#> i mean we do end up fighting but like. its very important that halfway through he has the revelation

[waloeders]

i have such an idea abt ultima reviving barnabas to help him in the final fight (since hes up against clive, joshua, dion and kosmos) and halfway through the fight its like oh you- you wanted to him to fight for you? you did? thats so funny bc thats my bf. why would he be fighting me??

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter IV

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we are back! i really love where this is going, i hope you guys do too! feedback is very welcome as always (just don't be mean, i cry easily in case you can't tell from my writing). i have been to (the ruins) of the temple and the house of the vestals and have learned a lot about them so i hope i can strike the balance between making the fic intersting and adding some historic context, please let me know if this is working! also if you read this the day i post (december 3rd) happy bona dea hehe ♡

Mola Salsa – Ointment used during religious sacrifices Vale – Goodbye Salve – Hello Sacrosant – Untouchable (by law)

Chapter IV

“Have they assigned you for Bona Dea yet?” Severa is walking beside you, carrying a jug filled with fresh water from the sacred spring. Her step is light, even after the many hours she has spent at the temple today. The upcoming festival has been the talk of all of Rome, as it frequently is during the season where the air becomes colder and the occasional summer breeze turns into full-on storms. On the third of the last month, women in Rome celebrate the night of Bona Dea, the goddess that symbolizes chastity and fertility. A rare occasion where attendance is forbidden to men rather than women.

You nod softly in response to her question, turning the last corner before you reach the round temple of Vesta. “Yes. I am to help prepare the mola salsa. And I have been allowed to aid in carrying–” You pause, recalling that you are still in public. “Carrying the items to the place.”

Severa gives a nod, understanding the almost cryptic words. No one outside the circle, especially no man, is allowed to know which rituals you and the other priestesses undertake during the December night. At the mention of the assigned tasks, she falls into a one-sided but comfortable conversation, telling you her plans of preparation, though always being careful not to get too detailed. When you reach the steps that lead up toward the temple, she hands you the jug of water and bids you goodbye before heading the other direction. With her shift ended, she may retire to her quarters or spend her time however she likes. For you, the day has just begun–despite the sun already being halfway across the sky.

The smell of smoke and herbs greets you as you slip into the building, the only temple in the entire empire that holds no statue of its god or goddess. The flame is the only representation Vesta requires.

You start by collecting the rags you keep in a small cupboard off to the side of the large room, soaking them with the sacred water before kneeling down to begin cleansing the floor. Purity is more important for Vesta than anything, meaning that every day, the temple is cleaned, usually towards the evening when there aren't as many citizens coming to pray.

You work in silence, ignoring the way the cold stone hurts under your knees. It is a shift that requires much physical labor, but you are content to have the room to yourself today, the only company the shadows dancing on the stone walls beside you. You watch as they change, creating pictures and silhouettes that are gone before you can quite figure out what they resemble.

Your drifting thoughts are interrupted by the gentle thud of the oak door, followed by a small gust of air blowing through the room. You look up from where you are kneeling beside the flame, expecting one of the women that frequently come to pray with you. Instead, you feel your breath hitch in your throat.

Acacius looks a little lost, his broad frame dressed in his shiny golden armour, one that does not quite fit the space. He gives no indication of recognizing you, instead heading straight for one of the benches set out for the citizens. With an almost quiet grunt, he lowers himself into a sitting position and bows his head, his lips moving without producing any sound. He is praying.

You're not sure why you are so surprised. Maybe because you cannot recall ever seeing a General in the temple of Vesta or because his comments a few weeks ago did not make him sound like someone who prays much.

I prefer to put my trust in people.

You don't quite realize how openly you are staring at him until he raises his head just enough to glance your way. You bow your head so fast that you feel your muscles protest, the noises of the cackling fire joined by the one of you hurriedly wiping the floor.

You do not allow yourself another second of looking at him. Not a single one. Even when you stand and return the rag and jug to their respective places. Even when you gather a few pieces of wood in your arms and carefully add them to the flame.

It is not until you are standing with your back to the hearth, sorting some of the smaller twigs, that you hear him move. His voice is low when he speaks, like he is trying not to disturb the place around you and what it holds inside its walls. “Am I disturbing you?”

You are almost tempted to keep your back to him and give your response to the firewood below rather than him. But even the high status of a Vestal Virgin will not save you from punishment for disrespecting the General of the Roman army.

“No, of course not,” you respond politely as you turn around. “But I am afraid I do not have your will here. If you'd like to make further adjustments, I can locate it tomorrow and–”

“I did not come for the will,” Acacius says quietly, his brown eyes flying over your face. Once again, you feel like he can read you, like there is an inscription carved into your features the way it is below statues or over doors. Names, places, entire stories told in stone. It’s like yours is spelled out in a language only he can understand.

You pause, a moment of near silence passing between you. You are close enough to see the shadows dancing on his face now, the flame reflecting in his eyes.

“Then what did you come for, my General?” Addressing him sends a shiver through you again, the same way it did the last time you said goodbye. Calling him yours when he is so far from it.

“To pray.” A tiny smirk appears on his face and he looks almost … satisfied with himself. “It is what one does in a temple, is it not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly, despite the fact that you try and will them not to. “It is.” The next sentence tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “You took my advice then.”

Acacius raises a brow and you involuntarily hold your breath, awaiting what you expect to be a rather unfavorable reaction–when he laughs. Filling the temple that holds the most important hearth of the roman empire with a soft and gentle laugh. It feels wrong. It feels shameful and unfitting and yet, you feel like something stir inside of you at the sound. Slowly, his laugh dies down until you are left with a mere, gentle smile on his face as he looks down at you. “You are not as timid as you seem, are you now?”

Your blush deepens at that but a shy smile creeps onto your face nevertheless. “I was just–observing.”

“Yes. And do you do that often?” At your confused face, he adds: “Do you observe people often?”

“I did not say I observed people,” you half-whisper, suddenly realizing where this conversation is heading.

Does he know?

You have never considered that the conveniently short distance between your homes works both ways. Mainly because you can't imagine a man as important as Acacius interested in what the Vestals do. Maybe because you also can't imagine him as a man who simply observes–no doubt he finds what he longs for and demands for it. He is well known for his conquering of the southern areas.

“It is an imposing atrium,” he mutters quietly, his eyes carefully tracing your face. Waiting for a reaction. He’s about to speak again when you feel it.

The movement in your chest that felt comfortable until a moment ago, turns to ice. A shiver runs over your body and you step back so violently that your back hits the wooden cupboard and the jug that Severa had carried earlier, begins to sway. You feel Acacius brush past you, attempting to catch it but he is too late. His empty hand closes around air as the jug hits the floor and bursts into small pieces.

For a moment, you stay exactly where you are, your heart thumping as you fight against the cold dread that still fills your body. Acacius shifts beside you and you can feel his brown eyes on you. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Let me help–”

But you do not let him finish the offer. Instead, you whip around and lean down, beginning to gather the shards off the floor. “It is late,” you press out without looking up at him.

Now it’s the Generals turn to look confused. He pauses, blinking a few times. Before he can ask the question already forming in his throat, you motion toward the oak doors. “The sun will go down soon. Men are not allowed in the temple at night.” 

It takes a few moments before Acacius nods, sending you a polite smile that feels very different from the one that decorated his face mere moments ago. “Of course. I do not wish to keep you.”

He turns swiftly, his uniform moving gracefully around him as he crosses the small room and slips out of the temple. The door falls shut with a thud, signifying once more how very alone you are.

You try to hold back tears as you fold your dress in your lap and begin to collect the shards in it. The salt water so dangerously close to high tide. It blurs your vision enough to grasp one of the larger shards the wrong way, a sharp pain searing through your hand as it cuts into your skin.

He probably only meant to pray.

He has a wife, a home. An army, soldiers and their families. A responsibility like that could make anyone turn to the gods, that much you know. And you scared him off, simply because your body had started acting of its own accord.

Almost as if in a trance, you fully sink to your knees in front of the flame, bowing your head so low that you can feel the coolness of the tiles below. Whispered words fall from your lips. But they are not merely just prayers. They are pleas for forgiveness. You cannot name what it is Vesta shall forgive you. You have done your duty, have not acted in any way that would not honor your vows. And yet, you feel that there is something you should seek forgiveness for.

When you stand again, you tread quietly, almost like you are tiptoeing around something. Balancing your weight on the edge of a bridge, trying desperately to stay still. The wind may not carry you away, no matter how tempting. You do not have wings. You will not fly. The only way off the ledge is the fall. One that you would not survive.

You shudder at the thought as you finish your duties as quietly and quickly as you can. You finish gathering the broken jug, wipe the floor once more and replace the wood. A small sigh of relief leaves your throat when you finally hear the door being opened again–and the eldest of the Vestals steps inside. She surveys the room, pausing as she spots the cupboard. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you answer quickly. “The water jug broke, I was carrying it. My apologies.” You bow your head, sending another silent prayer to Vesta to forgive you the lie. “I will arrange for a new one.”

She looks at you for a moment before nodding her head. “Very well. You may head back to the house. Walk by the potter and give word that we are in need of a new jug. I will stay until morning and have one of the girls pick it up in a few days time.”

“Of course. Vale.” Leaving a small bow and more whispered apologies at her feet, you step out of the temple, glad to put distance between you and the hearth.

It is by no means a far walk to the house of the potter that you task with everything the Vestals need. And yet, you'd much prefer to tread it while it is light. The city changes during the night, even in these safer parts of town. The streets are filled with those who wander the night and despite the fact that your palla demands immediate respect from those that cross your way, it is not a comfortable journey.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a few soldiers that seem to tail you and exhale a small breath, thanking the gods for sending men to protect you. You lose sight of them when you slip into the small alley that opens to the workshop of the potter. But the light inside is extinguished.

“Salve?” You give the door a gentle knock, waiting for a reaction from inside. But none comes.

With a resigned shrug, you turn to make your way back to the main road. It isn't until you have taken a few steps that you look up–and find your way blocked. The three soldiers have their eyes trained on you, their bodies wide enough that they cut off any chance of escape.

You feel your heart beginning to pound again but you force yourself to stay calm, giving a polite nod. They are soldiers. They are here to protect you. Then, the one in the middle opens his mouth.

“What business does a priestess have to be out at night all by herself?” He asks, cocking his head as his gaze shamelessly wanders over your body. The soldier to his right laughs in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Even standing feet away, you can smell the strong aroma of wine on his breath. There has not been any battle. Nothing has been won.

There is no reason for soldiers to celebrate.

“Why do they always pick pretty girls for Vesta?” The one with the foul breath complains. “True shame no one can touch them.” The other one laughs at the comment, taking a step toward you. You feel your back hit the wall. “Oh, you can touch them. You just have to demand for them to keep their mouth shut about it. I would really like to–”

You are spared the details of what this drunk man would like to do to you. Because in that moment, a voice booms out behind the soldiers, echoing slightly in the small alley.

“Soldiers. Step back.”

They whirl around and you think you see one of them ready himself to fight–that is, until the man the voice belongs to steps into the light. They may not respect a priestess. But they will respect Rome's General.

Yet, when they don’t move immediately, he barks out: “That is an order!” Their reactions are surprisingly fast for the state they’re in, the one on the right practically crashing into the wall in his hurry to obey.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asks, his voice so much lower and demanding than it was earlier at the temple. Any hint of the gentle, soft man you talked to is gone.

“We were worried for her safety,” one of the soldiers blurts out. What a way to spin it, you think to yourself. The only threat of your safety tonight has been them.

Acacius's eyes briefly meet yours and his face hardens slightly. He continues moving toward you, forcing the man next to you to step away hurriedly. “Move. And get back to your barracks, straight away.” They are halfway across the alley when he yells after them. “If I catch you bothering her again, I will make the battlefield seem merciful!”

Your knees quiver as you watch the soldiers turn the corner and a choked sound leaves your throat as you stumble. Being sacrosanct does not save you from being a woman. Nothing does.

“Hey, careful now.”

Acacius is by your side in an instant, his voice back to the gentle one you have gotten so used to. He bows down slightly and, without thinking and at seeing you sway, he gently places his arm around your waist, steadying you.

You do not move away this time. Heat radiates from his bare arms through the linen of your dress, igniting your skin below in a way that makes you feel like you are burning. But it is not uncomfortable. In fact, you find yourself leaning into the touch slightly as you catch your breath.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks quietly, a hint of anger still present in his voice.

You respond with a small shake of your head while Acacius carefully watches your every move. “No. No, they did not get a chance to.”

“They are damn fools,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb. “To even think about bothering you like that. A priestess doing her duty–” He turns enough to let his gaze wander over the abandoned street around you again. “This is not a way you should be walking alone at night.”

“The jug,” you whisper quietly. “I was to ask the potter to provide a new jug.”

A sigh leaves the General's lips at that, his grip tightening absent-mindedly. “A piece of clay is certainly not worth risking your safety, my lady.”

You bow your head, unsure how to respond. His fingers are still placed on your waist, still drawing invisible shapes into your stola. “I am sorry about–”

“You do not have anything to apologize for.” He mumbles, soft eyes gazing down at you. “If anything, I owe you an apology. Clearly, the gods are more trustworthy than men.”

Except, the gods did not save you. For the second time, you have a feeling that the person answering your silent prayers is not an ethereal being but rather a man made of flesh and bone. You shift slightly at the thought–and feel Acacius tense beside you.

“They did hurt you,” he whispers, not once hesitating as he lets go of your waist to kneel down and reache for your hand, his gaze focused on the red line that runs across your palm. “Let me see, please.”

“Oh–” You hold your hand up for him but you shake your head. “It was not them. I cut myself on one of the shards earlier, in the temple.” But his focus rests entirely on your hand. You feel a blush creep up your neck as he turns your palm slightly, running his index finger over the freshly scabbed line.

“You should have wrapped it. It may get infected,” he adds quietly and before you can so much as protest, he has reached down and ripped a shred of fabric from his undercloth. His calloused hands are careful and gentle as he begins to wrap it around your palm, tightening it slightly. “Does this hurt?”

You feel like your entire body is vibrating under his touch. His skin on yours, no matter how little, no matter how briefly. It has a fire burning in your chest, threatening to spill out from between your ribs or travel through your throat. The smoke of it blocks your airways and your attempt to speak fails. Instead, you just shake your head and watch as Acacius, at your signal, continues.

“There. Much better.” Your hand is still resting in his palms and he bows down slightly, as if to kiss your fingers. But just before he does, he stiffens slightly and quickly pulls back.

One does not kiss a Vestal's hand. One does not even touch a Vestal. And yet, you can so clearly feel the fire burn on every inch of your skin where his body has met yours.

Acacius clears his throat and nods toward the main road. “I will escort you home. I may not offer the protection of the gods but I can offer that of my sword.”

“Thank you, General Acacius,” you whisper, bringing your freshly bandaged hand back down. You walk beside him as you slowly make your way through the night air, avoiding the busy roads slightly more than you have on the way here. He knows his way around.

