#“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.”

[sageadvice]

[ Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers ]

Well…I reached the end.

And I mostly survived.

Varric 😭

I’m not going to complain about the bits that I took issue with. It’s 3:30 am and I’m too emotional for objectivity.

I did all that work to get the Solavellan ending…and then I gave it all up to punch the egg man in the face. And I don’t regret it for a second. (Chalk it up to my Rook being a girl’s girl, I say.)

One day, I’ll reload and do the whole “secret ending” thing but my gosh, keeping Varric’s…what, spirit? Tethered between Solas and Rook through BLOOD MAGIC?? Even Merrill would not approve of this. I knew he was manipulating Rook. I thought I understood betrayal. But that…that really cemented his place as the villain in this story for me. Even to the last, he believed himself a god.

I lost Harding. That…really got to me. I sort of knew it would happen; her or Davrin, the game didn’t make some big secret of it. And, to be honest, the whole game had a lot of easily-predictable plot revelations, and I think that was one of its major strengths. You could always point out the traitor during the first conversation, and then feel that sense of “ha! I knew it.” If they’d tried too hard to subvert your expectations, it would have come across as poorly written.

I ended up being very glad that I got all the companions to Hero status, and all the factions to three stars, because that meant that I didn’t lose anyone else. It felt right, like I personally did put in those hours and make those careful choices to save those people, and they didn’t just get a free pass due to plot armor. It was all Rook.

And I did enjoy the end of Rook and Lucanis’ romance. To be honest, if that scene hadn’t been waiting for me after she got out of the veil prison, I would not have been able to keep playing. Was it enough? I think so, for Rook. I will be writing my own fanfiction embellishments though.

Scrolling back a bit, the moment in the game that first made me cry was Manfred waking up with magical powers and squealing with excitement. “Magic! Like you!” Instant waterworks. The depressing moments are never as meaningful to me as the shockingly touching ones, and Manfred embodied that sentiment wonderfully.

What else can I say? I loved it. 10/10 for me, especially after waiting 10 years. They honored Varric, and even if I’m still mad about it I guess it’s more than we got for any of our other past beloved NPCs. In my head, he’s hunting Hawke down in the Fade. One day, Cassandra will meet him there and they’ll be reborn as wisps who can dance around the Necropolis together. Emmrich will make sure they’re properly cared for.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes. 

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it. 

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement. 

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.”  The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to. 

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave. 

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be. 

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating. 

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance. 

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience. 

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally. 

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.”  His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present. 

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star. 

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response. 

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made. 

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it. 

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal. 

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval. 

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident. 

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer. 

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character. 

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance. 

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character. 

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality. 

“PRIME!” 

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark. 

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction. 

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was. 

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

[bylertruther]

kind of crazy how mike said in a moment of vulnerability and weakness that he wants to be needed and to be of use and good at something, and then a large chunk of the fandom just decided to validate all of his worst thoughts & fears and suddenly reduce him to a weak, incapable, mindless, unloved wastoid wimp that's everything his low self-esteem tells him he is and nothing like how the people in his life see him (or what the narrative itself has shown us since the very first episode). even crazier when the people that do that call themselves mike fans lol but i'm 😴😴😴

[letstrywritingmaybe]

I’m really missing fluff for my ship. Like just cute moments with no drama. Honestly I just need more fics where he’s swooning over my queen. I’m not fond of messy situations despite writing some. Sure sometimes the story is intriguing and there’s so many emotions, but it’s mostly frustrating and I hate it. My fav has been through so much already, I just want the rest of her life to go smoothly, just let her live and be happy. No stress or worries, I want her to freely love and be loved in return

Addition that’s not really related but I didn’t want to make a new post:

I’m gonna be alone for a few days and I’m hoping I’ll be productive but man, times like this I really hate that I’m so extroverted. I’m feeling blue and I want to cry, but nothing’s really wrong. I just don’t well on my own. I tend to spiral and get too into my head. I really thought I would be free from a sad bitch summer vibe this time *sigh

Update: I did not work on CoAi week but I did look over the June prompts again and got my sister to laugh so I think that’s a win. It’s so dumb, I’m so dumb, but you know what? It’s my birth month so I’m gonna do whatever I want (I say as if I don’t strictly write self indulgent fics)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Good!GIW Thoughts

After I wrote the Multiverse Police prompt, I've gotten a few replies and reblogs saying they've never seen good!GIW before, and I realized, wow, me neither!

The GIW are always the bad guys, and, well, yeah, they fit the criteria for being the shadow branch of the government to commit atrocities. But there's potential in good GIW.

Imagine it.

Imagine Amity Park being off-limits not because GIW wants to keep it contained but because they treat it like a resort or a national park. People are not allowed to freely come there only because GIW wants JL out of it since the heroes are going to treat the whole thing as a threat. But there's an infinite amount of knowledge there! A portal to the new world! New culture! Things you could never learn before!

Imagine Amity being under government's protection. Imagine Jazz attending a university with her full tuition paid by the GIW since she is, well, a liminal, a minority, and she is getting a degree that will help her establish connections between them and Infinite Realms.

Imagine GIW funding Fentons' research not in order to eradicate ghosts but to have a safe way to talk to them while not getting caught up in a fight with an impossibly strong being.

Imagine GIW being hella annoying to Danny because they just won't stop with their interviews and questionnaires. Which, actually, has the full potential to become confusing because imagine Batman meeting Phantom and Phantom is like, "Oh, yeah, there's a hidden government branch that I avoid like plague because they want to catch me" and Bats are super worried. In the meantime, GIW is looking for Danny simply because he is the most friendly ghost they encountered and they want their answers about the cultural differences between the dead and the living.

Now, there's also a way for this to become the thickest plot armor ever. Imagine Jazz is on a mission to get some artifact from the mortal world. Then imagine GIW helping her while they still can't exactly show they are government agents because who in their right mind would believe the government is studying ghosts? Anyway, Jazz now has the potential to become James Bond kind of cool. Wonderful.

Imagine Danny having trouble with the JL/Bats/police, and then he just, "Wait, let me call someone, I have the right to one phone call, right?" And not 15 minutes later, a bunch of secret government agents in white show up, and Danny is free to go while the agents are saying whatever happened is now classified in the best Batman manner.

Oh, what about a world-ending event where a ghost is involved, and the JL is at a loss of what to do. And then the white vans show up, packed with unknown tech, agents in white with blasters, and a few weird meta-kids no one knows anything about. They even have a K9 unit because, come on, Cujo could be a perfect friend for them.

Just GIW being the secret protection squad for Amity and ghosts.

[alexisomnias]

— "HEY, HEY CLASSMATE!" . . .

⤷ you’re their seatmate!

angels notes: can be read as platonic or romantic

featuring the DORMLEADERS

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

—riddle as a seat mate is kinda a pain in the ass

—Especially during his first year; boy would scold you for breathing too loud!

—Upon second year though he’s a lot more mellowed out

—Your one of the only people who WOULD take a seat next to him, and in exchange he helps you with things you don’t understand.

—He also won’t speak a word if you copy off his homework… just don’t make it too obvious!!

—He’d also save you if your late to class by making up an excuse or such, but shh don’t tell him you know how down-bad he is for you.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

—goodluck getting him to even show up to class

—if he does he’s literally only coming for you. he’ll ask you to take notes for him and stuff but wont complain if you don’t

—in the end he does only show up to class because your next to him, so be sure too show up yourself!!

—if he catches someone else in the seat next to you he is LEAVING, or kicking them out, no way is he sitting through the class without you by his side

—he’s not that awful of a seatmate: he’s familiar with the material so if he's in a particularly good mood he’ll help!

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

—boy probably made a deal with some student to ensure he’s always sitting next to you. doesn’t matter what class he’s there

—totally believes in unassigned signed seating so will talk off someone if they take HIS spot next to you

—definitely helps you with your homework. in fact he encourages you to come to him for help (he wants you to know you can use him as a shoulder to lean on)

—also will make up an excuse on why your late, except its hella valid

—probably shares a textbook with you ngl, and definitely shares his notes

—definitely will share his school supplies. need an eraser? he has 3! a pencil? heres a newly sharpened one!

—probably will try extra hard to show off, he wants to impress you

—(he’s also extremely vigilant on whether his handwriting is neat or not when your next to him!!)

KALIM AL ASIM

—he’s such a fun seat mate. though he’s very distracting LMAOO

—definitely gets you both in trouble for talking during a lecture (he doesn’t care though, its you!)

