headed towards the grooming room, a room specifically made to groom Boa's food.

It took them a while to figure out the snake's preferred diet but they found it out when a stray kitten had snuck in and Boa swooped in to swallow it whole. From there they determined that she would only eat cute animals--any less adorable and she doesn't even look at it. So puppies and kittens. And maybe bunny rabbits. Which was bad from a PR perspective so they've taken to grooming rats. Put a nice lovely ribbon and brushed them so they're all fluffy.

He entered the grooming room and one of the officers assigned there took a quick look at him, glanced down the rat they were grooming, then burst to tears (they tended to get attached.) He pressed his hand to his head letting the ice cool down his budding headache. Why couldn't he have gotten Jinbe?

Thank you for playing. :)

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