You have already reached the Forum when you finally speak, watching as the smoke from the temple rises to your left as you turn onto Via Nova. “I would like to apologize, for before.”

Acacius cocks a brow. “Before?”

“Before. When I sent you out of the temple. You are welcome to come and pray of course. I was–” You shake your head softly. “I was merely surprised.”

You watch as his face twists into a small smile at that and he nods. However, you both stay silent as he leads you toward the house of the Vestals. When you reach the columns that line the front of it, he stills, leaning forward in a hint of a bow. “Thank you for allowing me to see you back safely.”

“I have to thank you.” You respond quietly, turning to face him. You feel like you want to add something else but the words get stuck in your throat. His hand hovers again, the same way it did the time he welcomed you at his home. Always careful to keep a small, appropriate distance between the two of you. What happened in a dark, secluded alley suddenly seems miles and miles away.

“Good night, my lady.”

With that, Acacius turns and continues up the road.

“Good night, my General,” you whisper only for the cicadas to hear.

notes: thank you for reading. feedback, reblog and comments all very, very welcome ♡

[stillness-in-green]

Finding Fascism in My Hero Academia (3/4)

Part 3 is now publicly viewable to non-members, with Part 4 (the final and longest part) now available for paid members. Part 3 excerpts below the cut! This week they represent a particularly small part of the whole, which is close to 8000 words.

Points in this section: intellectually dishonest rhetoric about one's enemies and the effect this has on one's wartime efficacy, Peace Is Never An Option, contempt for the weak (read as: everyone beneath you in the hierarchy), and the cult of the death-seeking hero.

Point 8: Enemies are simultaneously strong and weak.

Primarily manifests as hyping up the ostentatious wealth, force and/or influence of the enemy while also convincing followers that the enemy is weak enough to be defeated.  Eco—who is a bit vague here, frankly, not providing any specific ways in which Ur-Fascism characterizes its enemies’ weakness—notes that the followers being made to feel humiliated is an important factor; I take this to imply a narrative that convinces followers that they are being perceived as less-than, that their enemies are looking down on them for their comparative (and/or alleged) simplicity, sobriety, or lesser reach.  The dichotomy, in any case, is a mindset that leads to difficulty in wars because of an inability to objectively assess the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses.

Meta-Narrative: (...) It’s hard to say what the meta-narrative being “bad at war” would look like.  The story falling flat?  Misidentifying its own core themes and thus failing to resolve them?  Losing popularity compared to its peers in Shonen Jump?  Being savaged by reviewers?  Wide swathes of its own fandom disagreeing with its messages?  If the story’s own Villains are the “enemy” the series is engaging in misleading rhetoric about, what does it mean for the story to be bad at fighting them?  What would it mean for the story to lose to them?

We might say that every reader who disliked the story—or quit reading it before the end—because they sided with the Villains over the Heroes is someone who judged that the Heroes lost, or at least that they didn’t deserve to win.  That seems a fair way to define the story losing to its own antagonists.  Did that happen?  Well, obviously the fact of me writing all this means I think it did, but MHA certainly had and retains an enormous fanbase who seem to have liked the ending just fine—I’m not unique, but neither am I in the majority.

We might also define the story losing to its own antagonists as the story failing to overcome the challenges those antagonists posed.  I’d argue—and much more vociferously—that that happened, too.  The story raised a bunch of systemic issues up to just past the halfway point, then abruptly refocused its attention on All For One and tried very hard to convince the readership that killing AFO plus implementing vaguely expressed intervention measures targeted mainly at children is a sufficient response to its driving conflicts—it very much is not.

—(…)—

Point 9: Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy./Life is permanent warfare.

Being built on fear of the enemy, fascism must always have an enemy.  This means, however, that there’s no vision for peace after ultimate victory.

Team Hero:  (...) While it’s clear that we’re meant to read the ending as progressing towards peace, and that this is something Heroes in general desire—most explicitly summed up in Tokoyami talking about Heroes working to make their own jobs obsolete, quite as if he's forgotten that Heroes also do disaster rescue work!—the ending is either too cowardly or too driven by the needs of pleasing its fanbase to truly show us a world that needs fewer Heroes, or a different sort of Hero.

If Deku truly believed that being a teacher is more meaningful to him than being a Hero, why not step down to focus on that rather than refining a power suit that can really only accelerate the production of quirk-emulating military hardware?  If Ochaco truly wants to make a difference via her counselling program, why not retire from Heroics and make the program her full-time job?  If Shouto really wants to explore who he is, rather than pursue the person he wants to become, why not take a sabbatical, trusting that the world will keep spinning and people will get the help they need even if he takes some time for himself?

Did the final volume need yet another two-page spread of Class 1-A leaping collectively into action?  Did it occur to Horikoshi at all that having twenty-one Heroes fly across town to jump one (1) desperate, panicked carjacker of normal human dimensions actually makes society look more saturated with Heroes than ever?  Particularly since that scene goes on to depict the triumphant Heroes standing around chit-chatting with each other, blithely unconcerned with the emotionally distraught criminal being hauled off by police, exactly the same as we always saw Heroes doing in the bad old days before the world-changing altruists of Class 1-A decided to try reaching out to Villains?

—(…)—

Point 10: Contempt for the weak./Popular elitism.

The group identity is built on pride in the group and the group’s strength/superiority, breeding contempt for those outside the group.  However, this goes all the way up, such that leaders of the group at all levels are contemptuous of not just the out-group but also the people beneath them in their own group’s hierarchy.  Particularly if the Leader gained their position by force, they’re predisposed to believing the people they thus conquered (their own) both need and “deserve” to be ruled by a strong Leader.

MLA: Half a point.  The MLA very obviously meet the bar for the first part based on their quirk supremacist ideology.  Even back in Deika, you had Re-Destro (who otherwise focuses exclusively on the high-minded ideals of Liberation rather than the ugly might-makes-right rhetoric found elsewhere in the group) scorning Twice for his sentimentality and Shigaraki for his lack of ideology.  They also show a good amount of in-group/out-group contempt—they’re dismissive of Villains, have a furious disdain towards Heroes, and, while this is more isolated to the second war, can also be pretty contemptuous of common civilians!  However, I don’t think you see the second point, popular elitism.

As much as some fans talk about e.g. Re-Destro and Trumpet lacking respect for their followers, I personally don’t see that in the story.  The MLA leadership is somewhat pragmatic about them, to be sure, but never contemptuous in the way they are towards people outside their group.  (...) Shigaraki accuses Re-Destro of hiding in his tower, removed from the hoi polloi, but we don’t have to take Shigaraki’s word on this.  Re-Destro was not out in the scrum for the same reason President Roosevelt wasn’t on the beach in Normandy on D-Day.  He still fought when he had to and still expressed his rage about his followers’ deaths when Shigaraki—who RD was planning on killing, and with no one else around to hear the answer!—asked about them directly.  In every other case besides Skeptic, the MLA leadership is right out there in the field alongside their people.  Compare this to someone who really is contemptuous of their followers, like Overhaul or All For One, and the difference is night and day.

—(…)—

Point 11: Everybody is educated to become a hero./Cult of death.

The Übermensch part of the deal.  The mythological hero is exceptional by definition; Ur-Fascism would have such a figure be the norm for everyone.  This is linked strictly to the glorification of death: everyone seeks to be the ideal hero, and for the ideal hero, the ideal endpoint to a heroic life is a heroic death, the ultimate reward.  See the pursuit of Valhalla in Mad Max: Fury Road for a prominent recent depiction.

Team Hero: Yes to the first part and some concerning undercurrents regarding the second.  Like, there are obviously lots and lots of people in Hero Society at large who don’t grow up to be Heroes, who aren’t seeking a valorous death, all that, but this category’s consideration is about specifically Heroes, and, obviously, yes, Heroes are educated to become heroes.  It’s literally called My Hero Academia.  The HPSC, of course, gets less of this, but they still encourage and cultivate it at every turn���even their own secret child soldiers still have to be Heroes by daylight!

As to the cult of death, you could make an argument—and by no means a weak one!—that Heroes qualify based solely on three points: All Might’s Pillar ideology, U.A.’s Plus Ultra mantra, and Mandalay’s comment that there’s “no better way for Heroes to meet their end” than the “honorable death” of dying in the line of duty.  But I don’t think that all of these quite add up to the remaining half-point.  All Might is the top Hero, but he’s only one Hero all the same; U.A. is the top Hero school, but still only one Hero school.  Mandalay delivers those lines in a solemn enough way that it would be child’s play to read them as a platitude she told herself until she believed it, far more than something that’s actually a matter of chapter-and-verse Hero dogma.

Indeed, lots and lots of Heroes quit as soon as things really start getting difficult!  So while there are elements there, I think people who really believe that Heroes ought to embody this are mostly the hardcore zealots like Stain; it’s less evident in the body of Professional Heroics at large. Tellingly, nowhere in any of the main characters’ classes do we see death being linked to the Heroism they’re learning!

—

Read the rest here!

[theetwinkleboy]

okay. OKAY. i have started and discarded this post literally 12 times because i never feel like i can say what i exactly mean, but here's hoping i get it right this time. i've posted in the past about how bnha is like 5 stories in a trenchcoat all fighting to be the head, and some of those stories have contradictory themes and priorities. this is part of why i enjoyed it so much--there are a lot of different facets to the story, and i could completely change my reading of the story based on which 'story theme' i chose to prioritize. the thing is, though, as we approached the end of the story, i feel like each of those stories started to butt heads a little, because what makes a satisfying or happy ending for one story doesn't necessarily match what makes a satisfying ending for another one.

izuku, as the protagonist, exists at the intersection of all these characters, and therefore their stories and priorities. and as we approached the end of the story, there were times when these intersections led to more nuanced view of stories as they intersected, there were times when horikoshi settled on an unsatisfying halfway point that didn't feel like a great ending to either story, there are times when people in the fandom got super upset because their favorite interpretation of the story didn't get 100% precedence. like. it's messy and izuku's gotten a lot of hate because he sits at the middle of it and therefore he ends up as the focal point for a lot of the missteps of either horikoshi or the fandom.

bakugou and uraraka are a great example of this because their stories and priorities are very different. more behind the cut because i uh. talked a lot more than i thought i would.

i've said before that it's like, a pretty important thing that bakugou is not on the saving-the-villains squad. uraraka is the captain of the saving-the-villains squad, while bakugou, by the end of the story, is the captain of the saving-izuku (and sometimes the saving-izuku-from-himself) squad. uraraka's story is at its heart about saving the hearts of people maligned or forgotten about by society. from her 'who saves the heroes' thing to sticking up for izuku in front of an angry mob to telling toga how much she loves her smile, her priority is finding the people whose needs have been forgotten about, and trying to meet those needs. her story is more world-focused, based around the way her definition of 'who needs/deserves saving' expands throughout the latter half of the story. we see this continue in 431 with the focus on her quirk education program.

bakugou's, on the other hand, is pretty laser-focused on the people immediately around him, especially izuku and all might. it's also focused inward, toward his own redemption arc and like, spiraling journey with izuku toward a midpoint where they can understand each other. he spends the story realizing izuku's worth, and then fighting for him when he's in over his head or when izuku fails to prioritize himself and realize his own worth. his story, about going from the person who first names izuku worthless to someone who, even in 431, is telling izuku that he is worth the world to the people who care about him is--it's so important. it's so beautiful.

however, it's not about the wider world or society. it doesn't ask if people other than izuku have inherent worth, if the other people who society has written off deserve to be saved. and, honestly, it doesn't need to ask those questions to be a powerful story on its own, because his story is not ABOUT society at large. it's about himself, and izuku, and all might. but the fact is that those other aspects of bnha demand to be explored, and have to be addressed specifically by izuku as the protagonist of the story. izuku exists in a kind of push-pull between uraraka and bakugou's stories. is he trying to be the world's greatest hero? is he trying to save the villains? do those intersect? can they, with the current state of hero society? what does saving the villains even look like? and then there's another dimension to consider--shigaraki's story, and his desire to smash up the hero society that drove him and all of his friends to the margins. and then izuku GIVES shigaraki his quirk. he literally gives up his dream and then fails to save shigaraki. and then shigaraki says he just wanted to destroy it all, and izuku tells him that it's been destroyed.

and then like. in the aftermath of that. katsuki's breakdown over the loss of izuku's quirk is so telling because like. they just caught up to each other and now the entire landscape of everything has changed. it's all been destroyed. on a side note--katsuki and izuku and uraraka all like. died. or close enough. they all explicitly gave up their dreams for the future in service of being true to the priorities they've cultivated. katsuki's last thought upon death is whether he can catch up to izuku and then his breakdown is over the fact that he thought he had another chance at that dream that he thought died with him and now it seems like it's dead again but LIKE. I AM OFF TOPIC. or am i? the thing about katsuki's dream is that it's kind of dependent on some sort of continuation of a status quo of hero society. don't get me wrong, he does have a beautiful and important story and i really love his character development, but. he's not looking to change society the way uraraka or izuku or shigaraki are.

so like. then the question is. what did saving the villain ('s hearts) actually look like? because the punching wasn't what helped or stopped shigaraki or toga in the end. and now, what does heroism look like in the aftermath of shigaraki destroying everything? and what does rebuilding society look like? does it mean a return to power and what was? does it mean deprioritization of power heroes and more emphasis on outreach? does it mean clinging to a dying spark because it's the physical manifestation of a dream that you just realized you had? can you have your cake and eat it too? some of the resolutions of things were not done in a satisfying way--i think the hero billboard chart is dumb and should have been trashed and i think it's only there because of the residue of that 'be the number one hero' dream. which! by the end of the story, i don't actually think katsuki and izuku's dream about being rivals for life is dependent on there being a #1 hero slot on the billboard hot 100 to shoot for! I think it acts as a crutch for that dream and getting rid of that would have maybe made it a little more clear that the external trappings aren't important in the end to their relationship but! once again. i am rambling. but i'm NOT making this post a 13th time so you are stuck with the ramble.