—completely forgets about taking notes because he just wants to chat with you

—probably has been moved in class

—will buy you a thousand pencils so you never have to sharpen one LMAO

—drags you into group projects with him and stuff, he’s pure at heart, really!!

—actually pretty insightful, he’ll exchange answers with you, and go into convo about how you came up with such an opinion or answer

—“hey this is [name]’s seat!” he says to this poor clueless student. he’s your desk warden aha!

VIL SCHOENHEIT

—Vil is actually a good seatmate! he shows up on time, always hands in his work. has academic plot armor (has he ever failed??) and he’s willing to help! though he’ll still make you do it yourself

—he brings you snacks during class! only healthy ones of course, but he feeds you and he’s super sweet about it too! Literally that one friend that always shares their food for lunch

—definitely someone to look up too, and he’ll teach you concepts or help you catch up if you fall behind. He's your personal free tutor, he uses these sessions as excuses to see you, not gonna lie!

—he may occasionally scold you based on how you present yourself, especially if you are lazy with it, but its all out of care! He'll fix it himself anyway. He personally loves running his fingers through your hair.

—not seatmate behaviors :P he cares

IDIA SHROUD

—hes more of a text mate tbh

—bro will send u messages on twstcord and get you caught 😭😭

—he doesnt even show up in person hes just there to listen atp

—even then he ADORES listening to you talk, and although he really doesn't need help with homework since you know he's there?? he'll still ask you to bring homework to him because he's petty and he wants to see you.

—and if he invites you to a "study session" its really just him stammering over his words and playing video games

—oh god, he also imagines physically sitting next to you in class, and reenacting scenes from a shoujo! actually, nevermind... too many people...

MALLEUS DRACONIA

—Malleus finds you interesting. you have enough courage to sit next to him? how interesting

—literally the only one in class who doesn't sit like 5 kilometers away from him. He immediately grows a liking to you because of that.

—he’ll talk to you in class unknowingly getting you both caught LMAO, except your the only one getting in trouble unfortunately.

—he’ll have in dept conversations to you about certain topics, and almost always has an answer to give you in class

—he’s an encyclopedia, and he LOVES helping you! ask and hes already explaining.

—probably gets distracted by staring at you in class. Not sneaking glances, full on dazedly staring at you (in a totally not menacing way). he just likes looking at you! don't mind him!

—a sweetheart really, also super possessive over your seat. he ensures he's always on time to class so he can see you and sit next to you, and he’ll get all pouty if he cant.

[thedaythatwas]

something I appreciate about akechi as a character is that he never seems to think hmm, maybe I should emotionally distance myself from joker, because being invested in him could end up being bad for me when I need to kill him. the vengeance-oriented character goro is made out to be at first glance ought to think like this, but NO! goro akechi is NOT (just) that guy!

from the beginning, akechi goes above and beyond the minimum requirements of getting intel on joker and gaining his trust. he says, I’ll go the extra mile! I’m going to follow him around, inside and outside the metaverse. we’re going to talk about my dead mom. I’m going to insist that we’re RIVALS! I’ll spend so long thinking about all the reasons I hate him that it’ll become obvious to everyone around me— even joker’s (not a) cat— that what I feel isn’t really hate but something much more complex. obviously, this will make killing him that much more gratifying, because our lives are now intertwined! HA! take that joker! I WIN!

I believe this… interesting… thought process has something to do with akechi’s central motivation being more than just a desire for vengeance. he also desperately craves approval and recognition. akechi is not actually all that pragmatic. he’s highly driven by emotion, sometimes at the cost of logic (I mean… his revenge plot isn’t all that mature or well-thought through. it’s basically suicidal).

this considered, it seems that becoming akiren’s rival would be second nature to goro. it gives him a veritable cornucopia of things he craves. winning their “game” allows him to feel recognized for his worth. just playing it gives him opportunities to feel seen and known. being a rival is addictive. he gets the chance to embrace the anger he cultivates towards akiren and the rush of putting him at the center of his thoughts. their rivalry is by far the most intimate relationship akechi has. and so, he gets more and more tangled up with joker— and in his feelings about joker— regardless of any risk that poses to his plans. distancing himself would go against goro’s every instinct.

being akiren’s rival is tied to akechi’s vengeance, but somewhere along the line, “besting joker” evolves to be about more than plotting against shido. this is probably for similar reasons as to why akechi’s desire for vengeance against his father was never purely about “vengeance” at all.

of course, this comes with the pesky, entirely predictable side effect of akechi getting a bit obsessed. oh well! it doesn’t end up stopping him from trying to carry out his order to kill akiren.

regardless of how events actually unfold, akechi’s feelings are a clean-cut liability to his revenge plot. a rational character would probably want to avoid such an obvious crack in his armor. this to say, as intelligent as akechi is, he’s not really all that rational. there’s a difference! he’s not who he appears to be at first glance, or even second or third glance. he’s not the detective prince, or an assassin with tunnel vision for vengeance, or even just plain angry. akechi wants to be needed, and he’ll do anything to chase that feeling.

so yeah, it would’ve been nice if he had found a homoerotic rival before the shido revenge plot debacle happened! alas.

[atlabeth]

howling at wolves

pairing: jaime lannister x fem reader

summary: jaime saves you from a wayward knight. a strange friendship forms in the ashes.

a/n: ive lost the plot chat why am i writing jaime lannister fic

wc: 2.7k

warning(s): sexual harassment/assault

“I truly have no idea how you do it,” Sansa says. 

You smile as you finish her final braid. “Many years spent braiding the hair of my peers, my lady. You are a much easier subject than any of them.” 

She smiles. You love when she smiles—makes her look her age, rather than the ‘beyond her years’ that is so often expected of her. “Well, you’re much better than my mother, at least. She’d have tugged half my hair out trying to do anything like you.” 

“I imagine your mother is trying to gather up the rest of your siblings,” you say wryly. “She wants you all on best behavior for the king.” 

“Probably trying to get the boys to stop chasing each other around and straighten themselves out,” Sansa says with a sigh. “Arya, too. She’s always up to something.” 

You chuckle as you put the clasp together on her necklace, then ensure it lays properly before you step away. “I believe that is the final touch. What do you think?” 

“You’re excellent as always,” she says, her smile growing. She reaches up to touch the pendant as she looks at herself in the mirror. “Have you met the king before?” 

“I have, both before and after he took the throne,” you say. “And in my youth, I met King Aerys.”

Sansa turns, her eyes widening in surprise. “You met the Mad King?” 

You nod. “You’re aware of how I came to serve your family, correct?” 

“My grandfather housed you in return for your service,” she recalls. “Weren’t you my age?” 

“Twelve,” you correct. “I met the king at a tourney in Harrenhal, when I was Lady Lyanna’s handmaiden.” Your heart twists at your own mention of her, and you sigh. “Gods rest her soul.” 

Her lips press into a terse line, but she cannot hide the sadness in her eyes. You think all Starks carry an innate weariness in them, whether they know it or not—genetic strain from such untimely deaths. 

“Were you in King’s Landing when my grandfather and uncle were…?” Sansa trails off, but her unsaid words weigh heavily in the air.

“Let us stop talking of such a morose subject, hm?” For her sake, you attempt to switch the topic. “You ought to meet up with the rest of your siblings. Ensure your mother doesn’t go too insane.”

Sansa chuckles at that, and she allows you to put on her extra layer of coats and furs. “I hope all goes well. I know they’re only visiting because of Jon Arryn’s death, but I’ve heard the king’s eldest son is quite handsome.”

“I suppose we shall see,” you say. “Now, run along, my dear. Before your mother starts yelling for you.”

She smiles and nods gratefully, pulling her coat tighter around her as she walks out. You watch her go with a sigh—if King Robert’s son is anything like him, you don’t want Sansa anywhere near him. But it is hardly your decision to make. 

You clean up Sansa’s room and put on your own coat—you have Northern blood in your veins, but your hardiness only goes so far—then take your own leave.

The procession comes through smooth enough.

King Robert Baratheon is older and rounder than you remember, more crude than you think a king should be. He compliments Sansa, and you would be proud if you were not foremost disgusted. 

Queen Cersei Lannister has sharp, inquisitive eyes, and they scan over everything as she gets out of the carriage. You shift under her gaze for the moment it passes over you, however small. 

The queen’s brother, Jaime Lannister, well armored in plated gold, rides in with the last of the knights. He pulls his helmet off and shakes out his blonde hair. 

When he was knighted as the youngest kingsguard, you had just begun to serve the Starks. What a difference being born into a noble house made.