BUT ANYWAY. 430 is the denouement that katsuki's story needed. a last chance to affirm izuku's worth, both as a person and a hero. and his big moment at the end, reaching out a hand toward him and calling him deku, not as a way to call him worthless but as a way to remind him of his worth as a hero, is a really beautiful button on that story.

and then 431 was the denouement to uraraka's story. a deeper dive into the world and how its attitudes have changed, exploring how uraraka herself is working to change things, and affirming izuku's decision to save those that need saving. even in this chapter, katsuki and tsu both remind uraraka and izuku that having a world-focused mindset can't come at the expense of the self. and todoroki echoes that message--that it's okay to want things for yourself, outside of changing the world.

and i do think that this chapter would have benefited GREATLY from a more explicit reminder of shigaraki, as well as a deeper dive into izuku and his speaking (he mentions it in passing. what does it look like? how is he working toward change?). because as it stands, i think izuku does come off kind of lukewarm here. like. it feels like other people's denouements are kind of happening to him as opposed to the other way around. i wish he was more active in reaching out for what he wanted, or in reaching out for what he fought for with shigaraki. i just. i did need more from him, but i think that some of the stuff he's doing is unsaid, and some stuff is just. wishywashy because horikoshi doesn't want to commit to any one path with izuku so he just kind of sits on the fence?

idk that's not it. because izuku does both express desires and show the way he's working toward change in these chapters, and i'm in NO way saying that izuku choosing to be a teacher or rejecting katsuki's offer to work at his agency is bad bc i actually kind of liked those things and i thought they made sense To Me and his decision to do both education and heroism does represent him finding that happy medium between katsuki and ochako so like. idk! i do find myself wanting more because as it stands, 430 does feel kind of like bakugou's big gesture and 431 feels like uraraka's moment to shine, and neither of them truly truly feel like izuku's. but that doesn't mean that both chapters don't still have worth and good things to say. but i think bringing in that third perspective, izuku and shigaraki, the thing that he shares with neither bakugou or uraraka, and showing how that 'story' has affected him and his choices, would have helped it feel more like izuku's. but then again, that could just be my OWN bias for that storyline showing rn. more shigaraki!!

so like! all of this is to say that. all those different stories in a trenchcoat had their turn as the head. and some of the themes seem contradictory. and some stuff was done in an unsatisfying way. but some of it is like. i feel like people need to consider the other dimensions to the story and the sway they hold on the final conclusions of bnha.

[smytherines]

I love One Step Ahead for all the obvious reasons (gay angst), but also because it is so packed with little storytelling moments. Also it just seems exhausting. So much happens in that song:

1. Motorcycle chase (with office chairs)

2. Boat chase

3. Staff fight

4. Sword fight

5. Vigorous musket loading

6. Run up the staircase

7. Hang glider chase

8. Fistfight

9. Run halfway down the stairs again

And the entire time they are doing all of this, they're belting out a vocally demanding song. I mean, no wonder Curt Mega had to take a breath during that final note. That's a feat of endurance. I simply would've passed out and died.

One Step Ahead is one of my favorite setpieces of all time. In anything. Ever. It is so impressive, and it is even more impressive when you realize this was done by a tiny little independent company with the theatre budget equivalent of $1.50. Unreal. It should not be possible.

And the thing is, One Step Ahead is the perfect narrative counterweight to A1P1 (Spies Are Forever). The amount of thought they put into this is just stunning. Because here's the thing: A1P1 is also incredibly physical. For most of the song Curt and Owen are on the move, they're going up the ladder, they're fighting goons, they're going down the staircase, they're running.

But more importantly, Curt and Owen are touching a lot in A1P1. And yeah, that's fun in a swoony curtwen vibes way, but its also incredibly important to the narrative. They are touching a lot, and when they aren't touching they are standing just a little bit too close together. Its subtle enough that you initially dismiss it as a stylistic choice, but once you have the full context it is remarkably intimate.

Those are important details- like the way Owen has his arm around Curt and is literally holding his hand when they're talking to Cynthia. Its meant to tell us that they are together. In the romantic way, yes, but also they're just aligned, working together, on the same page. They are partners here. They literally have each other's backs.

And that's down to Curt Mega and Joey Richter selling the absolute shit out of these roles, and genius choreography by Lauren Lopez, and Corey Lubowich being the director of all time.

The digital download BTS has a part with Joey and Curt rehearsing the bit where they do the hug, and right after that they're trying to figure out what cool action poses to move into and Corey says that he wants to see something with them "connected," which is just... yeah, that's the perfect word to describe what is going on in A1P1. These two are connected.

So then we get to One Step Ahead. At the very beginning, Curt does the arm clasp with Tatiana. The first time they did this, Curt had a flashback of Owen. Owen was still his partner in his heart. But this time that bond is severed. Curt thinks of Tatiana as his partner now.

We get into the action of the song, and Curt and Owen do not touch. Even when they are very physically close together, there are weapons between them. In A1P1 they had lots of moments with their backs turned to each other, trusting each other, working perfectly in sync. In One Step Ahead they are facing each other head on. They are literally and figuratively fighting. They are breaking up.

The only moment during this sequence where they are actually touching each other is when Owen slaps Curt, Curt punches Owen twice, and they do that lock up move. They're only touching to hurt each other now.

And its so subtle and well executed that you don't really think about the parallels between these two scenes the first time you watch them. But you feel it on an emotional level. They had about ten minutes to establish the relationship between these two, and they used that ten minutes so effectively that the staircase scene ends up hitting like a ton of bricks.

Just. I love this show. I love how much TCB and Curt Mega and the rest of the cast care about this show. I'm so grateful they keep coming back to it. I cannot wait to see what they do with these scenes for Spy Another Day.

[mdhwrites]

Im sorry if im annoying, is just I really love Tmnt, specially Rise, and I also enjoy reading your analysis and stuff.

So, if is bothering you, you can delete this ask, is cool 👍

Now, my question is, character wise, like in a quick grande, idk if makes sense- IMPRESSIONS.

What would it be your first impression of the characters?

*bops you on the head* Stop apologizing. I've said before that if I had nothing to say, I'd just answer it privately. However, I LOVE discussions and I always appreciate asks so you're never annoying me with these. Please, don't worry about it so much.

As for the characters for Rise of the TMNT, I can't comment on everyone as I've only watched so much, like I have no real grasp on April yet besides liking her, but I actually want to start on the major thing that I think both allowed Rise to stand out and what made it so divisive at its inception, especially since talking about stuff like that is kind of going to bleed into what I think of the brothers. After all, I think whether you love the show or hate it, we all recognize that the brothers are very markedly different in this incarnation than literally any other, even if you can point to ones in the past for inspiration.

Most TMNT shows are MNT. Mutant. Ninja. Turtle. Those are the elements that they care about. Rise cares about TMT and goes about SHREDDING the fantasy that is the turtles as ninja. Not that they aren't ninja but like... What do ninja who TEENAGE MUTANT TURTLES like?

This actually even goes to Shredder's change which I'd never heard about before now: He's kind of a washed up loser. Again, I don't know everything but he's just as playful as the boys, he watches television, he goes on joyrides, he loses his mind when he's sick. He's not some grand wise mentor... And I get it. This is a man, going off normal canons, who lost his master, got thrown away, ended up halfway across the fucking globe and lives in a GOD DAMN SEWER. Not some pristine dojo. Not some high tech. Not even a cozy lair repurposed out of a sewer because none of that shit was around. All he had was a dank ass sewer. To say he hit rock bottom would be an understatement.

And mind you, it's not that her turned cruel because of this. He still passed on what culture he could but without stealing really expensive imports, what of his culture does he even have? He can't go to the library to check out books for the new family he wants to make. He can't buy home school programs to help him teach them. He has nothing. And he's old. He was already a man when shit went wrong for him in most canons so by the time the turtles are teenagers, he's at least fifty. Usually he's depicted as WAY older than that, like 70 or 80. Instead of that meaning he's some mystical figure, he's instead the cooky old dude who's maybe not all there all the time. That's a really neat reinterpretation of the character that's genuinely more realistic while befitting the tone of the TMNT franchise where yeah, it's still kind of cranked to eleven.

This is also your warning that I fucking love these characters.

So what about the brothers? If they aren't privileged but underground but instead genuinely stuck slumming it, what happened to them? Well, a core change seems to be not so much a want to belong, they actually don't seem that interested in being accepted by society, but a desire to covet society. To be able to watch and be a part of the concept of society. That's why they're totally at home watching a wrestling match. They aren't wishing they could be in the ring, they're just happy to be part of the crowd with the best seats in the house. They don't have to mind that they have to fight in costume, they're gonna rock it because they're in fucking costume and someone challenged you to a dance battle? You respond with a dance battle. They are MORE content with being outcasts than the turtles normally are because they live vicariously through media like many people do. This is with ONE exception that I'll get to.

I also like, just as a side note, that just because they are normal amongst mutants biologically, they still have no fucking clue what they're doing. They're genuinely caught between two worlds with double the naivety because of it and get screwed over by both halves because of it. Just a fun touch.

OKAY. Enough preamble. Let's actually go from the least to most bold changes of the brothers, at least from my perspective. I've never been huge into TMNT, just never really found a show I managed to watch consistently but I've liked most of what I've seen including the first Michael Bay Turtles movie, so I may not know how radical these alterations are or how safe they are except in a few small cases. For this though, the first one to talk about is pretty easy:

Michelangelo: *stares at how spellcheck just wrote that name* No wonder people fuck up mine. ANYWAYS, the reason I say he's the least bold is because adding artistic to your quirky, comedic heart of the group is not really so much a change as just a small pivot in trope. He's still more inclined towards recklessness, he's still the one who can broach the gaps between his brothers and he is the... Well, he is the one who is telling the most genuine jokes. Again, we'll get to him. But yeah, I like him but he's not actually that interesting to discuss, yet, for me because he is the one who is the most what you would expect.

Donatello: I bet some of you expected him to take the top slot but hear me out: I actually recently did a blog contrasting Big Bang and The Owl House for their depictions of nerds. The point of it was really to say that TOH tried to claim their nerds were some groundbreaking, brave representation but that they were 'good' nerds besides the one uncomfortable nerd who got in the way and that no one liked. The difference between a nerd who never brings up their interests at dinner unless prompted versus one who MIGHT ask "Hey, am I bothering you with this," thirty minutes into a rant about a niche issue with their favorite media that they brought up because you mentioned the wrong time. Say yes and you are going to be there the rest of the fucking night. THIS is what I see with Donatello. Donnie is usually just the tech dude and by that we mean he's conveniently the one who can spit technobabble out and fix things. He is nerdy but he'd never be someone you really question spending time with. This Donnie refuses to spend time with YOU and he will let you know it. He is the brutal honesty, amongst other things, of being autistic, alongside the fact that when they say he "Does machines" in the intro, I wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't foreshadowing him making himself a girlfriend out of his one true love. Now, that is going a little far. Donnie does love his brothers but of the three, he struggles the most to know how to deal with them in a human way, to the point where this is addressed very early on with him trying to fix what he finds most annoying about them and how that's wrong. This is not literally the opposite of normal, Mikey is usually the heart of the brothers after all, but Donnie usually gets along because he doesn't really have enough personality to clash. This Donnie has enough personality to perform a heel turn for someone taking shit from him. It's great. However, he is still the tech dude and still somewhat removed from his siblings, both of which are pretty normal even if the execution is different, so it's not as radical a change as the next two.

Now for the two that actually play into why I did all my preamble.

Raphael: I haven't gotten backstories yet but if it turns out Raph looked around himself as he was growing up and realized NO ONE was the adult, I wouldn't be surprised. He doesn't seem traumatized by this fact by any means but he does give the impression of having grown up faster than the rest. He's not just physically more than them, he's mentally more. He's taken a step they all will eventually need to follow him... But he's not going to drag them kicking and screaming with him unless they're being genuine dumbasses. I actually love EVERY part of how this comes to play out. Raph doesn't have his hotheadedness, he has something much closer to cold fury which implies he knows that he can't lose it the way old Raphs did but that anger is still there. He is the one who actually has plans and most often presents worry over how something might go wrong, or sees through the rouses set by his brothers, meaning that he's taken the role of guardian over them (which makes his power being a form of shields technically chef's kiss). HOWEVER, by contrast, he has what feels a bigger blindspot to people outside of his family when it comes to tricks, likely because he's been focused on his brothers for long enough that he has become more naive than even many of the others of the world outside their home. This is probably why he has some of the bigger hero worship amongst them, especially since he's trying to live up to nobler ideas, or at least more adult ideals. That's ironic due to-

Leonardo: The choice to give him the voice Randy Cunningham is pitch perfect casting. This is EASILY the biggest and most jarring change but for the me the most welcome. Leo was never really a straight man from what I could tell comedically, Raph or Donnie usually did more of that, but instead was meant to be the rock of the group. Instead, he just came off as many bad adventure leaders: No personality. He's a nice enough guy and he's good at what he does but that's what you say about your mailman, not the leader of your ensemble cast.

This Leo is anything but this. He does not covet society, he wishes for society to covet him. He has taken celebrity worship to its natural conclusion of wanting to be a celebrity at all costs. He sees himself as the hottest shit out there and you bet your buns he's going to let you know it. He will do anything for recognition which is hardly surprising for a kid who grew up in the sewers watching stuff like Kung Fu movies. He wants to be that level of awesome and you better believe he knows the phrase "Fake it till you make it." Of course, he doesn't think he's faking it which makes when he gets punched in the face all the more satisfying. But... This does come with some wrinkles. He does not look upon the world favorably. If Raph is too innocent, he's cynical. Everything is quid pro quo. If you show him why you're giving him praise, even if it's shallow or a lie, he'll believe you because he is easily manipulated but you show him nothing? You say you JUST want to help without even being family? Yeah that doesn't fly because it's not what he would do, often times even with his own family. It makes for an interesting version of awareness. All of this does beg a simple question though: Is there any connective tissue between old Leo and new one? Is this like Teen Titans Go where they entirely scrapped the old character just to make him some shit eating idiot?

Confidence, wit, and spirit. Raph's greatest problems as a leader is that he isn't quick on his feet, he can't get people to listen to him and when he does have a plan, he doesn't have as much confidence as he needs to make sure everyone follows it. Leo genuinely has everything and than what Raph has a leader. He is smart, that's why he's a snarky bastard. He's confident to an extreme fault but that means when he pitches you an idea, it sounds legit just because of how much he seems to believe in it. And hey, even after he gets punched, he gets back up. He will make you say he is the best or die trying (which from my understanding is essentially the fuck up he makes at the beginning of the movie but with nobler intentions). He is missing two key components from being a genuinely great leader and ninja. The ability to see outside of himself and maturity. He needs to grow up and remember there's no I in team. That it doesn't matter who got the final hit, what matters is that the job was accomplished at all. He needs to stop wanting to be a celebrity, an icon to worship and trudge behind, and instead be a leader who is shoulder to shoulder to you. Who says that anything he'd ask of you, he'd ask of himself.

That is a fucking INCREDIBLE pitch for your main character as a starting point. All the things he needs but a radical wake up call that will force some HARD change if he wants to realize his real potential. Even better, his real potential is what he wants to be seen as, just that so long as the image is what he cares about, he'll never be what he wants to be. It's pitch god damn perfect and the fact that he is a delightful asshole who gets everything he deserves coming to him, constantly, from all angles, while he works on himself makes for a very entertaining character even as you wait for this arc to potentially happen. He is a good cartoon character either way and not everyone call pull that off.

In fact, even the most shallow of them makes for someone who you know will at least make you smirk if you give them eleven minutes. To me, that's a pretty good sign for a good character if one of your main goals is to entertain. And man... These turtles are entertaining. See you next tale.

======++++++======

Also, small note: I finally hit 200 followers! And I'm announcing this on a blog most of them probably aren't going to read. XD

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[sailorsplatoon]

It's Saturday! You know what that means? New dedfour chapter! I hope you all enjoy chapter two!