You think the last time you were in their collective presence was that tourney in Harrenhal, when the Targaryen prince disgraced his bride by crowning Lyanna Stark.

Your jaw tenses. When you think of it, that tourney may have been the last moment of normalcy in your life. Nothing was the same after Rickard and Brandon were executed. 

Even less so after you watched your lady die in her brother’s arms.

Everything else passes in a blur. Soon enough you’re back in the castle.

You hardly pay attention as you walk through the halls. With the arrival of King Robert, his family, the kingsguard and so many others, the entirety of the serving staff is working overtime to make things run smoothly. Your primary focus is Sansa, yes, but when she is with her family, you are just another maid. 

As you’ve been working with the Starks for the past decade and a half, you have a decent idea by now of how things should go.

“What are you in such a hurry for?”

Which means you also know by now that this nuisance of a knight seems to have no plans of leaving you alone. He’s been intruding on your peace for the past month, only when you’re alone—likely knows that if Sansa caught word of it, she would get her father involved—and you thought he would have taken the hint by now. 

You make no move to acknowledge the voice, only the clench of your jaw indicating you’ve heard him as you continue on your way. 

“Even a broad like you’s got to know it’s rude to ignore someone,” he calls out. “Whatever you’re doing can’t be that important.”

You stay silent still. Typically, he shouts a few crude things at you, insinuates what he’d like to do, then leaves you alone. Today, though—

A hand encircles your wrist and you whip around on instinct, fire already blazing in your eyes as he leers at you. 

“Are you deaf?” he asks. “Or just insolent?” 

“Let go of me,” you spit. 

“Insolent,” he decides. You try to tug your arm away, but his grip only tightens. “And not very good with questions.” 

An involuntary gasp shudders out of you as he pushes you against the wall, his forearm pressed against your chest to keep you caged in, and you glare daggers at the man.

“I thought the Starks employed better men than this,” you growl. “What do you want?”

“There are those lovely eyes,” he mocks, ignoring your jab. “What about a smile? I bet it’s just as good.”

You try to pull away again, but he catches your wrists and pins them against the wall. The pressure off your chest is a relief quickly dashed by the look in his eyes. Your resistance is a joke to him, just simply part of the chase. 

“I’m sure I can get one out of you soon,” the knight amends. 

He kisses you. It’s nothing romantic, just a purely possessive clash of teeth as he tries to claim something he has no right to take. You fight against him all the while but it does you no good—it’s like the past month hasn’t been enough for him, like he has to make up for all the ways you’ve disrespected him. 

“Now just what is going on here?”

He pulls away from you at the sound of the voice and you’ve never wanted to melt into yourself more. Your face burns—you’re angry at this wretch of a knight and you’re embarrassed that someone else witnessed your shame. 

“Nothing you need to be concerned with,” the knight says. “This is Stark business—no concern for you Lannisters.” 

Lannister? 

You look over at your—gods hope it—savior, and your eyes widen despite yourself. 

Jaime Lannister, brother of the queen and member of the kingsguard and the Kingslayer himself, stands with his hand just above his sheathed sword and the slight smile that seems to be a permanent facet of his appearance. 

“Really?” His eyebrows rise. “Because to me, it looks like you’re in the midst of assaulting this poor woman.”

“What do you care?” the knight snarls. “She’s just a maid—you can find a dozen anywhere you look.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to defile this one against her will,” Jaime says. 

“Who says it’s against her will?” He glances back at you, his wandering eyes making your skin crawl. “Look at her. She’s practically begging for it.”

“I would bash your skull in if I could,” you spit. 

He laughs as he turns to Jaime. “See? She’s feisty—she enjoys having someone to tussle with.” 

“I’ve never bashed a skull in before,” Jaime says thoughtfully, “but I’d imagine it would be quite grisly.” He smiles disarmingly at the knight. “Would you like to be my first, Ser…?”

The man’s grin twists into a scowl. “You’re really protecting this whore?”

“If it’s a whore you want, go peruse a brothel.” Jaime’s smile remains, though it’s lost its mirth. “You can find a dozen anywhere you look.”

Jaime and the knight stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, before he eventually steps away from you with a sharp laugh. You can’t disguise the relief that floods through your body at the distance. 

He shakes his head as he begins to walk off. “You choose the funniest fights, Kingslayer.”

You watch him go, still pressed up against the wall until he’s fully out of sight. You let out a shaky breath as you lean your head back.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I thought he would get to…”

“No need to linger on what could’ve happened,” Jaime says. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “You stopped him before the worst. I’ll have some bruises, but better that than anything more permanent.”

“Were we in King’s Landing, he could’ve gotten a more appropriate punishment,” he says. “But I don’t think your Lord Stark would appreciate me mutilating his men before we’ve even made it through the night.” Jaime smiles. “A knight without hands would be nothing but sword fodder.”

“I pity the poor girl who gets stuck with him if he ends up at a brothel,” you murmur.

“She knows what she’s in for,” he says. 

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Jaime stays silent at that, and you look over at him. 

“What are you even doing here?” you can’t help but ask. “Surely you have more important duties than strolling through our halls.” 

“I just had to find my brother in a brothel,” he says. “I thought some peace and quiet would do me good before whatever mess awaits me when my family is together.” 

“Why did you save me?” Another question you can’t keep inside. “You’re a Kingsguard—a Lannister at that. I serve the Starks, and I am no king.”

“I like to believe I am a decent man beneath it all,” he says. “I would not be much of one had I let that brute have his way with you, Stark or not.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. Having it spoken aloud by another makes it all disgustingly real. You still feel the heat of his hands on your body, and your lips all but fester from his forced kisses. 

“I am surprised you care,” you murmur. “Most men would have turned a blind eye.” 

“Most men care little for things that do not concern them.” 

“And this concerns you?” 

He shrugs. “Would you rather I let him continue?” 

“No,” you say immediately. “I… I owe you my thanks, my lord. Immensely.” 

He huffs a laugh at that. “My lord. I cannot recall the last time someone called me that.” 

In your silence, he chuckles. “Ser Jaime is more than enough. I’m certainly not your lord.” 

You bow your head. “Then I thank you, Ser Jaime.” 

“And I wholly accept.” He pauses, then focuses back on you. “I never got your name.”

“I never gave it,” you say. 

Jaime gives you a cockeyed grin. “I would like to have it, then. If you’d allow.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t every day you save a fair maiden,” he says. “I’d like to know who gave me the pleasure.”

“You are a knight,” you say. “Is it not your duty to save damsels in distress?”

“Among other things.” Jaime inclines his head. “Though it tends to be more kings in distress, and believe me, my lady—those I have served could not be considered fair nor a damsel.”

“I imagine not,” you say placidly. “You are the Kingslayer, after all.”

He winces. “And our conversation was going so well.”

You arch a brow. “It is the truth, is it not?”

“Just because it is the truth does not mean it must be brought up in every conversation I have,” he says. 

“...You are right,” you admit. “You saved me from a fate none too kind. I should not bring up the past in return.” 

Jaime blinks. For a moment, he seems to have nothing to say.

You cannot help the slightly wry smile that curves on your lips. “Surprised, Ser Jaime?” 

He recovers quickly, that own sly smile back as if it never disappeared. “Never. It’s just that those at court typically do not lay off so easily.” 

“I am not technically a part of court,” you say. “Perhaps that is it.” 

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “You should consider yourself lucky you’ve managed to keep any courtly claws out of your skin. I’d wager it would make you far less pleasant.” 

“How, pray tell, do you know I am pleasant?” you ask. “You just arrived in Winterfell.”

“You didn’t kill that man for what he did to you,” he says.

“Had I the ability, I would have,” you say. “Chop off those wandering hands, gouge out his lecherous eyes—”

“Perhaps you are not pleasant,” he interrupts, and your lips twitch despite yourself. “But you are interesting, and that is much better.”

“I’m a servant of House Stark,” you say. “There is nothing beyond that.” 

Jaime shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve actually noticed you, for one.” 

“Then I’m a rather shoddy servant. We’re not meant to be noticed.” 

“It was rather hard to miss you.” 

A chill runs across your skin as you glance down the hallway—you can still feel it all. 

“Men do not like to lose out on their conquests,” you say quietly. “He may be back with a vengeance.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep an eye out while we’re here,” Jaime says. 

You turn back to him with a frown. “Why?”

“To stop his quest of vengeance,” he says. “It would be rather useless of me to save you once and then abandon you to the wolves.”

“I’ve always found comfort in wolves,” you say. “The Starks saved me long ago.”

“And today, a lion saved you,” Jaime says. 

“And I thanked you for it.” You cross your arms. “Need I repeat myself again?”

He shrugs. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.”

You huff at that, only just managing to bite back the slightest of smiles. “I see your ego is as big as your blade.”

“As is the Lannister way.” Jaime glances past you out the window, and he offers a charming smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, my lady. Duty calls.”

“As does mine.” You blow out a loose breath and shake your head. “This whole debacle has thrown my entire day out of order. The other maids must be wondering where I am, and Vayon will have my head if I am any more late.”

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out during our stay,” he says. “Prevent any other unseemly escapades.”

“I’m not sure I want more of your attention,” you say. “You Lannisters bring nothing but trouble.” 

“I just saved you a bit of trouble,” he corrects. “But if you’d like some to make up for it, I am more than happy to supply.”  

“What happened to ‘duty calls’?” you ask wryly. 

“What happened to your steward having your head?” Jaime responds in turn. 

Again, your lips twitch despite yourself. “Goodbye, Ser Jaime.”

As he watches you go, a softer smile of his own forms.

It’s only when you disappear around the corner that he realizes he never got your name. 

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 5 MATCH 6

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Josephine propaganda:

“you get to have a full Disney princess style romance with her, she is the most precious, the most sweet, I love her so much 🥺”

“Josephine's one of the "behind the scenes" companion for the protagonist and she advises them on diplomacy-related matters.

Her personal quest and romance is fairy-tale worthy: she gets threatened with assassination, you help her restore her family's fortune, you get threatened by her best friend to not break her heart, she doesn't dare to hope you mean anything serious when flirting until you spell it out for her, after which Josie agrees to a deeper relationship... And immediately after that she finds out her family has engaged her to a random noble without her knowledge!! You publicly challenge the suitor to a one-on-one duel to win her hand, she finds out and interrupts the duel because she's worried of the Inquisitor throwing literally the entire plot away and risk life in combat for her... To which of course you can confess that they're doing it because they love Josephine, and they get the cutest cutscene with Josie jumping in the Inquisitor's arms and them spinning her around before kissing each other <3 The betrothed steps away because he sees true love between the two. She and the Inquisitor stay together through the end game and after it, gaining a "second home" with her and her family.

She really believes in the Inquisitor's cause and from the very first conversations with her, she asks questions about your background and tries to make you feel welcomed (especially appreciated if the Inquisitor isn't human since people are less trusting of them). She's politically smart but dislikes violence, overall very sweet but still strong... Josie tends to overwork herself (she's a perfectionist) and at first she tries to keep a professional air at all times but if you encourage her, she will rant to you and spill all the tea about nobles lol.”

[evilbihan]

MK1's Lin Kuei

Can we take a second to talk about how bad the Lin Kuei are at what they're doing in MK1? They're supposed to be this ancient clan of elite warriors with years worth of combat experience and knowledge and skills beyond anyone's comprehension... but they're actually so comedically terrible at their job.

I won't include the teahouse fight in this since it doesn't count because they had to hold back against Kung Lao and Raiden but everything happening from there just contradicts all that the story wants us to believe about the Lin Kuei.

Cage mansion fight

Both Sub-Zero and Scorpion get absolutely destroyed by Johnny (who doesn't even seem to have any special powers in the new era, unlike the old timeline's Johnny). Of course, one might argue that they had to still hold back here since Johnny wasn't an enemy, they were just trying to recruit him and Liu Kang was there too, but it only gets worse from here.

2. The Ying fortress

This is one of the most hilarious scenes in the story mode. "No, you two can't come with us although you effortlessly defeated the three of us before because it takes YEARS to master the art of stealth."

What stealth????

Fast forward to the Lin Kuei trying to get inside the Ying fortress. Surprisingly, they can't make it three steps until they're discovered by Nitara and one of them almost dies because he had to show off instead of climbing the wall efficiently and, most importantly, without raising unnecessary attention.

How did Smoke not consider that a guy floating in mid-air would be spotted from a mile away? You can almost pinpoint the moment his brothers realized it was a mistake to bring him with them.

Not that they're doing much better though. On their way in, the three trigger pretty much every single defense the fortress has to offer. Nitara, Ermac... the guards that show up later on.

In fact, this whole thing couldn't have gone any worse if they had brought a marching band along with them.

Next, we get to see Bi-Han and Kuai Liang sneaking up on Shang Tsung so close behind him I'm pretty sure their footsteps would have given them away. They're completely out in the open, Kuai Liang is not even watching his back. It's surprising they made it this far.

3. Capturing Shang Tsung

As we learn, their plan to capture Shang Tsung is, in fact, nonexistent.

I don't know where their experience and years worth of training suddenly went in that moment, but this scene of them just... jumping out of their hiding spot and running at their enemies full speed with no real strategy behind it was so ridiculous and disappointing to me. It just feels rushed and unprofessional and of course, this not at all thought through maneuver triggers the guards to show up and intervene.

It's such an amateur mistake it makes you wonder why Liu Kang trusted them with this task in the first place.

Somehow, the brothers then get overwhelmed and end up captured themselves. The story really wants us to believe the two of them combined couldn't take on a few guards, but later on Scorpion is able to defeat them alone using the power of plot armor.

While Bi-Han had at least some significant wins against Nitara, Ermac, Quan Chi and Shang Tsung, the story of course forced him to lose in the end, Kuai Liang's losing streak for some reason magically ended the second he left the Lin Kuei and Smoke??? He got to beat up an old lady in a staged fight.

It's sad to see how little the writers care about the Lin Kuei, even with the franchise's most iconic characters both being Lin Kuei in the new era. I will never not be upset about the potential that went to waste here. Smoke didn't even get to be in a single fight, we saw nothing of Bi-Han's strategical genius and cunning and the rest of the Lin Kuei only showed up for the staged teahouse fight. They all deserved so much better.

[winterarmyy]

Plot Twist | Part I

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Run-through: I just need to get this out of my system. Most of arranged marriage mob/mafia!au I've read has a strong/bratty reader. And a really mean/asshole Bucky. Which is absolutely fine btw but its getting repetitive for me. I wanted to see a reader who's actually soft but fierce when she wants to be. And Bucky who is generally cold and seems to be married to his job but notices small things that the reader do, thus subconsciously started to care about her. They don’t hate each other, nor do they are infatuated. I don’t know if this exist, so I decided write it myself just in case. Enjoy!

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 1.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just fluffy and wholesome stuff here. Nothing graphic or explicit.

P/S: I like to write in 3rd pov btw. There's a few mentions of y/n sometimes too. Beware of the grammar mistakes, English is not my first language. This might be 2-3 parts type of fic, so tell me what you think so far.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

“He's late.”

The soft clinking sounds of his rings colliding with each other and onto the dresser woke her up from her deep slumber. Though her body remained still, her mind continued to wonder,

“Late. Again.”  She thought.

The sound of fabrics rustling about hinted her of what was happening beyond her closed eyes. The shut of the bathroom door confirmed her speculations.

“So, what if he came back home late? Why does it concern you?” She questioned herself.

Only a fool would believe if she said that she didn't care at all about the whereabout and well-being of this man. He is her husband after all.

Six months ago, she stood on the alter with that man. They swore an oath. They sealed the kiss. He was hers and she was his.

James Buchanan Barnes; Bucky was what he preferred to called. He is what every man wants to become, and every woman wants to be with.

An Adonis of a man; impossibly tall, 6'5"; body armored with thick layer of muscles. Bucky is huge, that if he trapped her against the wall, she might just see the resemblance of him to a grizzly bear. His dark hair flowed just above his shoulder and his steel blue eyes were as cold as his personality.

Though she wouldn't compare him to a frozen blizzard during the winter, he was more like the first day of snow, when the white flakes started to fall.

Cold enough to make you shiver and warm enough to lure you out but most importantly, obscenely beautiful.

However, of course, the main reason of the marriage set up by her father was not because of how beautiful he is, but to fulfil his hunger for power. As if the territories that their family has wasn't enough, her father arranged this union to extend his reign.

Y/N protested at first but knew better than to fight against her father. Being raised in such family, at a very young age she learned to think always ahead; pass the emotions and intuitions. What's the rational and logical way to solve a problem.

Took her a week to wrap her head around the matter, research about Barnes and go through the agreement between her father and her then husband to be. Barnes had listed some main demands regarding the union and although most of them were about their business, but one particular demand had caught her attention.

“After marriage, the couple must be faithful to one another. Any romantic/sexual relationships prior must be severed/resolved immediately. Failed to do so will result to termination of the contract.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She thought.