First (prologue)

Previous

Next

Read it on ao3!

(fanfic under cut)

The world was blindingly bright, like someone had just turned fluorescent lights on in a room that had been dark for a very long time. And there was a loud ringing; there had been no noise at all and then suddenly an explosion of sound. Parallel Canon didn’t know where they were, they didn’t know why they were awake. As long as the mask stayed on, they shouldn’t have even needed to think. So the mask must have been off. Why was the mask off? They never took it off, so someone else must have. They knew that they were supposed to fight the person who did. But they were just so tired and everything was so bright that they could barely see and their ears hurt so bad. 

As their eyes slowly adjusted, they began to notice the silhouettes of three octolings and a drone. They didn’t hear much of their conversation—the ringing in their ears would not stop— but they did pick up on the fact that they were supposed to climb to the top of the Spire of Order with a palette. They had their orders, now all they needed to do was carry them out. Normally following orders didn’t take this much thought. Normally it didn’t take any thought at all. Normally they didn’t even need to be conscious. But they would do what they were told nevertheless.

They made it to 1F and set the color chip into their palette. Something changed. A memory forced its way into the blissful emptiness of their mind. 

“Hmm… the Octarians…” a woman dressed in a dark grey kimono with her tentacles up in a bow turned to face them. The memory faded before she said any more. 

That was strange. They weren’t supposed to have any memories at all. It was probably just a glitch. It would be better to ignore it. They had orders to attend to. They went out onto the floor and completed it in just a few seconds.

Moments later, Parallel Canon had finished 5F. For every color chip they set into their palette, they got more memories back. It was torture. 

“Why,” they groaned. They wanted to say “Why are you tormenting me?” But they could only make one word come out. That was not good. They weren’t supposed to talk at all. They’d broken so many rules. They’d destroyed the order. What would happen to them now?

It only got worse from there. After 10F, they started crying. They didn’t even know why, but they couldn’t stop. Everything hurt so much. At 15F they hunched down on the floor unable to control their heart rate or their breathing. They felt like they were having a heart attack and drowning at the same time. They were only halfway to the top, and they already felt so much pain. On the ride to 16F they were now fully aware of the other people in the elevator, though they didn’t know who any of them were.

“Am I real?” They didn’t mean to speak. They weren’t trying to. But their thoughts had become so loud that they ended up saying them.

“Yes, you never weren’t. Everything here might be digital but your mind is very real, and you have a physical body too,” said an octoling who was holding a laptop.

“What if I’m like this forever?” They’d started asking questions now, why not keep going? They had so many, and this one felt so important. They were tired of hurting. Everything felt wrong and they wanted it to stop.

“You won’t be, we’re gonna take you to the top of the Spire and you’ll be all better!” Now it was the drone who spoke. Would the pain really go away once they reached the top?

“How do I know who’s telling the truth?” The words of Order screamed in their mind, but someone else’s words screamed back, fighting against it. They didn’t know which was right anymore. They were afraid.

“We would never lie to you. We care about you,” another octoling stepped in, he seemed like he might start crying.

“It broke me.” They weren’t sure what they meant when they said that, but they knew they were broken.

“Me too.” The octoling who said this was green and did not look at anyone in the elevator as they spoke. 

****

Parallel Canon was at 19F now, they set their chip into the palette and prepared for another memory to appear in their head. They weren’t sure how much they hated it anymore. It was almost nice having some of their memories back, having some of themself back. They knew they weren’t supposed to, but was breaking the rules really that bad? What were they saying, of course it was. Something was really wrong with them. 

“Ahem… I need you to go get the Great Zapfish back from those slimy Octarians. What do you say? Are you in?” It was another memory of the woman in the kimono. Parallel Canon had learned by now that her name was Marie. “Soooooooo…” she continued. “I’ll take your awkward silence as a yes. Welcome aboard! You are now Agent 4 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon!” 

That was it. Their name. They weren’t Parallel Canon. They were Agent 4.

“Agent 4? Yo, Agent 4? ‘Rina you sure they can hear me?”

“They should be able to. I don’t know, they’re supposed to be a lot better by now.”

“Why do you know my name… where am I?” Agent 4 looked around the elevator, disoriented. They felt like this was their first time being fully awake in their entire life. 

“You’re in the elevator in the Spire of Order. In the Memverse. We know your name because we’re your friends. Are you okay?” The octoling with the laptop sounded concerned.

“I think so…? I don’t know. What happened to me?”

“You—” Laptop Octoling interrupted herself with a long sigh— “You were greyscaled by Order. You lost your memories, personality, all of what makes you who you are. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. I created the Memverse, if I had put more time into making sure this didn’t happen maybe you wouldn’t have to go through all this. I am so so sorry, Agent 4.”

“Oh wow umm okay.” Four’s voice shook. They didn’t know what emotion they were feeling, but it certainly was’t a positive one. “I’m going to be honest I can’t really remember who any of you are right now. I’m sorry if I’m supposed to. I’m struggling remembering a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s totally okay. Normal for your situation, even. I’m Marina. This is Pearl, Eight, and Acht. We’re all going to help you ascend the Spire. The higher you go and the more color chips you collect, the more your memories will return.”

“Okay, that makes sense. So I should probably go complete this floor then.”

“Yeah, good idea. Good luck!”

With that, Agent 4 walked out onto the floor, now determined to climb as high up the spire as they could. They were already on floor 19 out of 30, so they were more than halfway there. This one gave them more difficulty than the others had, though that made sense since it was labeled rigorous. But something changed this time, they fought so much different than they normally did. Their movements were random and haphazard, almost chaotic. But that wasn’t possible. They were probably just over exaggerating.

They cleared the floor and moved on to the boss at 20F, it was Asynchronous Rondo. They knew the trick to beating this one. They’d never fought it themself, but they’d seen one of the octolings— Marina had introduced him as Eight— fighting it several times. They were nearly splatted, but they managed to pull through. Again, their fighting felt strange, wrong somehow. Marina said that they had been greyscaled and were still recovering, so it was probably because of that. But they still weren’t sure if they wanted to be fully cured or if they would rather to go back to the way they were. 

21F offered them a vending machine corner. They took the opportunity for a break the instant they could. They sat there next to the machine, their head in their knees. They didn’t know how long they were there, just sitting with their thoughts. 

All Parallel Canon wanted was to go back down the tower. To give up. To let the emptiness take them once more.

But all Agent 4 wanted was to keep going. Keep climbing. To remember who they were.

They thought they knew already, but maybe not. 

Then they felt something cold around their shoulders, like someone’s arm but not warm enough to be a living person’s. They looked over to whoever had sat down next to them. It was Acht, the green octoling who operated the elevator. Them being there was somehow comforting. It felt good to have someone with them. 

“I’m… not the greatest at this. Emotions aren’t really my thing. Yet, I guess. I don’t know.” They seemed anxious, like they weren’t used to talking about how they feel. Though, Four wasn’t sure if they were used to it either. “What I’m trying to say is, I’ve been where you are. It’s scary, I know. But if you let fear win then you’re not going to get any better. And sometimes it’s hard to know if you even want to get better. And it takes a long time, I’m still recovering, but you’ve made so much progress so fast and you can’t give up now. Please don’t give up now.”

Four wasn’t sure what to say. Did Acht really know what they were going through? If they had managed to survive it, maybe Four could too.

“I won’t. I promise. Thank you.”

[rogueshadeaux]

Slllliiiiiides over here. Hi hello. I don't think I'll do a bad karma run (IM SORRY. IM SORRY!!) cause a) I'm a wimp and b) I need to get off videogames as soon as I'm done cause I've spent too much time playing lately lmao BUT I will be watching playthrougs cause I gotta know how fucked up he gets.... I gotta know...

To clarify i have a pre existing oc from a story that could be very easily flung into a vat of "au juice" because she's already halfway there in her own cannon LMAO we shall see, for now I have a huge list of things I want to draw for this game so I gotta finish 2 before I explode then I can unleash myself on art again. Gotta feed the discord now. I'm cooking for a crowd.

hi i've been dead for 8 days and recuperating for two lol I understand life stuff (and saw some references to it on your timeline, like the warhammer stuff and the tarot card thing??? bro that shit looks so good!!) as someone that literally shared your stuff and then got ripped away for my own life happenings lmfao. But if you get the chance in the future? Seriously, try an evil karma inF2 run. There's something about how they balanced the story that puts its predecessor AND sequel to shame. They're the same story, but different tales. They have the same goal, but different goalposts. SPP gives you a well-thought-out storyline that both is cohesive, but feels like your choices actually matter. It has none of the "I can help this old lady...or kick her fucking dog lol" of inFAMOUS 1, or the "I will fight for the tribe but literally do everything wrong. everywhere. because I'm a Bad Boy™" of inFAMOUS: Second Son. The choices feel real. They feel sound. They feel like the choices a man wronged by the world would make, if he decided to turn to his harbored resentment instead of his morality. And let's be honest, Cole also feels more morally gray in inF2 than 1 anyways, so seeing the path he takes is great because it genuinely feels like he's done with the accumulation of every shitty situation that has happened to him. And I'm sure you know how the story ends now, so...don't you wanna see what happens if he chose the other option? (pls tell me you haven't watched the playthrough yet lmfao)

Anyways yeah no I totally get life shit, it loves to pull you away from stuff, and also as someone only just now trying to do the bad options in Detroit: Become Human despite getting the game at launch because I need 6 years of preparation to be the bad guy, I understand the wimp bit too. It's hard to be mean sometimes. But with Cole's inF2 story, it doesn't feel mean. It feels like a desperate man, trying to fight for a future he's not convinced cares about him.

And yes oh my god please keep creating lmfao we all love your art so goddamn much. Don't leave this fandom you're now a very important asset. And it's always a good thing, throwing old friends into new situations! I love an OC in a wardrobe change. That's usually the best translation. Think a bit harder about forcing that OC into a new role. Shove her ass onto the stage. We'd all love her.

[saintatomique]

Extended F.A.Q/Interview about 'Heroes Of Oblivion'

(The post below is related to the release of the visual novel 'Heroes Of Oblivion', which is out on itch.io now)

What is this game/What is it about?

This game is a retrofuturistic (40s-inspired) sci-fi and supernatural drama that revolves around a group of friends and touches important issues such as duty, maturity, morality, essence of what a hero is, and what is worth fighting for. I can call it a story about 'growing up', even though the characters are kids in it only for a short time. But they are and it's important. Imagine the worst possible time to grow up. The worst possible circumstance of growing up. Imagine the situation when this eternal optimism of youths that allows them to grow up is impossible. The only situation when closing yourself off to the world seems better than growing up. And you will already be halfway close to what the game is about.

What made you create it?

When I started this game, I was thinking of 'anti-horror', of turning a trope 'survival horror' on its head. Much like Undertale questioned the traditional RPG, I intended to question the traditonal horror and I hold the same disdain for typical horror as Toby Fox holds for traditional rpgs. I think disdain in general is a very powerful thing, especially against things that are perceived as 'heroic'. Tolkien hated power-hungry futurists, Miyazaki also hated them, and also hated the war. Authors seem to hate 'heroes' which aren't really heroes. I attempted to be like them by also questioning what being a hero means. My personal target is a 'James Bond' type of hero who always goes out of situations unscathed, who always has 'fun', this certain glorification of slipperiness, glorification of avoiding pain. At least those brutish cowboys and knights of the past weren't afraid of a couple of wounds and bruises. When they did wrong and acted like pigs, they paid for it - sometimes, with their lives. But modern life glorifies a different kind of hero - the one who is above any kind of consequence. This is what I am trying to dismantle.

Who do you think this story is for?

People who like to cry. I am only half joking.

I made this game to share the experiences of other people, some of them my ancestors. My own, too. This is the first time I am opening up about certain things that I personally experienced, actual conversations I had, almost word for word in certain cases. Many times, if not for all times, you will say 'That's fucked up' and you will be right. That's why I am writing about it. There are many controversial things about it. I find it a bit sad becasue I was simply writing down the conversations I had with people around me. My life is controversial, it seems. Well, someone has to do it!

One of the episodes has teens discussing sexual things, quite crassly, even jokingly describing their attraction to what is perceived as 'adults'. I am sure the community will label it unhealthy, even though that's what I am talking about - it IS unhealthy, not just unhealthy, way worse than that. But it's important to show those conversations I had with my friends exactly as they were. I am not writing an instruction manual for life. I am telling a story about terrible things I saw and since I am in my thirties and I expect my readers to be at least 20+, I will tell this story as it happened.

Who is your personal favorite character out of the game's characters?

Out of the four scientists, I'd say my favorite one is Credence, because he is very earnest underneath his very unpleasant exterior. But overall, I'd say my favorite character is still Mort.

At the end of the development recently, I realized how much I actually miss him. It was a real feeling of longing and deep gratitude. I am happy that we got to experience it together and I can honestly say that I will love him for the rest of my days.

What do you think a player will get out of your game?

A mountain of anguish and a broken heart. But it is by design. This is how it has to be if you love something sincerely.

[starlitangels]

“Last Night (Mistake)” Alternative Situations

I bungled some opportunities when I wrote “Last Night (Mistake)”. Allow me to fix that with a pair of different setups and a different opening

Assuming Blake and Elliott are around the same age, their senior year of high school was either 2012 or 2013 so that’s about when these take place

This is a lot of spice. No smut but Very Spicy. Don’t read it while you’re at work or in class

2.7k words

—

Alternative Situation #1

One of my many playlists thumping away its beat from my iPod Touch, I sat on one corner of Blake’s bed in his basement bedroom, him on the other end. I had my feet up on his leg and he was fiddling with the seam of my sock while reading his textbook. I had my review packet on my lap, but I’d glazed over trying to read it two songs ago. My eyes scanned the paragraphs of important information but the letters and words were all meaningless as my focus continued to dwindle.

“Blake?” I asked.

“Mm?”

“My brain is gonna melt out of my ears.”

“Sorry. Need a break?”

“Probably. Just stand up for a few minutes. Get some blood flow back to my brain or something.”

I moved to get my feet off of him, but he wrapped one hand around my ankle. 

Before I could even ask what he was doing, he ran one fingertip up the sole of my foot.

I yelped and kicked. “Hey! No tickles!”

He smirked. His grip on my ankle tightened. He tickled with more fingers.

I squirmed and kicked harder. “Blake!” I reached behind me—my review packet falling to the ground, forgotten—and grabbed one of his pillows and bringing it around to whack him with it.

It hit him in the face with an “Oof!”

He cackled and tried to grab it from me, but I didn’t let it go and moved to whack him again. Not in the face this time.

He snatched it out of my hands with less difficulty and tossed it halfway across his room. “If you’re gonna hit me, be brave and just hit me,” he said with a smile.

I whacked him in the arm with the back of my hand. “No! I don’t actually want to hurt you,” I said.

He shrugged and grabbed my ankle again, moving as though to tickle my foot again.