Not that she was in any relationship at the time, and all the research result to possibly positive outcome. So, in the end, she complied.

Which then explained why she was sleeping in Bucky's bed six months later.

“I know you're awake.” Bucky's gravel voice startled her internal thoughts. She could feel the indentation of the mattress on his side of the bed, the fresh and clean scent wafting from him. She nearly purred from a sniff of it.

She slowly opened her eyes as if she was trying to peep and god what a sight to see after a restless sleep; Bucky's idea of pajamas was basic pants and nothing above and Y/N didn’t know what to feel about that. Does she hate it? Absolutely not. Does she like it? Well, he is easy on the eye indeed.

The room was dimly lit, but she could see his slightly damp hair; it looked longer than it is dry. Her eyes followed the outline of his body leaning against the bed. The soft light reflected on his metal arm particularly follows the gold lines decorating the dark surface.

She often had intrusive thoughts of tracing the lines; what would it feel like against her fingertips. Does he feel anything? Is it cold? Will it feel good? 

“You do know that it’s a waste your time to wait for me, right?” He huffed a heavy breath. She could hear the fatigue in his sigh.

And how does Bucky know that she waited for him before admitting her defeat to the drowsiness? Somehow, Bucky always managed to know things, to the littlest matter, even when he’s million miles across the world.

Just like when she found a copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bed a few months ago. The day before she received it, her copy was drenched in coffee; a young woman bumped into her in front of the café she often visit. He was in Russia that time. “Was it Clint? Did he tell Bucky?” she wondered.

“Whoever said I was waiting for you?” She scoffed, yet if the room was well lit enough, Bucky would’ve seen how playful her expression was.

He hummed a deep voice, “Hmm.” there’s a hint of doubt in his tone.

Y/N quickly follow her previous sentence, “I was simply enjoying my reading, that I lost track of time.” She shifted to face him and tucked herself further into the blanket, hiding the lower half of her face as she looked up at him. She wondered if he could tell that she was smiling just from her eyes.

Bucky’s gaze remained still on her, as if he was trying to reach into her soul, before he leaned closer to peek on the book on the table. Pride and Prejudice written on it.

He chuckled, which was rare. At the least the real ones are.

Of course, she had seen him smile and laugh countless of time. Especially during those gala they often attend. But those were just another set of armor he wore on a daily basis.

Bucky tried to bite back a smile, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, “Lost track of time, huh?” Yet, somehow Y/N can hear the smile in his tone.

“A good read?” he asked as if he did not know why his wife brought up about the book. She never said anything about the gift; not a thank you or a complaint. 

She simply cherish it in her own way. He heard from Clint that she rearranged her whole bookshelf just to make space for the book he gave her. Maybe this was her way of saying thank you.

He had been giving her books every week, since.

She pulled the blanket away from her face, lips curled into a genuine smile, “Always.”

Bucky preened to her reply before suddenly, “Okay, enough chit chat. It’s late.” he said almost monotone sounded, as he made himself comfortable under the blanket.

Before she could overthink of what went wrong, why the sudden drop of chemistry; that was when she felt his hand roamed to find hers. Bucky brought her palm closer to his face, she could feel his hot breath against her cold skin. 

He leaned his lips on her palm, leaving a soft and tender kiss as he mumbled, “Goodnight, doll.”

Rush of red shades bloomed on her cheeks, before caving into the feeling of his stubble on her hand. She gently caresses the side of his cheeks, hoping it soothes him to sleep. 

The corners of her lips curved upwards into a smile, "See? Like, the first day of snow."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: It’s my first fic so... share your thoughts? ily 🤍

[ewingstan]

I. Introduction

A while ago, I wrote on how Jack Slash was a prime example of how Worm approaches metatextual commentary. Wildbow has a general tendency in his first two serials especially to identify common story tropes and give them in-universe justifications. Jack Slash in particular is a response to the tendency for writers to give plot armor to the Joker and similar sorts of popular villain characters. The out-of-story justification of the authors ("we can't have someone just shoot him, that's boring, besides everyone loves this guy look at him go") becomes an in-story aspect of his powers: an ability to subtly influence other capes behavior allowing him to always escape danger. Plot armor transformed into an in-universe mechanic that characters are aware of, react to, and work against.

Notably, this tendency is never used to highlight the status of wildbow's characters as characters— there is no fourth-wall breaking or attempts to undermine the audience's perception of the story as containing essentially a self-contained world running on its own internal logic. But this certainly isn't the only way you could comment on Joker-type charcter's plot armor: Funny Games covers similar ground using the opposite trick, repeatedly having its home-invader villains draw attention to how they're characters in a story, and that whether they win or lose is determined wholly by the author's will. Director Michael Haneke continually draws his audience into the story only to violently and repeatedly pull them out with suspension-of-disbelief-shattering acts on the villains part. It's The Treachery of Images as a horror movie.

Together, Worm and Funny Games showcase two different approach to explaining why the villain gets to live another day. If you can explain their deal using only the internal logic of the story ("Jack has a power that lets them escape consequences"), then the author is giving a diegetic justification for the trope justified by mechanisms of the story's universe. If you can't explain their deal without reference to them being characters in a narrative ("Paul can talk to the audience and rewind time because he's a fictional character and can do whatever the author says he can do") then its a "narrative" or nondiegetic justification for the trope.

These can be combined. Seidlinger's Anybody Home? used them together for awkward effect: serial killers perform acts that get recorded by some mysterious "camera" that produces a log of their events, which through mystical and mysterious means gets distributed to film producers and adapted into horror movies. Killers have fully "narrative" reasons for following horror tropes—they know they have an audience and are behaving for their benefit. But the story suffers from its awkward in-story justification, its "mechanical" framing: the audience the killers are acting for are other people within the story's universe, not the readers of the book. Characters realize they're "victims" in a story, but they're framed not as existing fully for the story but as normal people who got caught within a story, stuck in it like one gets caught in a storm.

In this post I want to highlight some more elegant ways of combining the mechanical and narrative approaches to metafiction, especially in regards to plot armor. I'll be commenting on wildbow's second serial Pact, Homestuck, and Eidolon DISKA, and heavily spoiling all of them. I've divided them into sections so readers can avoid spoilers or skip over works they're uninterested in, though they're not separate essays. I'd maybe recommend checking out DISKA if you haven't. Its great. Alright then.

II.

Pact and the otherverse gives its characters diagetic reasons for following tropes that align with narrative rules though its magic system. Otherverse magic largely involves telling the universe a story and hoping that your behavior has enough symbolic resonance that it believes you. A lot of the magic spells work on a "I dunno, this feels like it would work" logic.

This means that characters need to be aware of how characters in good stories would act, and often need to behave in a way that is believable if they were characters in a story. The result is that Blake Thorburn ends up purposefully trying to emulate a monster from a horror story, purposefully playing into the tropes of such a character. He acts like a specific type of story character, not because he's broken the fourth wall and knows he's in a horror story, but because he knows convincing the universe that he's a horror villain will likely lead to the universe letting him survive just a little bit longer before he collapses into an exsanguinated heap.

However, Pact's approach to the specific mechanics and abilities of Blake and other monstrous entities of his ilk is much more in-line with how wildbow previously approached Jack Slash. Horror-movie style monsters are a grab-bag of entities called "Boogeymen" within the setting, with little in common outside of previously being people who had fallen through the cracks of reality and climbed out of the abyss changed.

The tropes of slasher movies are once again given mechanical justification: the monster drives conflict and acts unpredictably because being feared gives its more of a foothold in reality. It can't stay dead (and keeps returning for sequels) because it can always climb back out of the abyss again, or be summoned by Scourges to be used against their enemies. Some of the ways the in-universe boogieman mechanics reproduce these tropes are explicitly narrative justifications—they're stronger if the universe sees their ends as especially "iconic," and Blake seems to be empowered the most when he leans into character and goes on a rampage— but for the most part, you could explain their deal without having to refer to their roles as characters in a narrative.

III

The same couldn't be said for Homestuck's take on the serial-killer trope, which is explicable pretty much only in non-diagetic terms. Which is interesting insofar as its one of the only parts of Homestuck that doesn't at least provide a diagetic fig-leaf for a character following a cultural script.

Much like Pact's Otherverse, Homestuck also formalizes many narrative tropes as diagetic, in-universe mechanical laws of its setting. However, it doesn't bother giving justifications for why the setting has such mechanics. There's no equivalent to "they're like this because the magic of the abyss;" Homestuck's mechanical rules are almost more in the Funny Games vein of being inexplicable if you don't accept that they're the consequences of this being a story.