“No!” I protested, kicking and actually releasing myself this time.

I drew my feet off his lap and folded them closer to me until I was sitting cross-legged. Biting his lip in concentration, Blake leaned over the bed toward me like he was going to try to tickle me again. I scrambled backward until my spine pressed against the headboard of his bed.

“No. No-no,” I said.

He paused and withdrew. “Do you really wanna stop? I-if you’re not comfortable... I mean, I thought we were just messing around. I meant to just be messing around. If that’s not how you see it and you want to stop I’m fine to.”

I gestured vaguely. “I’m just not a big fan of being tickled,” I said.

“So... what if I do... this?” He snapped his fingers—

And the pillow catapulted from the floor and hit me right in the head.

“You jerk!” I exclaimed through a laugh. “Oh, you are gonna get it now!” I grabbed the pillow and started hitting him with it. He laughed and lunged to grab his other pillow to fight back, but I blocked him. “Oh no you don’t!”

He grabbed my leg and yanked me away from his headboard so he could go over the top of me to grab at the pillow where I couldn’t block him. His fingertips dug into my inner thigh for a better grip—sending a thrill of sensitive sensation up my spine and making me go weak. I sucked in a deep breath, realizing how dry my mouth was.

Blake sensed the shift—

But didn’t let go of my leg. Didn’t loosen his grip. Just stayed where he was, above me, looking down. Pupils blown wide and eyes wider. His other hand was bracing into his pillow over my head where he’d grabbed at it, leaving him somewhat diagonal over me.

The playful mood was gone, leaving a charged atmosphere in its place.

“B... Blake...” 

My voice was breathless. I didn’t even know what I was saying. Was I warning him off? Spurring him on?

He licked his lips and shifted his weight backward. Just enough to take pressure off his other hand.

He ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek, then my neck. At the curve where it met my shoulder, I gasped slightly at that thrill again. Every muscle in my back went slack and my eyelids fluttered. “Oh God...” I breathed.

Blake lifted his fingers off my neck, but the fingertips of his other hand tested their grip on the inside of my thigh, squeezing.

I bit back the little moan that rose, unbidden, to my throat. But some of the sound was still audible over the playlist continuing to play over Blake’s small set of speakers.

Slowly, he lowered himself down.

Delicately feather-light, he brushed his lips to mine.

Wound so tight, that gentle sensation made me snap. I grabbed at his head and held him close to me, kissing him harder.

He replied with equal enthusiasm. Massaging his hand against both of my inner thighs and scooping the noises I made from it out of my mouth with his tongue. Moaning into it himself.

His other hand darted under my shirt. “This okay?” he breathed.

I nodded. “Yes. Please. Keep going.”

He explored under my shirt. My back arched as he dug his fingers into the skin next to my spine as my eyelids fluttered closed.

“Can I take this off?” He tugged at my hem.

“Please.” I helped him get my shirt off. He stripped his own and threw it off to the side. It hit his bedroom door—that was closed. When had it closed? We usually studied with it open...

All thoughts slid out of my head like sand through a child’s fingers when his lips landed on the curve of my shoulder. 

One of his hands was scrambling to unbuckle the belt of his shorts. I reached up and helped him, undoing the belt and popping open the button on his waistband while he handled the zipper. “Is this okay?” he asked. I nodded—over and over. “Use your words.”

“This is better than okay,” I said. “Keep going—oh God, please keep going.”

“Can I take yours off?”

“Please. Blake please.”

He pulled at the waistband of my shorts as he kicked his own off.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “C’mere.”

He pulled me flush against him and kissed me hard. I met him with fervor.

—

Alternative Situation #2

“That man is playing Galaga! Thought we wouldn’t notice... but we did. How does Fury even see these?”

“He turns.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

Blake snorted. “You know, I gotta be honest, I didn’t think they were gonna be able to pull this off,” he whispered. Even though we were just on the couch of the basement of his parents’ house, he knew if he talked too loud through a movie I’d just shush him.

“Yeah, I agree,” I agreed. I offered him the popcorn bowl. He took a handful and chipped away at putting it in his mouth a few at a time. “I mean, when we saw this in the theaters I was just overwhelmed by the spectacle but this way... I’m still impressed.”

“There’s gonna be no way they’ll be able to keep this kind of quality up for the big team-ups. Hype and expectations will always exceed delivery,” he remarked.

“Mm. Probably,” I agreed. “Guess that depends on taste, too.”

“Mm. Yeah. True.”

I popped some of the popcorn in my mouth.

One of the engines blew up on the Helicarrier. I leaned forward, still enjoying the anticipation even though I already knew what was going to happen.

Blake put an arm around me and pulled me backward. “Hey. Down in front. You’re blocking my view of the TV with your big-ass cranium.”

I smacked him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Jerk,” I snapped.

He didn’t remove his arm from around me. Just laughed and gave me a squeeze. “You love me,” he said.

“Do I?”

“Yes—I’m your best friend. You have to.”

“My best friend who is a jerk to me,” I snapped playfully, smiling, giving him a gentle whack in the chest with the back of my hand again.

He chuckled again and gave me another squeeze. “Is it okay for me to leave my arm here?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

At first, I didn’t think much of it. He’d put his arm around me before. Usually in public when he was trying not to lose me at school or the rare occasion we went to the mall with our friends. Or the local fan convention. It was always casual. Nothing behind it.

Slowly, I became very well aware that his hand was warm. I could feel its heat even though he wasn’t even touching me with it. It was just dangling in the air where his forearm was braced against my shoulder.

“Your hand’s gonna fall asleep,” I said after a while.

“It fell asleep a few minutes ago,” he replied. “It got better.”

“Wanna move it?”

“Sure.” He shuffled so he was even closer to me and his hand could rest against my side. “This okay?”

“Sure.”

His hand hadn’t been against my side for two minutes before his thumb started to rub back and forth against my shirt. The movement was comforting. I shuffled my position so my side was pressing into his hand. “Feel good?” he asked. 

I nodded. “Can I... rest my head on your chest?”

He smiled at me. “Of course.”

I leaned so I could put my head between his shoulder and chest. I could still see the movie but I was snuggled up against him.

Blake started rubbing his whole hand up and down my side and arm. I smiled softly. “This okay?” he asked.

“Mmhmm.”

He kept at it. I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie anymore, and I doubted he was either. I was focused on his hand on my side and arm. Warm, slightly callused.

I gasped lightly when his rubbing of my side pulled up my shirt enough that when he went up again, he went under my shirt. My back tensed, arching slightly. His hand was really warm. And it felt really good. The touch was firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough to slide easily.

“Is this okay?” he asked as his hand trailed higher up my side, fingers running over my ribs.

I nodded. “Yeah.” I sounded breathless to my own ears.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him grinning softly.

He started to trace his fingertips over my bare skin. Not just my side. Daring to delve across my torso. One of his fingers flicked a quick circle around the skin of my navel.

My breathing grew short when his thumb dug lightly into my side just under my lowest rib, coming in little gasps. The movie was still playing but I had no idea what was even going on in it anymore. Had the final fight started yet? Were the credits rolling? Who knew? Certainly not me. And not Blake either, judging by how he was looking at me when my eyes rolled back just enough to see him.

“Blake... w... wait...” I was even more breathless.

His hand disappeared from my skin—and goosebumps rose where it grew cold from the lack of contact.

I squirmed, body seeking that warmth of his hand.

“D... don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please.”

He looked down at me, lips slightly parted and eyebrows tilted. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Y-yeah.”

His hand found the bare skin of my torso again. I sighed and leaned into the touch, eyelids fluttering.

I craned my neck to look up at him, only to find him still staring at me.

Breath still coming in thrilled little gasps, I bit my lower lip lightly between my teeth.

His unnaturally vibrant teal eyes were nearly swallowed by the size of his pupils. Under my head, his chest moved with heavy breathing. He swallowed and kept staring at me. “Kiss me,” he breathed.

Everything had been driven out of my head. Anxieties, worries—all gone. Chased away by his touch on my skin.

I straightened up until we were level enough for me to kiss him, but hesitated before doing so.

“Please,” he whispered, the word cracking with desperation.

I reached around his head, sliding my fingers over his short, dark reddish-brown hair, and drew him closer to me.

The kiss was short. A gentle test.

I pulled away, eyes fluttering open to stare at him.

He stared at me too. We just looked into each other’s eyes for several long, breathless seconds.

Before Blake was grabbing at my shoulders and pulling me back in while I balled his tank top straps up into my fists to yank him closer. His tongue plunged into my mouth and I sucked on it.

His hands ran roughly down my back, one of them skirting over my backside to hook around my thigh farthest away from him. He pulled.

I figured out what he meant and shifted my position until I could swing my leg up and straddle his lap. He sighed out his nose, both of his hands holding the small of my back and digging slightly into the skin on either side of my spine.

I took a turn dipping my tongue into his mouth while my hand slid up his neck and over his short hair, scratching my nails into his scalp. He moaned quietly and held me closer.

My head was spinning but thoughts and worries weren’t among the chaos. All I was aware of was sensations. His warm hands. His soft mouth. His arousal forming in his lap.

I moved to pull myself back just enough to be respectful and not embarrass him, but he chased my retreating hips with his own, rocking up into me with a groan that was almost a whine. His hands slid from my back to my hips and pulled me down against him. “Don’t go,” he whispered, lips sloppy against mine.

I tilted my head for a better angle and pushed my tongue into his mouth. He sucked on it. “I’m not.”

His hands on my hips hooked his fingers over the waistband of my shorts. “Can I take these off?”

“If I can take yours off.”

“Please,” he begged. My breath shuddered in and out of my lungs as I found his belt and undid it. He sighed in relief as I popped the button on his waistband and pulled his shorts. We both adjusted our positions so the other could remove clothing. Our shirts quickly followed our shorts.

We were both breathing hard, sweat, saliva, and condensation gathering on our skin.

“Is this okay?” Blake asked.

“Yes. Please, Blake. Please don’t stop.”

His hands chased after sensitive spots all over my body, making me moan.

“Bedroom?” He glanced toward the door to his room.

I nodded frantically.

He hooked his hands under my thighs and stood, carrying me into his room and kicking the door shut behind us. We spilled onto the bed.

“C’mere, beautiful,” Blake breathed, drawing me closer into the heat of his bare skin.

—

Alternative Situation #3 (Different Opening)

With a deep breath, I returned to consciousness. My neck was aching a little bit and there was something thumping under my ear. Peeling my eyes open, I saw dark teal blackout curtains with weak morning sunlight trying to peer around them. I recognized them. Blake’s room. The clouds that matched the curtains on the duvet cover was draped over me.

Blake’s bed. I’d never slept in his bed before. The occasional nap on top of the covers, sure. But not in the bed.

I sighed slowly and blinked lethargically.

It wasn’t just my neck aching. My whole body was sore. I grimaced at the feeling of it. The flinch made me realize that I was entirely naked.

The fatigue vanished in a puff of smoke. Clarity came back.

I was lying on Blake’s bare chest. The thumping I heard was his heartbeat under my ear. His arm was around me, under my neck, holding me against his side. He was warm. A light sheen of sweat clung to both of us, sticking our skin together.

A tidal wave of memories crashed into me as I realized how I got here.

[omensgate]

fav campaign and why

<this is YOUR invitation to send me asks about anything>

oh god im no good at having feelings or opinions so ill just go down a list rattling off my experiences with the campaigns

for the record from the start ive been cheating, ive Never played this game blind. id consumed a lot of rain world playthrough medias before playing it (im not good at playing games in the sense that i simply do not experience them- im a speedrunner at heart... or not competitive or intelligent, im just walking fast paced from start to end...) and when i did play i always had a map and the wiki open which i think diminishes some of the feeling. but i still had fun moving from place to place

SURVIVOR: its classic. its sweet. its fun. i played about halfway through myself, but the second half i completed with my "Boyfriend" so i remember it as being very entertaining as we both fumbled around and learned together. it serves its purpose well and i think anything i enjoy about rain world can be seen in the survivor campaign at least to start off with... 10/10 nothing special but no loss by playing it yknow. ive also done an outer expanse + baby run (ftr if you want baby fast before going to outer expanse, live in industrial for a while. cannot compete with that pup spawn rate + you can easily make the rounds to check like 5 shelters a cycle before its anywhere near over) which yes -_- did make me cry.

MONK: i.. dont like playing monk. friendliness from other creatures does not mean much to me when actively hostile creatures are near impossible to kill because my spear can travel one (1) slugcats worth in distance so i would not play this with my fairly aggressive play style... i only played it for the short time itd take to get to outer expanse and. again. yes. i cried -_- i think its very sweet, and i am like. (clinically) psychotically attached to monk where its very important to my heart BUT Its not fun as a game experience to me

HUNTER: i tried to jolly co op cheat and play as arti to finish this as i find arti the easiest to play as but i kept crashing which is. you know. very bad for the single campaign where you want to be losing the least so ive never made much progress with this one and i genuinely dont want to open hunter back up because of the crashing. i THINK This was because i was playing w the sunhat mod because ive never experienced that magnitude of crashing constantly and uninstalled it after and have not experienced that again until... well youll read later

GOURMAND: i played this one from the start with my "Boyfriend" and so again it was fun from that, ESPECIALLY because he played as artificer and so was essentially my chariot throughout the campaign... easy way to beat gourmands exhaustion: make your partner carry you. shrimple. its SO fun to beat the shit out of creatures and i do like being forced to just take a moment and walk around slowly, i havent found his exhaustion toooo terrible if youre just patient except when youre fighting creatures that have health enough that you cant kill them in one hit. but being able to just slam something to death is SO satisfying, i enjoyed it. HOWEVER, ive never actually gotten to the END (Due to "Boyfriend" availability, we've stopped just outside the outer expanse gate). and of course, yes, every single fucking time i watch someone go into outer expanse i CRY LIKE A BABY. the first i think DOZEN times i watched people go through outer expanse, id start WAILING whenever i just saw slugcat npcs, it tugs and tears at my heart strings so badly. youre not alone. youve spent a campaign or two trudging through a wasteland empty of kind relatable figures but youre HOME now, just as you left it, and everyones so happy to see you back. im crying now . (do i just cry a lot? Maybe. im at an emotional point in my life... be nice.) 12/10 above survivor def, and gourmands my most favorite to play as in expedition- cant argue with that combat system + exhaustion isnt too bad for me + i love the variety of the world, its not impossibly difficult while not being easy.