But the narrative rules it draws attention to are often all its own. See, in some ways the setting of Homestuck is meant to be an obvious set of fantasy Bildungromane. The characters enter a game world, Sburb, and are each deposited on a planet with almost stock templates: Land of Wind and Shade, Land of Heat and Clockwork, etc. Each are filled with a population of simple game constructs with little personality outside of what's needed to drop lore tidbits, and a slumbering denizen connected to a personal quest tailor-made for the player. This sense of "generic fantasy world made for a generic fantasy quest" is heightened by Homestuck's constant references to other media containing famous lands constructed from fantasy stories: Peter Pan/Hook, the Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, Don Quixote, and The Neverending Story. (That last example makes up not only a substantial amount of aesthetic references, but also structural echoes; as Homestuck copies it by having a second half in which reader-stand ins enter the story, characters go from one world to another, and the role of author and audience gets muddled in a world-threatening manner.)

It seems like the game Sburb created the players different worlds to facilitate a typical Bildungroman adventure. Enter the fantasy land, meet the locals, learn the lore, defeat the monster. Unlike Jacob's Bell, The Lands of Homestuck don't make sense as anything besides a game construct, a way to facilitate this narrative arc. And the character's tendency to sidestep the quests set up by the Lands and skip through or break things feels like a subversion of those typical sorts of fantasy stories.

A complicating factor, though, is that the game was set up with the expectation that the players would skip around and break things. The entire game is composed of a series of time loops, including the characters creating themselves, creating the big bad in an attempt to defeat him, etc. Everything that happens in a game session was engineered to happen "by" the game—including the parts that seem to break the intended narrative arc of the Lands. There's plenty of things that seem to be breaking the "intended" experience: Rose taking apart her game world, Vriska reading the mind of her Land's consorts to find out all the lore they have pre-programmed in, Jack Noir killing the Black King before the players could face him as the intended final boss. But all of these turn out to be essential conditions for the game coming to exist in the first place, for the characters to create themselves, for the Lands to be created as game constructs in the first place. The game creates conditions that require the players to "cheat."

In other words, its not just that the comic is subverting a typical fantasy story. Its that Sburb itself is a game that runs on the narrative rules. Not the narrative rules of a fantasy Bildungroman, but the narrative rules of a subversion of a fantasy Bildungroman. The subversion is expected and built-in.

This subversion-as-the-rule is something Hussie enjoys making the narrative conciet of a story: early Problem Sleuth was written with the one rule that the audience could never be right about how the main character's office worked. Its also a feature of Homestuck's general approach to characters and dialogue. I think a good example of this is Eridan and Feferi's early conversations. They get introduced as the primary examples of a form of alien romance the narrative just got done explaining, a pair of moirails that the narrator declares are "made for each other". But of course, the subversion of that is already built in, as before Eridan's full introduction we learned that he wanted to be in a different relationship with Feferi. So when the first few on-screen appearances of these characters turns out to be their break-up texts, its a "subversion" of the destined romance the narrator set-up, but its a sign-posted and expected subversion.

But back in terms of Sburb's mechanics: players of the game who perform a ritual to achieve god-tier status can only die if their death is either Heroic or Just: that is, they can only die if it’s narratively satisfying. If a powerful character dies without it being a satisfying heroic sacrifice or a satisfying end to a villainous rein of destruction—in other words, if the death is uninteresting and narratively pointless, then the character pops right back up. Like in Worm, plot armor is a mechanic of the setting that the characters can find out about and exploit, and like with Pact's boogeymen, characters become whole new types of beings as part of fitting to a character narrative that'd require plot armor. But unlike in wildbow's work, Homestuck's God Tiers have little in the way of diagetic justification. Hussie knows that there are situations where an audience won’t accept the stakes set out before them—they can tell that the bad thing can’t be allowed to happen, because if it did the plot couldn’t continue or the story would suffer, so they know the bad thing won’t happen. Accepting this, they play around with the trope by having it literally impossible for the bad thing to happen if the story would be worse for it.

But where it gets weird is how this plot-armor mechanic gets applied to Gamzee, in one of my favorite sections of Act 6. Gamzee was introduced as a joke character riffing on the juggalo evil clown subculture, who later goes on a murderous rampage for reasons that are never made fully obvious in-text. He then scuttles about the story as a figure who keeps breaking the story’s rules: both the mechanical rules of how Sburb works and the rules of storytelling generally. This ramps up a lot in Act 6, where he puts on a fake god-tier outfit and starts showing up at times and places he should not be able to be based on the established mechanics of Sburb, which up until then had been incredibly strict parameters on the story. Unlike a lot of the items that loop back in time in convoluted ways, we don’t see how Gamzee appeared on Jane’s planet, or went to the future to raise the cherubs, or all the other shit he gets up to. And we aren’t given a reason for why he’s selling blood like an RPG merchant or why he’s raising the big bad or why he’s doing anything at that point. He becomes a deus ex diabolica, a character whose not really a character at all so much as someone who sets up the obstacles in the story and has no reason for doing so besides the fact that the story wouldn’t work if he wasn’t there to set up the stakes.

One especially odd thing about him though is that even though he never actually reached God tier, he seemingly couldn't be killed.

At first this seems weird. Gamzee is breaking a core mechanical rule of Homstuck: he's immortal despite not being God-tier. But then you remember that the mechanical rule of God-tier immortality was already just a formalization of a narrative rule: a character can't die if the story isn't done with them. Homestuck is breaking its diagetic rules, but following the narrative rules they reflect.

This meta-interpretation of Gamzee's immortality is strengthened by the fact that the above conversation is taking place between Andrew Hussie and one of their characters. Furthermore, said character is a fandom stand-in who later transitions into being an author stand-in. This character (Caliborn) is the main villain of Homestuck, and has been interpreted as everything from the chains of narrative inevitability, to the interface of the webcomic itself, to Homestuck readers with an unhealthy relationship to the work, to the viler tendencies of Hussie themself present throughout the comic.

Not the only such stand-in; nearly all the villains of Homestuck assume some authorial role, as Hussie has an ongoing theme of equating the author role to being a manipulator. Thus the most heroic characters generally are reactive rather than proactive, thus Doc Scratch/Vriska/Dirk/etc all trying to author the timeline or claim causal responsibility for events while manipulating other characters, etc. But Caliborn ends up representing some more of Hussie's specific creative tendencies, and is the only character that Hussie's in-comic self has a conversation with.

Notably, this conversation has pretty much the only instance of Hussie presenting all the weird obstacles of Sburb as something they've set up as the author.

Oddly enough, apart from this, the yellow yard, and the Spades Slick sideplot, "Hussie" as a character has all but no role in the story. Which is in keeping with their (possible farcical?) ethos of all their characters existing as their own entities/character types, with Hussie just expressing them. The Entities in Worm actually end up being more direct author figures than Andrew Hussie's own self-insert, since they at least perform the role of authors (control characters in a way that produces dynamic and interesting scenarios).

This is a part of why the Hussie stand-in apparently lacks knowledge of their own story, and gets surprised by it.

Hussie claims even they don't know where Gamzee got things, what he gets up to, or why he's doing what he's doing. The first two things are probably true, honestly. The actual author Hussie may not have an idea in mind for how Gamzee gets to any of the places he does, since its not really relevant to the story. It feels weird that he doesn't, since so much of the rest of Homestuck is tracking how various objects travel from one point in a timeline to another, but when there's no interesting answer to be constructed by the author none really has to be provided. Again, by this point Gamzee is a plot device that Hussie has dressed up as a funny clown for the audience's amusement, he's not really a character.

But if the Hussie stand-in is meant to be taken seriously when they say they don't know why Gamzee has the keys, then there's a disconnect between Hussie the character and Hussie the author. Since the keys do have a plot purpose that's revealed almost immediately, and that Hussie almost certainly had planned.

A weakness in metafiction generally is that having the author be a character in any real capacity lowers they're ability to be a true author figure. If the stand-in is surprised by something the author wrote, then they're not reflecting the author. If the characters kill the author stand-in, but the story keeps on going, then what the hell was the author representing?

IV

The only piece of metafiction I've seen that squared that circle is EIDOLON DISKA, which mostly suceeds because of its structure as an actual-play. It has a GM who serves as a narrator alongside being the voice of almost all the characters, but all the main characters are acted out by other people. So it can pull a lot of the standard metafiction moves in much more convincing ways. The narrator reveals that he's an in-universe character who they actually know, and whose been writing the story they're all in. When the player characters are still able to rebel and fight against the narrator, it works, because the PCs actually are representing other people making decisions apart from the GM. Even a character usurping the author ends up working, since it just means that character's player becomes the GM.

As you'd expect, EIDOLON DISKA is another piece that blends diagetic and narrative rules. Gods currently writing the story (aka the current GM) can't rewrite portions that previous gods wrote, because doing something so narratively unsatisfying would break their own godhood. Breaking the rules of the Eidolon rpg system also risks being usurped, since they're the narrative rules the story runs on, and the diagetic rules of Godhood are just narrative rules.

This gets most interesting when the characters end up dying, as will sometimes happen in an actual-play of a ttrpg where death is a mechanic. The podcast is divided into two time periods, with the first group being the founding members of their school's mystery solvers club. The second group are the members of the same club 20 years later, trying to solve the murder of the founders. Because the first group's death is a set event that the narrator already wrote would happen at a specific time, every time the characters in that first group die before that point, they have to come back. And once it becomes clear that they're characters, they become aware of this, and start abusing it. They take bigger risks, stop freaking out when their friends get hurt or killed in battle, start getting chatty with the increasingly annoyed grim reaper—in other words, they realize they have plot armor and start acting like it. Since they're aware of and secure of their plot armor, they use it more fully than Blake does. And since its an actual play instead of something written by one person, they're actually able to use that plot armor to be more than a villain thrown into heroes way like Jack Slash or Gamzee. DISKA isn't finished yet, but I have the most hope for it going into interesting places with plot armor out of any of these stories.

[angstyastro]

We all agree Kai Leng has plot armor but I also like to believe that he knew he could not 1v1 Shepard and was booking it every encounter like a coward because ngl with you I too would shit bricks at seeing THE commander Shepard in their grief and rage and absolute tank of a body with all their cybernetics coming at him like the kool aid man.

Like if I saw Shepard doing this after I shanked her lizard bf I would run too ngl

[sparkbeast20]

What if it wasn't Satan?

I always wonder if it wasn't Satan that came to earth and saved us from Gabriel... What if it was a different king.

Firstly, Lucifer... Yeah, no Gabriel won't even try and anger him. The two would exchanged glare before Gabriel up and left. Sure we don't know if Lucifer's power would even work in earth. But with what we know about Lucifer's history with his brothers I would assume that Gabriel would retreat like Michael in the two star event.

As for the contract... Would Lucifer agree to bring Minhyeok alive? There is a small chance of Lucifer agreeing to make a contract with MC, with his angel nature of disliking Solomon and that fact that in this possibility MC doesn't have "I'm here in hell to help you" plot armor. So, MC has to really think outside the box to convince Lucifer to make a contract with him. Also, it is a give if MC did manage to do it, they'll be staying in Paradise Lost, and it would a sure in that Paradise Lost would still get angel attacks but not that much, which also means there has to be a different way for MC to meet the other kings otherwise, why would MC leave Paradise Lost? Or they write it as though MC needs to get to each region and help the kings and nobles.

Next, Leviathan. The way I see how he'll agree to go to earth and save MC is by having an information about MC and that they have God's permission before hand and not later in Chapter 5 of the main story. He'll save only because of that.

Now with the contact in order to save Minhyeok, yeah no. That ain't happening with how his H scene went. He wouldn't make a contract with MC in order to save Minhyeok. So, the way I see it, Solomon would be a voice in MC during them and Leviathan's talk about saving Minhyeok, MC wouldn't know who Solomon is, but they'll believe anything at this point (I mean after seeing and angel kill your friend and slice you chest, who wouldn't believe what is real or not) Solomon would have to tell MC how to handle Leviathan. And they try and stand up to Leviathan, after that... He'll agree, only with specific conditions and he'll save Minhyeok, have a contract with MC (With a few death threats sprinkled here and there) and They'll both head to hell and to Hades.

Next, Mammon. Honestly I could see Mammon going the same way as Satan, only this time he'll and attack Gabriel as soon as MC was yelling at Gabriel, Mammon would see their display of anger adorable but also admirable. And knowing Mammon, he gladly take this human with him. Back to the attack, Gabriel insult Mammon before leaving.

MC mourns Minhyeok, and that when Mammon mention about the contract and MC begged Mammon to saved Minhyeok and Mammon agrees only if MC would answer him truthfully. MC agrees and when the contract is one and done, he asked if they desire his body and to that MC pour their thoughts about his body and that's when Mammon and taste their greed for him. He quick laugh and say that they'll be staying with him and quickly he picks them up in his arms and both headed to Tartaros.

Finally (For now) is Beelzebub, And Honestly Beelzebub would try and test MC as he dealing with Gabriel, and when the angel left. Beelzebub would just try to leave, and that when MC try and stop him. That was their first test and MC passed, next he taunt them like what he did in his selfie and MC did they're best to not let this taunting get to them and that was the last test and Beelzebub is interested of this human.

Next, is relative easy and I kinda see it going as Satan's contract. The hardest part is that MC would have Beelzebub interest and now that they have it, Beelzebub would be like "Okay" and form a contract with MC. As for where we be staying... There's actually two ways, one is obviously in Abysoss but only differences is that Beelzebub would just leave MC to Bael and leaves and only in occasions that he'll stay and spend time with MC. Next is that he'll pawn MC to one of the other three kings, high possibility is Leviathan or the other two.

Will make a Belphegor and Asmodeus once they are in the game, till then.

[darkbluekies]

ooohoooh do a oneshot jerry x sensitive male reader, plot depends on you

Uncanny connection

Mafia!female!yandere x male!reader

Summary: going out for ice cream with Jerry ends in one of the most grotesque scenes you've been in

Warnings: gore, torture, knocking someone unconscious

Word count: 3k

A/N: I don't know how "sensitive" the reader got because i think he got pretty tough, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway♡

"Do you know what I'm craving?" Jerry asks.

"What?" you answer.

"Ice cream."

You look up from your book. Jerry lies on the other side of the couch, bored out of her mind. Her boss is in the room next to you, pressing an enemy on information — an enemy which Jerry brought to him. It's revolting. 

"How can you even think about food now?" you mutter, face leaning in your hand.

"Because I'm hungry?" Jerry replies snarkily and throws the tv remote at your head. 

You grimace, but realize that you'll get out of the house if you decide to listen to her upset stomach.

"Should we get some ice cream then?"

Jerry shines up. "Yes!"

She stands up and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the couch. You wince. You're taller than her, but there's no debate on who's stronger. Jerry takes you out to the garage.

"Choose", she says and points, "car or motorcycle? Pick the motorcycle."

"Okay? The motorcycle."

Jerry smirks and hands you a black helmet. "Do you know why I want you to pick the motorcycle? Because then you'll have to hug me all the way to the ice cream place. Unless you want to die, of course."

"Childish", you mumble teasingly.

Jerry hits your stomach with the back of her hand. You huff and stumble backwards. 

"Careful, buddy", she says coldly, giving you a glare. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt. Put on the helmet now so we can leave."

Although Jerry scares you, there's something about her black motorcycle armor that makes you drool. You place the helmet over your head and sit down behind her. Jerry grabs your arms and wraps them around her slim waist. If she wasn't wearing her armor, you'd feel her sixpack through her shirt. 

You reach the ice cream shop in less than twenty minutes. Jerry takes care of your helmet while promptly warning (threatening) you not to wander off.

You walk inside with her while she orders the two of you ice cream. You stand behind her with your hands in your pockets, looking around.

"Hey, stare-eye, do you want sprinkles?" Jerry asks over her shoulder.

"Yes, please", you answer.

You're soon given an ice cream, surprisingly in your favorite flavor. You didn't think Jerry paid attention to such things. You walk out to her motorcycle and sit down on the asphalt in the empty parking lot. Not a lot of people seem to go for ice cream at nine at night.

"This hits the spot", Jerry smiles.

You nod.

"Did you see the girl behind the counter, though?" Jerry asks and scoffs. "She was staring at you."

"I didn't notice", you reply.

"Of course you didn't. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had smoked something with the way you were looking around. Speaking of that, do you want to smoke? The boss has a cupboard full of-"

"No, I don't think that's for me."

"Oh, come on. How are you going to know if you haven't tried?"

"I don't want that. Alcohol is enough for me."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. If you don't want to, I'm not going to force you." She licks her ice cream and sighs dreamily. "Oh, to be high right now though."

You snort out a laugh. For a moment, you start to believe that you'll finally have a somewhat normal moment with Jerry, until she starts to look around with furrowed brows.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"Give me your ice cream", she says quietly, in that hissing tone you hate.