ARTIFICER: ive never finished revenge route, ill be going to a different save file to try and it now, instead ive finished the ascension route. i know arti can be... extremely frustrating to play because its hitting a wall again and again and again but i really didnt have too much trouble approaching it knowing i had to be prepared to die + using my map a lot ("WTF this game is so unfair i cant see enemies about to shoot me!" Use Your Map. use your map and slug senses) + of course... ample map skills so im not ambling and getting like im getting lost and dying for nothing. though i will say, i did nearly give up at exactly the end- i think its the camera scroll mod but subterranean made the game near unplayable. like 0.5 frames per second, computer screaming, crashing i think a half dozen times again in an area where i NEEDED the karma to the point where i had to passage in place so i could ascend, and then crashing i think thrice while i was in the depths, including not allowing me to see the end cutscene... specifically that huge room with the big pit would grind the game to a halt i think because its so large and all the enemy AI, and all the spiders and centipedes are a nightmare and i just... hated it. every other leg of the game was fine, rewarding, heart touching but dear fucking lord, subterranean isnt more difficult or intriguing its just "the games not going to play smoothly at all and heres 5000000 ridiculously enemies". i WANT to love it, you know i love arti, but its just impossible to play if you want to ascend. and of course revenge route is crazy short which feels bad. removed from my experiences though, i think its beautiful with the one caveat that revenge route is TOO short. ive watched way too many people who were interested in the lore never get to even the third dream because theres just not enough shelters if you run straight to metropolis, which makes me sad. but the story generally is beautiful and i love it (and i could talk about it later, some of the things people say about arti makes me.. insane. either that shes totally righteous in her actions, or that her pups deaths are her fault)

SPEARMASTER: playing this one while cheating both using the map to plan exactly the route you need and to go through precipice as arti for the double jump + to swallow the pearl made it an absolute dream. yes the world is very scary but you can avoid a lot of the worst parts by simply not being there <3 one part: i did forget to change back to spearmaster before going to moon and she did crash my game so . remember to do that. very good campaign both for me to have played without doing anything as intended (never touched a broadcast), combat is fun, but also a very good story. i really like five pebbles and... i cannot get into the degree of five pebbles apologist i am i genuinely cant detail this without going off the rails. regardless; much 2 think about.

RIVULET: never played this one + not playing this one very scary looks bad dont want it. no rot no underwater sections no thank you. wont touch it. wont look at it. thank you

SAINT: hesitant to play this one due to the adventure aspect though i already got all echoes with arti so it cant be that bad- of course the story aspect of it all cannot be understated and it fully shattered my world view when i got into it. rain worlds live and die messaging has really helped me through suicidal and delusional periods and im very glad for what can be gleaned from saints story so i do like it a lot. as ive said before its also so amazing how a game with little to no tutorial text or cutscenes can have numerous jaw drop moments (with max karma reveal and descent into rubicon)

SOFANTHIEL: funny haha! (Jumps around

[elfdragon12]

TBH I was surprised when people kept saying that the skybound comic is really violent when IDW has a lot more gore and deaths, I don't even really read the IDW comics but from the panels and pages I sometimes see on Twitter and Tumblr its way more brutal in there especially in MTMTE and most body horror fanarts are from idw1 fans.

The only explanation I can think of why people see it as more violent is because DWJ's art has a somewhat messy style (where as most of the artist from idw have a more sleek and clean artstyle) and the bombastic fight choreography, to which no offense to the IDW artist cause I really love their art but comparing the fight scene between the two comics and its just obvious DWJ just have more experience in drawing and writing fight scenes.

Honestly and truly! There is so much body horror in IDW1! MTMTE has Ratchet as a head and spine! A Duobot is stuck halfway in a wall and *is still alive*! There are multiple scenes where a character's brain is exiting their body *through their mouth*! Getaway collecting spines/memory cores! Actual fan favorite character Chromedome frequently lobotomizes living people!

And, of course, we have Last Stand of the Wreckers that I read once and will never read again. Not because I think it's bad, but because it's so violent and mean-spirited that I do not feel well after reading it--not in a tummy way, but "my heart feels heavy" way.

Also the Kup spotlight that's a zombie story. Did not enjoy it as I was expecting a story that highlighted something important about Kup rather than a zombie survival story that happened to feature Kup.

That's just off the top of my head. IDW1 is rife with violence and gore and will not hesitate to show every second.

DWJ does such a good job with fight choreography! The fight scenes are so enjoyable and clear! The fact he's obviously a pro-wrestling fan and has clearly practiced drawing the moves really elevates the scenes! DWJ has also been more "artsy" and dramatic about the violence, note every time we see Starscream kill a human. It's the impact more than anything else.

I do see that as a pretty good explanation for why people *feel* like Skybound has been more violent when it really hasn't been. Like, we've finished issue 4 and the known death toll is still in the single digits.

Another is that IDW1 is in the rear view, so people are remembering what they liked from it, rather than remembering what it really was. IDW1 has been put on a pedestal, despite being just as flawed as every other continuity out there. (Prime example: the Lost Light's double ending that ruins every thinkpiece about Megatron's "redemption" because it turns out there's another version of him escaping all the consequences because JRo wants to have his cake and eat it too.)

The TFEU is not the most violent entry to the franchise nor is anywhere close to the top three. It's just new with a different art style with the key creator being very good at drawing dynamic and exciting fight scenes. (A new artist is joining the Transformers team. Don't know much about him, but I hope he keeps up the good work!)

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(TFATWS) Bucky x Reader: Protective- Part 1

 (Author’s Note: I watched TFATWS and loved it.  So here we are).

 The tension had finally fizzled out an hour or so into the trip- at least for a little while.

   Your consulting criminal, Zemo, made himself comfortable as soon as he set foot on the jet.  He was leaning back in his seat across from you, looking very pleased as he read a book and took an occasional sip from his champagne glass.  His contented demeanor had visibly affected both of your friends, Sam and Bucky, causing their irritation with him to skyrocket earlier.  But after some of the confrontations concerning Bucky’s inherited notebook from Steve, Sam’s music, and Zemo’s observations of you, things had finally calmed down.

   He was a crafty one.  He knew how to push buttons, knew exactly what to say to trigger each individual’s weak points.  Things had begun to escalate especially when Zemo turned his attention to you.  His piercing gaze had you frozen in place as he made inquiries.  While he didn’t ask anything outwardly uncomfortable, the probing questions about your life were starting to make you uneasy.

   The other two males didn’t take too kindly to Zemo’s attempts at conversation with you.  Bucky stared out the window with his jaw clenched.  At one point, Sam let out an exasperated sigh, causing the criminal to halt mid-sentence. He leaned over to raise his brow at you diagonally across the aisle of the jet.   “_________, is he bothering you?”

   You didn’t have to speak: the look on your face said it all, and Sam shifted in his seat again to look over at Zemo.  “Alright, that’s enough.”  His tone was firm and leaving no room to question.

   Directly across the aisle from you to your right, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed when Zemo followed Sam’s command.  The jet had fallen silent except for the muffled whirring sounds of its mechanics.

   You pretended to skim through a magazine that you’d found laying on a tray.  With one hour down and twelve more to go on the flight, you felt the need to unwind a bit.  Everything had happened so fast from the moment you agreed to go with your friends to Berlin to see Zemo.  After Thanos’ horrible plan came to an end, things heated up when John Walker went public as “the new Captain America.”  He’d even offered you a place working with him since you were part of Team Cap back in the day.  You declined, of course, and found yourself even more determined to help Sam and Bucky.

   You were happy for Steve.  You were.  It was still hard to have him gone.  For years, ever since the Avengers broke apart over the Sokovia Accords and Bucky’s framing, you’d followed Steve.  Even before then, when it was discovered that Hydra had been infiltrating SHIELD, you’d left the broken agency to join him as he continued his fight against threats to the world

   You hadn’t imagined that you and the others would be left to keep fighting without him.

   “You in the market for a new grill?”

   You were drawn from your deep thought to a set of dark blue eyes that looked from you to the magazine page that you hadn’t turned in at least ten minutes.  You chuckled and closed the magazine, playing along.  “Yes, I figured with all this extra time, I’d do a little shopping.”

   The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up in a brief show of amusement.  You rose from the seat to go to his side, kneeling down beside his chair.

   “Why does he even have this?”  You lowered your voice as you glanced at the eccentric baron, setting the magazine back down onto the tray.  “You’d think there would be more European fashion magazines or something.”

   Bucky’s eyes flickered to the man in question before leaning in to speak in an equally quiet tone.  “I have to admit.  We lucked out with him.  Not only does he have a lead, but he’s got private transportation so we can stay under the radar.”

   “I think we made the the right choice going to him,” you replied.

   “We can only hope,” he muttered.  “Seriously though, what were you thinking about when you zoned out?”

   “Oh.”  You averted your gaze, playing with the hem of your jacket.  You didn’t want to delve into your train of thought.  It was plain as day that Bucky and Sam were both dealing with Steve’s departure in their own ways, and you didn’t want to add to it or open up any healing wounds.  So, you settled on being vague.  “Just...everything.”

   He seemed to know what you meant anyway.  The silence that followed made guilt gnaw in your chest, but before you could say anything, Bucky spoke.

   “Hey,” he nudged you with his shoulder, making you meet his gaze again.  His eyes had softened significantly and forehead smoothed in absence of the lines caused by furrowed brows.  It was a nice change from the scowl he had since the mission started.  “Sorry we dragged you into this.”

   You dismissed the apology with a casual wave of your hand.  “You guys didn’t drag me into anything.  I was along for the ride from the beginning.”

   A comfortable silence fell between you then.  He returned to gazing out the window while you stood up and headed back to your seat, sinking into it and letting your head tip forward.  You figured that a cat nap was in order since you hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.  All that business with an internationally-known criminal breaking out of prison had you on edge.  With nothing but the sounds of occasional page-turning from Zemo’s book and Sam tapping his foot lightly to the beat of music he listened to on his phone with earbuds, sweet sleep claimed you in no time.

   You were pulled from your dreamless slumber by voices, but your body wasn’t ready to respond just yet.  The first thing you noticed was that you were leaning against something on your right side, your face resting on a soft material that held the scent of leather and cologne. Bucky’s scent.  It must’ve been his jacket balled up to serve as a pillow.  In fact, it was his voice rumbling closest to you.

   “Stop looking at her like that.”

   “Apologies, James, but I don’t know what you mean.”  Zemo’s accented voice was quieter, but there was a sprinkle of amusement in his tone.

   “You’re doing it right now.”

   “Bucky, come on,” Sam interjected.  “We managed to make it a few hours without killing the guy.  Don’t let him get to you now.”

   Zemo’s tone took on a new intensity, as if he was gripped by fascination.  “You seem very protective of __________.  The way you move around her is intriguing, as if prepared to defend her at a moment’s notice.”

   “Don’t engage,” Sam warned in a low voice.

   By now, you were almost fully awake.  Despite the potentially awkward situation that Zemo was creating with the analysis of your friend, you figured it would be best to intervene.  You shifted, blinking your eyes open.

   “What’s going on?” you muttered, voice still a little rough from sleep.  “It better be good because I haven’t slept that well in a while.”  You lifted your head from Bucky’s jacket, eyes darting up to see him staring out the window again.  “Sorry,” you muttered, brushing a bit of drool from his jacket before handing it back to him.  He stole a glance in your direction again, not seeming to mind.

   “No big deal.  You needed the sleep.”

   Bucky didn’t say another word, so you turned to Sam for answers.  He shrugged with the shake of his head.  “Zemo’s being... well, Zemo.”

   You nodded in understanding, as if that simple phrase was all the explanation you needed.  Zemo caught your gaze, the corners of his lips turning up a smile.

   “As I mentioned before, we will have to go undercover to meet with Selby in Madripoor.  I was merely thinking of disguises for you and Sam.”

   He seemed like was telling the truth, but you didn’t doubt that he relished the added bonus of getting under Bucky’s skin in the process.  While Bucky had been protective of you and those who chose to put themselves on the line to prove his innocence when it came to the UN bombing, you hadn’t expected him to be quite that defensive in this situation.  As flattering as it was in some ways, it made you worry.  Zemo knew what buttons to push.  Would he eventually push a button to make things go his way?  To forward some plan of his?

   You got up to stretch and use the refresher.  You took your time since there were still several hours left in the flight.  Zemo had informed the group that upon landing, there would be  limited window to get into costume and go over your characters before heading to Selby’s club.

   - - - - - - -  

   “Only an American would assume that a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp,” Zemo complained.  You stole a glance at your friend who gave his outfit another displeased look.  “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.  The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”  He handed his phone over so Sam could get a look at his character’s picture.

   “He even has a bad nickname.  He does look like me, though.”

   “And who am I supposed to be?” you asked, pulling the jacket over your form tighter.  You wore a dark blue dress that went to your knees.  The material was soft and had a subtle glimmer in the light, and the outfit was complete with a pair of black heels that clacked on the pavement with each step, a shiny silver bracelet, and the black jacket that you were glad to have in the chilly air.  The group was walking to the halfway point of the bridge to be picked up.

   “You will be my date,” Zemo replied casually.

   You gave him an incredulous look.  “Really?  I’m just the date?”

   He released a sigh before launching into explanation.  “You don’t exactly resemble any crime bosses.  Besides, it’s not uncommon for dates to come and go in this town.  No one will be asking who you are.  No one will expect what’s coming to them if we need to fight.  You may have the greatest advantage out of all of us.”

   As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point.

   “Just remember to remain at my side at all times,” Zemo continued.  “Make it look convincing that we are together.”

   You refused to meet his amused look.  “Yeah, yeah.  Whatever.”

   A black car idled just ahead, and Zemo once more reiterated how important it was to stay in character. He told the group about High Town and Low Town, though you were a little distracted by the city lights reflecting off the water.

   You squeezed into the backseat between Bucky and Sam.  The ride was tense with only the sound of your breaths in the small space.  Bucky stared straight ahead through the windshield even as motorcycles surrounded the car and escorted it the rest of the way.  The car dropped you all off near the club, and Zemo held out his hand to help you out of the vehicle.  He put an arm around your waist at a respectful level, but Bucky took one look and halted.

   “Okay, this isn’t going to work,” Bucky snapped.  Everyone’s eyes were on him.

   Sincerity was written all over Zemo’s features as he responded.  “I assure you, it will.” Suddenly, his eyes flickered with realization, though you glanced between the two men in confusion.  “I know you don’t trust me, James, and I understand your discomfort.  However, you are playing the part of the Winter Soldier.  It is best if she remains inconspicuous as my date.”

   “Wait, that’s what this is about?” Sam asked in disbelief.  “Who ________ pretends to date?”  Your eyes fell to the pavement.  The situation was already unpleasant.  The last thing you wanted was to bring confusing feelings into the mix while in the middle of an important mission.

   Bucky began to protest.  “No, I-”

   “Relax,” Sam said, holding up his hands to show he meant no offense.  “________, you can stay by me.  Smiling Tiger can have a date, right?”  He looked to Zemo for confirmation.

   “Excellent idea.”  He nodded in approval.  “Just remember to stay in character.  All of you.”  

(Link to Part 2)

[teawaffles]

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 3 / End

Note: Some language.

“G-Goddammit……”

“No way, how……?”

Roughly twenty minutes had passed.

And with their glasses in hand, Moran and Louis were both gasping in agony.

Once the match had resumed, the three participants had attacked their glasses, consuming drink after drink like a surging tide. Now that Louis had been saved the trouble of approaching the other two time and again to fill their glasses, the rate at which the wine now entered them had seen a remarkable jump.

Although Louis was not a strong drinker to begin with, his sheer determination to prevail had allowed him to keep pace with his veteran opponents: at this point, he’d already downed a comparable portion of wine.

However, even mental willpower had its limits. Back when he’d consumed his twentieth glass, the intoxication had hit Louis like a brick, and a wave of dizziness swamped him. From then on, Louis had placed his spectacles on the table, and repeatedly rubbed the inner corners of his eyes in a bid to chase away that sense of vertigo.

Now, Louis was attempting his thirtieth glass of wine since he’d entered the match. In other words, Moran and Albert had already drunk an astonishing 51 glasses.

Even as they moaned like spirits of the dead, both Louis and Moran tried to fill their glasses for the next round; but the hands that held those glasses kept trembling, and wine spilled onto the table many times over.

“——This is truly an excellent wine. With this flavour, I can enjoy myself twice as much.”

On the other hand, Albert was still in perfect shape.

Having long finished preparing his next glass, Albert looked at his two opponents, barely able to hold their own glasses, as if watching them from on high.

Despite having consumed an extraordinary quantity of alcohol, he was still unperturbed, and enjoying the taste of the wine. With unfocused eyes, Louis turned to look at his oldest brother.

“Ha, haha — as expected of you, nii-sama.”

In the face of this overwhelming presence, his own powerlessness seemed almost hilarious in comparison, and he chuckled as if he’d given up.

“This isn’t, the time to be, laughing, Louis……”

Moran thumped his back, in an effort to coax some life back into him. But that gesture was much too weak, and looked as though he was simply trying to soothe a badly drunk man.

Yet perhaps that move had worked, for then, Louis knocked back his entire glass. Following suit, both Moran and Albert drained their glasses too.

“Well then, we’ve finally reached the thirtieth glass.”

Watching the three of them, William announced the tally with dispassion. But at this point, it wasn’t clear if his voice had even reached Louis and Moran.

Having reached a nice round number, it seemed Louis was starting to loosen up. With the last ounces of his strength, he turned his head, and looked at Moran beside him.

“Mr Moran. My apologies, but it looks like, this is my end……”

“Wha…… Oi, hang in there, Louis!”

But his desperate plea went unanswered. The moment Louis uttered those final words, just like Fred, he slumped onto the table.

“L-Louis……”

Half-dazed, Moran mumbled the name of the fallen — and William swiftly appeared by his brother’s side.

“You’ll catch a cold if you fall asleep here, Louis.”

Gently, he tucked the blanket he’d prepared around Louis’s shoulders.

Albert looked on in concern.

“William, is Louis alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, it seems he’s just asleep for now.”

“…………”

The two brothers looked on at their youngest sibling, now keeled over; but even as Moran too fretted over his condition, a sense of admiration and gratitude towards the man had grown within him. Despite being drawn into the match, Louis had pressed on and fought alongside him to get this far. If Moran himself hadn’t been so sozzled, he would even have wanted to give the man a huge round of applause.

However, even those ardent emotions dwindled with time. For Moran was now back to square one — as the only player standing up to Albert — and that lonesome despair weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Here was an opponent so tough, that even someone who’d joined halfway had been no match for him.

That raw power sent a chill down Moran’s back. Desperately trying to hold his vision steady, he glared at Albert.

“……How the hell are you still alive?”

Through his hazy consciousness, Moran barely managed to utter that one phrase. Although it’d come from his own lips, to him, it sounded as if it’d been said by someone else far away.

Albert shifted his gaze from Louis to Moran.

“It’s not so surprising, is it? I just genuinely enjoy drinking wine, Colonel.”

“This is no longer in the realm of ‘enjoyment’, innit……”

Perhaps his inebriation had finally tipped over into delirium: at that moment, the sight of Albert lounging with a glass in hand looked almost like that of the devil.

And finally, that time had come.

“Oh, shit——”

In his final moments, with every last ounce of strength he had within him, Moran uttered that cheap curse.

And in an instant, as if someone had flipped a switch — he blacked out. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he collapsed onto the table in front of Albert, and began to snore loudly.

“Looks like…… it’s settled, then.”

Watching the sleeping figures of Fred, Louis, and now Moran, William announced the end of the match.

And thus, on this memorable night, the drinking contest had ended in complete victory for the preternaturally strong Albert.

“……Mm?”

Around thirty minutes after that, Fred — who’d been the first to drop out — opened his bleary eyes.

Blinking, he slowly sat up, and saw Moran and Louis fast asleep in a row beside him, with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Why Louis too?, he thought; but seeing that sight before him, at the very least, he somehow understood that the match was over.

Perhaps it was inevitable, but it had ended in a crushing defeat for Moran, Louis and him.

“Good morning, Fred; though the sun hasn’t risen yet.”

Someone called out to him from the side — by reflex, Fred’s gaze snapped toward the voice, and he saw William smiling gently at him, seated in the same spot from earlier. Beside him was Albert.

“……How long has it been?”

Since he already knew how the match had turned out, for now, still a little groggy, Fred enquired as to how long he’d been unconscious.

“It’s been around thirty minutes since the end of the match. So that makes it around two hours since you passed out,” said William. “It’s past midnight now.”

That voice had a somewhat comforting note to it, as if he was worried for Fred, who’d just awakened from the depths of drunkenness.

Then Albert — who was still enjoying his wine — spoke up in concern.

“Still, the colonel has done this time and again without learning his lesson. Even though wine is a luxury to be savoured and enjoyed.”

“Although you’ve beaten him every time, it seems that argument has yet to persuade him otherwise.”

Looking at Albert, who seemed to be functioning perfectly despite everything, William shrugged in amazement.

Fred had no clue as to how exactly how much wine Albert had ended up drinking; but from the wryness of William’s smile, he could at least tell that it was an amount beyond an ordinary person’s imagination.

Once again, Fred reflected on how it’d been a mistake in itself to challenge this monster to a fight.

“Although Moran seems to have given it his all this time around, as I thought: he was no match for you, nii-san.”

As if narrating Fred’s thoughts, William looked back on the outcome of the battle. Then, Albert picked up a bottle that still contained some liquor.

“Won’t you join me for a bit, William? Just to enjoy the wine.”

Despite having consumed a copious amount of alcohol, Albert was still game for more. But William waved a hand in refusal.

“I won’t. Anyway, I already had my fill over dinner.”

“That’s a pity; now that it’s just the two of us, I’d wanted to discuss its flavour at length with you.”

Saying that, Albert tilted his glass, and gently brought it to his lips. That gesture looked almost as if it’d been calculated down to the millimetre — the atmosphere surrounding him truly befitted that of a British aristocrat.

“…………”

William, the pivotal intellect of their organisation, and Albert, who was speaking to him.

Gazing vacantly at the two men, a thought suddenly struck Fred.

——How did this man come to be what he was today?

Albert had been born and raised as a noble — in this stratified society, he was considered part of the upper class.

But despite the position bestowed upon him by his birth, he had not sunk into the degenerate practices of the nobility; instead, his heart ached for the twisted nature of their country, and he wished to overturn it from its very foundations.

And the catalyst for all that, had been the two brothers he’d picked up.

Rather than indulging in their social positions and means, the Moriarty brothers instead refined their intellect and abilities with unyielding force of will, thus turning themselves into the “Lord of Crime” — an existence working in the shadows of Britain’s underworld.

Fred looked at Louis, asleep to his side, and then at William and Albert, who were engaged in conversation.

It was almost as if they’d been destined to meet.

——Could I, too, get closer to them?

Despite not being related by blood, Albert saw William and Louis as his brothers — the bonds between them were strong. In that case, perhaps Fred’s relationship with them could become even closer than what it was now.

Secretly, that thought blossomed in Fred’s heart.

“Well then, it’s getting late, so we should call it a night. Seeing as they’re asleep, what should we do with Louis and the colonel?”

Paying no heed to Fred’s longing gaze, Albert drained the last of his wine, and calmly got to his feet. Remaining seated, William spoke.

“Since they’re so soundly asleep, I’d hate to rouse them; let’s leave them be a while longer.”

“I see. Then I shall remain as well.”

Listening in to their conversation, all of a sudden, Fred remembered the important agreement that’d been made at the start of the match.

Nervously, he asked after Albert.

“Um, since I’ve lost, I suppose the forfeit will fall on me too……?”

Simply owing to the fact that he’d participated in the drinking contest, as one of the defeated parties, Fred had resigned himself to accepting the loser’s penalty.

However, Albert smiled.

“Aah, no need to worry about that. As you know, this match is a personal matter between the colonel and myself; I’m sorry you got caught up in it.”

“N-no, you don’t have to apologise. Even though it was a rather sudden turn of events, it was still my own decision to participate.”

At that unexpected apology, Fred waved both hands weakly. But Albert kept up that elegant smile of his as he continued.

“You don’t have to concern yourself with the forfeit. Well, even if I were fine with him doing it, the colonel would just be a right bother; so I’d be grateful if you could just tidy up the glasses we’ve used tonight.”

“T-Thank you very much.”

Having expected a bigger penalty, Fred was grateful for Albert’s magnanimity. In his heart, he heaved a sigh of relief, and proceeded to clear the glasses.

As he did so, Albert turned to look at Louis, who was still fast asleep.

“And since Louis was also caught up in this, I’ll exempt him as well.”

Then his focus shifted to Moran, who was slumped beside Louis.

“……Instead, I suppose I’ll have to give the colonel a proper punishment.”

“…………”

Although his voice had been calm, a disquieting feeling lingered around those words. Hearing that, even the agile Fred had unwittingly stopped in his tracks.

In place of Fred, whose face had paled, William asked after Albert with a wry smile.

“Nii-san, exactly what kind of punishment will you be giving him?”

Albert’s tone remained calm as always.

“Let’s keep that a secret for now. But no matter what it’ll be, I’m sure all of you can look forward to it.”

Saying that, Albert smiled. It was elegant to a fault.

“…………”

As he took the empty glasses, Fred looked at the sleeping Moran.

He’d set up this contest of his own accord: he had it coming for him. And yet, as Fred thought about what lay in store tomorrow for the man he saw as an older brother, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry.

Just like this, the night to commemorate the founding of MI6, had drawn to a close.

T/N: …Do I really want to know what Albert’s gonna make him do? (ohoho)

Translator’s notes

Drinking capacities

I thought I’d summarise their relative strengths at drinking :3 From weakest to strongest:

Fred (<20 glasses)

Louis (30)

Moran (52)

Albert (52, and then some)

Though William didn’t participate in the end (aww), I would think he’s on par with Louis, and maybe even a bit stronger too.

The illustration

The illustration shows Moran slumped on a tiny coffee table of sorts; but I’m wondering where Louis and Fred are, since they were described as being asleep on the table beside Moran... Perhaps this is an incongruity between the story and the illustration?

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: The Importance of Timing, Ch 1

<<chapter navigation TBA>>

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb and Essek make the mistake of overworking themselves right before the Mighty Nein are scheduled for a reunion. Lessons are learned.

Wordcount: 3.6k (yeah, this one’s going to take a while)

A/N: making some more progress on my backlog of prompts (this one happens to be both from the most recent vote and this lovely anon prompt)! cross your fingers that this is going to be my first finished chapter fic lol

---

Caleb hardly remembers it, later.

It was evening - not particularly late, but after three near-sleepless nights time stretched into its own kind of viscous liquidity. Like a soup.

He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it, too tired for more than the barest expense of breath. Essek would know better than he, of course - he turned to him, intending to share the thought, and found a sheaf of notes thrust mere inches from his face.

“Here,” Essek said brusquely. Exhaustion did not lend itself to the usual smoothness of his speech. “I think I have it, finally - if we engrave it this way, the spell will replenish itself without interrupting conversation, yes?”

“Oh.” He took the papers, looking them over blearily - his eyes widened, a brief rush of vigor returning. “Oh, this is - oh, this is good! Let me just fabricate the surface smooth again and we can try-”

There was a crash from a location beyond the lab and therefore currently unimportant. Neither of them looked up.

The interruption, then, arrived unexpectedly.

“Hel-loooo!”came a lilting Nicodranian accent from the hall. “We got here early and you didn’t answer your door so we used our super cool magic powers to come in, and we should to-tally make a hammock themed room in the mansion tonight because I think Fjord is kind of land sick - Caleb, look at me, why do you look so terrible?”

Caleb knew the consequences of ignoring that voice. He looked up.

After hours of gazing at runes, his eyes refused to fully adjust and take in the three figures in the doorway. He squinted and managed to make out a bit of blue. “Jester?”

“They look tired right out, the poor things,” a purple blob pronounced from Jester’s right. “We haven’t missed out on an adventure, have we?”

“No,” Jester said, “Essek would never go out with his hair looking like that. Right, Essek? Aren’t you, like, super embarrassed that your hair’s all floppy right now?”

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the floppy-haired drow in question, Caleb could just barely hear him hiss in protest at the interruption. “Leave, then, if it disturbs you so.”

Caleb blinked, starting to fumble together a sentence to dull the reprimand, and suddenly the remaining green blob resolved into Fjord as he put a hand on Caleb’s forehead and crouched to look into his eyes. “All right, it’s bedtime for you two. Jes, can you get Essek?”

“Wait-” Caleb grabbed weakly for the table, for his notes at least, but he was already being swept up in Fjord’s arms and carried bodily from the room. Essek sounded much more awake - and irate, frankly - behind him, trying to explain something, but it had been far too long since he had been anywhere near horizontal - with his head pillowed against Fjord’s bicep, he was asleep before they reached the stairs.

---

Waking is a slow process.

He is not alone - there’s a weight to being tangled up in someone else, the warm scent of closeness, and even without his eidetic memory he does not think he can ever forget the stony, moon-soaked smell of having his face buried in the crook of Essek’s shoulder.

He yawns lazily. Essek must be very tired, if Caleb is awake and he is not, and he is the better cook of the two of them anyway - although of course neither of them have any comparison to Caduceus, or Yasha now that it’s been several months since her last poisoning incident. He presses a gentle kiss to Essek’s jaw and rolls out of bed to get started with breakfast.

Or tries to, at least. His top half makes it out of bed easily enough, but the rest of him does not seem inclined to follow.

Something clanks at the foot of the bed as he narrowly hauls himself up from a quick trip to the floor. He props himself up on an elbow, halfway through another yawn, and finds himself staring down a pair of manacles hooked around his ankles.

He kicks cautiously. The chain threaded through his bed posts clanks again.

Panic begins to stir low in his gut. “Essek!”

There’s a sleepy murmur next to him. He twists to find Essek blinking awake - there’s not much else he can do, with his arms shackled above his head and his legs chained below in similar fashion. The cuffs are padded at least, stuffed with what looks to be worn handkerchiefs, and they’re both fully dressed in sleep clothes - their captors don’t want to hurt them, then, not yet.

Caleb scans the room frantically. The book he has been reading is still propped open on the bedside table, the door knob Essek had pried from an Aeorian ruin after Caleb had commented on its sparkle still proudly adorns the bathroom door, Kingsley is still leaning against the window-

He grins smugly as Caleb’s gaze snaps back to him. “Oh, good, you’re both awake. Comfy watch, but it’s ever so much more boring without the-” He pulls his hands from his pockets and rocks them back and forth. “Oh, and also the fish folk trying to kill us, those are great.”

“Kingsley?” Caleb demands. Next to him, Essek makes a shocked sound as he presumably recognizes that he cannot move any of his limbs. “What is this?”

“Oh, I can’t rightly say.” Kingsley saunters over and swings himself neatly up onto the mattress, worming between him and Essek to sit cross-legged at the center of the bed. “Wasn’t my idea, at any rate-”

“Jester and Fjord were here too,” Essek interrupts. “Is this - this is a prank, is it not?”

“Hush, you,” Kingsley smirks. “All I’ve got is that I’m to ensure you don’t make your way free with any spellcasting before Fjord and Jester get back. And to that end…”

He breaks the pause with a dramatic flourish of his arms, spreading them wide before laying a palm down lightly on each of their bellies. “I’m told this should do just fine, if the two of you care to demonstrate?”

Caleb connects the dots just a moment too late to throw himself back off the edge of the bed. “Kingsley - wait - ah!”

There was a time when it would take minutes for his mind to link the intruding sensation of touch to anything but wariness. Now, the instant Kingsley’s fingers start scribbling he’s flat on his back, pushing weakly at the offending limb and doing his best not to collapse into hysterical snickering at how much it - it -

“Tickle, tickle, magic man,” Kingsley teases, pupilless eyes aflame with mischief. “No, no, don’t bother fighting it. I’ve heard tales about those ribs of yours, you know. Especially how much you love letting Jester play with them, hm?”

“N-nein, that’s not-” Caleb tries to protest, but he’s already giggling just at the thought - Fjord and Jester are here, and he’s stuck, and Kingsley won’t stop tickling him-

Kingsley’s grin grows another satisfied inch as he turns back to Essek. “And you, stubborn - oh, are you trying to cast something? Is that what that face means?”

Essek is struggling, jaw working and face scrunched as his entire body trembles in time with the claw vibrating its way into his belly. Caleb can practically see the Misty Step brewing on his tongue, just a few short words between him and freedom if only he can get them out without laughing.

Until Jester tracks him down, that is. He hasn’t - they’ve been apart, and then in Aeor, and then working on their big project for the past few weeks, and Caleb hasn’t exactly gotten around to admitting that he might like Essek to - admitting anything, really. Or telling Essek that now that Jester knows he’s ticklish and doesn’t entirely mind it, any attempt to escape will only end in more retribution.

An oversight, in retrospect.

Kingsley purrs, apparently entirely delighted with his victim’s predicament. “Oh, come on now, you can do it! It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good magic show.” Essek shakes his head frantically, lips pressed together even as his cheeks puff with repressed giggles, and Kingsley grins all the wider. “No? Let’s see how long you last when I really start pressing your buttons, then.”

On his side and snickering helplessly, Caleb cannot help but feel a little jealous as he watches Kingsley tug up Essek’s shirt and wait for his eyes to widen in terrible anticipation. “One last chance, then? Cause I think this is really going to tickle.”

Caleb wants him to succeed, really, he does - but watching Essek try as hard as he can to curl in on himself as a single fingertip starts to rub at his navel, squirming and squeezing his eyes shut and finally barking out the first two syllables of his incantation before the third succumbs to high, squeaking laughter holds its own considerable charm. “Ahahaaaa - nooo, hehe! - wh -” He laughs a little more, shoulders shaking, and barely manages to gasp out the words. “Fjord - Jester - where -”

“Couldn’t take it? Oh, you are a ticklish thing,” Kingsley tells him, laughing when Essek’s attempt at protesting collapses into a breathless snort. “You’re wondering where they are? Really, I couldn’t say. Maybe they’ll be gone for hours, and I’ll just have to keep tickling and tickling-”

He’s focused in on Essek now, taking his other hand off Caleb to wiggle it menacingly over a defenseless armpit - Essek takes one look at the new threat and screams. “Caleb!”

Kingsley’s replaced his hand with his tail squeezing around Caleb’s thigh, and it tickles so badly and unexpectedly that Caleb would like to curl up in a ball and do some screaming of his own, but with Essek pleading for his help there’s no other choice.

He pulls himself back onto his elbows and flops into Kingsley’s lap as best he can with his legs chained, reaching blindly for ticklish spots that used to belong to Mollymauk - gasping through a new wave of laughter as the spade of Kingsley’s tail starts to poke at the soft back of his knee, he crowds his fingernails against the small of Kingsley’s back and yelps in preemptive terror as Kingsley starts to laugh and reaches for him instead. “Fjord! Jester!” he shouts. “Help!”

“Gah - oh, fuck, thahat’s - haaaa-” Kingsley flails for a moment, legs kicking out as he tries to shimmy away, but in the next moment his fingers are tickling mercilessly under Caleb’s arms and Caleb can hardly breathe, let alone keep tickling him. He flails to escape, trying to wrap his arms around himself and use them to drag himself away at the same time, but really that just means that Kingsley’s hands are stuck in his armpits now and he’s going to die-

“Right, right, I’ve learned my lesson, no ganging up on our little star,” Kingsley grumbles. Caleb gasps in breathless relief as Kingsley works his hands free - he’s facedown on the mattress, but he hears Essek shout for Fjord and Jester too before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Presumably Kingsley’s putting his tail to good use somewhere.

A hand grabs his shoulder, and he’s rolled over onto his back with his legs untwisting beneath him. He blinks up into Kingsley’s gaze, eyebrows raised in apparent dudgeon. “You, on the other hand,” Kingsley growls, as if his lips weren’t curving up into a fanged smile already, “I am absolutely going to need both hands for what I’m about to do to your ribs.”

“Mist,” Caleb sputters reflexively, and then, louder, “Fjord! Jester! FJORD!”

Kingsley’s eyebrows rise even higher. “Oh, it’s sweet that you think they’re going to help you. Unless - oh, did you want more hands?”

Caleb hardly hears the approaching footsteps over his own anticipatory squeal as he watches Kingsley’s fingers start to wander back down towards his ribs. “Nein! - eheeheh, oh gods, nein-”

But then, suddenly, blessedly, the fingers ghost lightly over his ribs and settle for spidering across his tummy instead. He wheezes in relief - half of it comes out as giggles, his nerves still on high alert, but he fully intends to enjoy breathing while he can.

He flops tiredly back, eyes tracking to the doorway as Fjord and Jester stroll in. “Sorry for the wait,” Fjord says politely. “Jester and I were just finishing up lunch. Because it’s lunchtime.”

“No rush, Captain!” Kingsley practically chirps. “We’re having a wonderful time, aren’t we, boys?”

Fjord looks completely unsurprised to find the two of them in chains. Jester is practically bouncing beside him. Caleb imagines this does not bode well for them.

Essek pipes up from behind him, metal clanking as he tries to move to see around Kingsley. “Did - heh - did we oversleep? I think the shackles are a bit uncalled for-”

“Oh,” Fjord says, low and dangerous. He’s not smiling, not yet, but Caleb can see it in his eyes and that is even worse. “Don’t mind those. It would be a shame to let the two of you leave your bedroom so soon when you haven’t seen it in days and days, wouldn’t it?”

With Kingsley still tickling at his waist, Caleb can’t even begin to coax his stomach muscles to let him sit up as Fjord and Jester cross to the bed and loom over the both of them. Jester claps her hands together, looking dangerously pleased with herself. “Do you like them?” she enthuses. “We got them from a pirate raid, because someone put our other set on a fish person that jumped right back into the ocean.”

“They were getting rusted anyway - I don’t think we collected a single one of those at sea, they’re not even waterproofed.” Fjord grumbles amiably. “These, though-”

He hooks one finger delicately through the chain connecting Caleb’s ankles to the bedpost and tugs, dragging one helpless foot just close enough to scoop up in a waiting hand. “Now these are made for some real seafaring shit. Could hold a body for as long as you want, as long as they aren’t inclined to use any magic tricks.”

Caleb tries to yank his foot back. Fjord just chuckles and leans over to stare him down, his yellow eyes warm and amused. “Isn’t that right, Caleb.”

“No magic tricks,” he gasps out through another fit of giggles as Fjord rubs a warning thumb over his sole. It’s hardly a concession - between that and Kingsley, he hardly has the breath to try anything.

“Good,” Fjord says encouragingly. He puts Caleb’s foot gently down and turns to Essek. “Now you.”

Caleb turns to look at him - from what little of Essek’s body language he can read, he looks wholly confused. “You’re not going to let us go?”

Fjord crosses his arms. “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. Just consider this a friendly reminder that Jester, Kingsley and I are quite capable of following any… magical exits.”

Essek visibly rallies at the mention of magic, quirking an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had learned how to Teleport.”

“Essek,” Caleb hisses. Fjord shushes him and stalks a single step forward, just close enough to start tickling lightly at the bottom of one purple foot.

Essek’s superior expression lasts all of a moment before his entire body starts flailing to escape the single point of contact. “Ah! No, nohoho, wahahait, I didn’t - ahaha, stop that!”

“You’re right, I can’t Teleport,” Fjord says conversationally. “Good catch, I’d kind of forgotten about that one. Jes, we’ve got some antimagic stuff on the ship, right?”

Jester interrupts herself from making increasingly dramatic faces at Essek to answer. “I think so? You know, just in case if we meet someone icky like you know who.”

“Perfect. Maybe you and Kingsley can keep Essek busy, and I’ll head back to the ship and root around for it?” He looks calmly down at Essek, kicking as frantically as he can with the few inches of leeway the shackles afford him and still completely unable to avoid Fjord’s fingers. “It’ll take a while, mind you.”

Jester perks up, dancing over and reaching for Essek’s other foot. “Yes! Kingsley, did you try his ears yet? They get all flappy and it’s really really-”

“No!” Essek rushes out, squeaking in harried protest when they still don’t stop tickling up his arches. “I - wait,” he pleads. “No! I won’t cast, I won’t!”

Fjord grins. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Alright, Kingsley, can we give them a moment?”

Kingsley removes his hands from both of them rather reluctantly. Fjord claps his shoulder in silent thanks. “Now, would either of you like to explain why we found the two of you half-dead from sleep deprivation?”

“Yeah, you guys, we were so worried!” Jester adds. “You can’t do that when we’re not around to take care of you! You guys haven’t been doing this all year, have you?”

“We’ve only met up in the last few months,” Caleb adds, wincing a little as their eyes turn to him. He sits up slowly, wincing apologetically in the direction of Essek’s wrist shackles. “But no, we have not, we are just working on this project - it is a real ficker, there are so many moving pieces - and we are nearly done, we meant to sleep last night.”

“How many days?” Fjord asks. “One? Two?”

When neither of them answer, sharing a silent look, he hovers a hand threateningly over each of their trapped feet. “Believe me, you really don’t want us to pick a number.”

“Four,” Essek says warily. “But Caleb slept for at least an hour each night, and I don’t need to-”

“Oh, four’s a lot,” Kingsley cuts in. “Did you not learn how to sleep in shifts, not being on the ocean, or do you just enjoy each other’s company that much?”

Essek turns bright red. Caleb’s pretty sure he turns even redder. Even Fjord looks a little embarrassed as Jester and Kingsley collapse into laughter.

Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb can easily guess what this punishment will entail. “Wait a moment,” he says hastily, “we have not even told you about this project-”

“It will be worth it,” Essek adds. “If you would just let us-”

Fjord nods thoughtfully, ignoring their protests. “What do you say, a minute for each hour they should have been sleeping?”

“No-” Caleb starts.

“So that’s sixteen for Essek, and - Caleb’s been napping on and off, sounds like, so we’ll round it down to a neat half hour for him.”

Caleb gapes fearfully. A half hour of tickling, after months and months - he can admit to himself that he missed it a little, but- “That’s too much,” he blurts. “Bitte, you’ll kill me-”

“Really, this is unnecessary,” Essek adds, surprisingly dignified for the way he’s trying helplessly to press his feet against the bed. “Just - we are well rested now, we only need a few hours more to finish the project, there is no need!”

Jester pouts. “Oh, Essek, don’t you want to hang out with us?”

Essek flounders at that, and Caleb can’t help the soft smile that slips out of him. “I would like nothing more,” he assures her, “but being chained up and - and tortured - was not quite on my mind-”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have been so dumb, Essek,” she says cheerily. “Caleb, do you want me or Fjord to tickle you?”

His mouth goes dry. Jester will be - Fjord teases, but he is gentle at least, and Jester is - Jester-

He looks over at Essek, wide-eyed and eyes flicking between all of them in some strange combination of bewilderment and anticipation, and braces himself. “Jester.”

Kingsley laughs, delighted. “Oh, he must really love you,” he tells Essek. “He’s gone and given you the better option by far.”

Essek looks at Caleb, gaze softening. “Really?”

Caleb grimaces back at him, a little embarrassed by himself. “He’s exaggerating. And besides, I am not the one laid flat out here.”

Essek frowns. “Yes, about that.”

“Caleb doesn’t like having his wrists pinned down,” Jester says easily, scrambling up onto the bed and into Caleb’s lap. “Though you should know that already if you two are boning-”

“Jester,” Caleb pleads. Kingsley starts to laugh again.

She beams at him, darting in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Hi, Caleb!”

It’s impossible not to smile back. “Hallo, blueberry.”

He looks around her to see Fjord walk over and settle on Essek’s side of the bed, patting his shoulder companionably. “It’s good to see you two, really.”

Essek just sighs.

Kingsley prods at his belly, earning a hasty yelp. “He’s in a mood, it seems. You want some help with him?”

His stomach grumbles, just then, and Fjord laughs. “Why don’t you get some lunch instead,” he suggests. “We’d have brought something up, but the screaming sounded rather urgent.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Kingsley cocks a loose salute and swings back off the bed with one more tickle under each of their arms, snorting in amusement as Caleb and Essek both squirm and protest. “The others should be arriving soon, I’ll keep a weather eye on the door.”

“Yes, do that,” Fjord says, waiting for him to round the corner and start down the stairs. “That guy is really into sea lingo.”

“Kingsley is great,” Jester enthuses. “Don’t you guys think he looks so much prettier now that he’s all tan?”

She’s not wrong. “Ja, sure.” Caleb says. “By the way, what exactly did the two of you tell him about-” He flushes. “About my ribs?”

“Oh, you know, just some stuff!” Jester says cheerfully. “Most of it is definitely not true by now, probably, since it’s been a super long time since we’ve seen you.”

She puts both of her hands on Caleb’s shoulders and presses, sending him flat on his back and leaning over with a mischievous smile. “Good thing we have a whole half hour to catch up, huh?”

Caleb gulps.