You do without questioning. Jerry gathers them both in one hand and grabs your arm with the other.

"Pretend to talk to me", she tells you while forcing a half smile while fiddling with her phone in her hands. "Like we haven't noticed anything."

"Noticed what?" you ask in confusion. 

"Keep talking or I'm selling you on eBay!" she hisses through the plastered smile.

You start to mumble a chain of "blah blah blah" while Jerry pretends to be interested. She throws the ice creams away and gives you your helmet.

"We're going to have to go fast as Hell, be prepared", she says, still wearing that smile. "Someone has followed us."

"Are we in danger?" you ask.

"Probably. But I’ve alerted my men, they should come quickly."

You put on your helmet and get on the motorcycle behind you. Jerry tightens your arms around her before blasting off. You're sure that your soul leaves your body when the speed accelerates. Everything around you turns into a blurry mess. Streetlights become long lines of light.

It doesn't take long before Jerry slows down.

"What are you doing?" you ask quickly.

"Something isn't right", she says. "They've fiddled with the bike. Motherfuckers wanted us dead. Get off."

You jump off and remove your helmet. Jerry grabs your hand and pulls you into the nearest alleyway. She slaps her hand over your mouth, hushing aggressively. 

"Be fucking silent", she whispers.

You've been afraid in Jerry’s company before, it's only natural for her occupation, but this is something completely different. You have never been this close to her enemies before. 

"Wait here", she whispers and brings out her gun. "I swear, if you move I'll kill you myself."

Which in Jerry terms translates to something along the lines of "whatever you do, stay hidden so you don't get harmed".

She disappears, leaving you all alone in the dark alleyway. You want nothing more than to sink into the wall and disappear. The minutes seem to pass by like hours. Everything is too silent. The only thing you can hear (beside your own heart beating loudly in your ears) are the sound of the city, sounding as noisy as it usually does. No indication that anything bad is happening. You gulp. Did she get taken? You fear the worst. 

You take a stap forward to peek out of the alleyway when you feel someone grab you from behind. Before you have the time to shout, a hand is clasped over your mouth and something sharp points into your throat. Your entire body freezes. 

“Jerry!” a voice shouts to your left. “I think you want to come look at this.”

You see a man in the corner of your eyes. He smiles widely and turns to you. You look at him with wide eyes. On the wall in Jerry’s headquarters, you’ve seen a picture of this unpleasant man. 

“Oh, Jerry!” he sing-songs. 

Jerry appears at the end of the alleyway with her gun in her hand. You can see her physically backing a step upon seeing the sight, her eyes widening slightly. 

“My man here seems to have found … well, your man”, the unpleasant leader chuckles. 

“Let him go”, Jerry warns, raising her gun. 

“Or what? You’re going to kill me?” His smile widens when noticing Jerry’s hesitation. “If you shoot me, Jerry, my man will kill your boytoy. Do you really want to take that risk?”

“What do you want? You’re obviously talking a crap lot, just get to the point.”

The leader chuckles and nods. “Alright. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, I’m going to kill you.”

“Shocker.”

You don’t understand how Jerry can be so calm in this situation, you think you’re going to shit yourself. 

“But”, the man continues and turns to you, “now I think that I have another idea.” He turns back to Jerry. 

Tears well up in your eyes and spill over. You let your head fall down to avoid Jerry seeing you cry, but the leader grabs your hair, ripping it up again. Jerry flinches. 

“What a man you’ve gotten yourself, Jerry”, he laughs. “Crying like a baby.”

“You’re half the man he is”, Jerry scoffs back angrily. “My boyfriend might be crying, but at least he knows that it’s cowardly to take on people who stand no chance. You’ll never be like him.”

“Put the gun down and come over here like a good little girl and I won’t have your brave, heroic boyfriend killed.”

Jerry glances at you and sighs heavily before throwing the gun to the side. Slowly, she walks over to the man with dark, glaring eyes until she’s right in front of him.

“Call me a good little girl again and I’m going to knock your teeth out”, she says through gritted teeth. 

The man only smiles before knocking Jerry’s head into the brick wall surrounding you. You swallow your scream while watching Jerry’s body slump together on the ground. The leader turns to you and again, the knife against your throat presses against the skin. He collects one of your tears with his hand and licks it. You’re surrounded by maniacs. 

"Please don't kill me", you cry.

"Not yet", the man replies. "I have plans for you. Get him in the car. Don't worry about bruising him, we'll roughen him up later anyways."

You're thrown into the back seat of a car while Jerry’s unconscious body is shoved into the trunk.

After a very unpleasant car ride, you find yourself in a warehouse. Jerry’s thrown onto the stone floor in front of you. They tie her to one of the pillars holding the structure of the building up, while you’re put in a chair. And then, nothing happens. You sit there, trembling like a leaf in the wind, waiting for something — anything — to happen. You want everything to start so it can be over quicker. 

“What are we waiting for?” you whisper. 

"For Jerry to wake up from her little nap", the leader says and gives Jerry's body a faint kick. "Until then, why don't you and I have a little chat, hm? Man to man?"

Rather not.

"How could someone like Jerry choose … someone like you?" he asks, gesticulating at you with his hand as if you are nothing more than filth. "When I think of Jerry's partner, I think of someone equally fucked. You look almost … normal!"

Thank you …?

"Tell me, why you?" 

"I don't know", you answer breathlessly. "I have no idea."

"Really? Hm, that doesn't feel very detailed. Try to think."

"I-I guess that …" You gulp, lightheaded, " … that she just wanted someone outside of her … uh, her world."

The leader picks up a knife from a table dimmed in darkness. You watch it with wide eyes.

"Interesting", the leader says and points at you with the knife. "Then why did you accept her?" He starts to smile. "Or did you?"

"Not really …"

"That's what I thought. Jerry takes what she wants. Wouldn't surprise me if she decided to kidnap you. Does she treat you differently than others? I can't see that."

You figure that if you answer all if his questions, you will be somewhat spared.

"She does", you answer quietly and glance at Jerry's unconscious body. "Compared to others she treats me … uh, rather … well."

The leader laughs. "That's interesting."

You can hear Jerry moan quietly. It sounds painful. You can't help but feel sorry for her.

"Oh!" the leader smirks. "She's awake. Time for the fun to begin."

"Jerry!" you gasp and are about to run over to her, but the man who had held you back before steps I and does it again.

"Behave yourself", he tells you and pushes you back down.

Jerry has noticed the ropes keeping her to the pillar and lifts her head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she spits. The man grabbed one of the tools.

"I want to play a little", he says, spinning the knife around his fingers. "But not with you. No, not you. With him."

"What?" Jerry asks and turns to look at you.

You've left your body. Your soul is flying around, trying to escape.

"Do not fucking touch him", Jerry warns and fights against the ropes. 

You could feel a hand on your shoulder.

"What are you going to do about it, Jerry?" the leader smirks. "You can't move, now can you?"

She glares at him. You can tell how fear and realization starts to set in by the way she curls up.

"Sometimes, Jerry, I could actually find you cute", the man laughs and suits your arm.

You scream out in surprise and pain. Jerry flinches.

"Fine, fine!" she shouts. "Just tell me what you want, okay?"

"I want to hurt you", the man replies. 

"Then do it?!"

"Hurting him hurts you more than if I ever used physical harm on you directly." 

The knife cuts your shoulder. You swallow your scream and force your eyes shut. Feeling how tears start to bubble in your chest, you breathe heavily.

"Cut me instead!" Jerry shouts, now sounding both furious and frightened. "Leave him alone!"

The man chuckles and grabs a new tool. A potato peeler.

"No, no, please-", you cry.

The potato peeler hovers above your arm. The man holds your hand down to secure your arm in position. You try to wiggle, terrified.

"No!" Jerry screams. "Do that to me! Leave him alone! Are you a coward, or what?!”

“How dare you call me a coward?” he asks. 

“Because you pick on someone that would never be able to defend themself against you! Peel my fucking skin! Do it! I give you the permission to do it!”

The man seems to think about it for a second before smiling. 

“I think I’m good”, he says and hovers the potato peeler above your arm. “I don’t want to give you what you want, Jerry. Simple as that.”

“You have the fucking mentality of a three year old!”

The man smiles and pretends that he hasn't heard anything. The coming hour, Jerry’s forced to watch how the man strips you down, layer by layer, breaking you down into a sobbing mess, blood covering all visible parts of your skin — or more like, what's left of your skin. Through your blurred vision, you can tell that she's crying too. You've never witnessed her cry, or at least not like this. Her body is shaking with sobs. 

Pain is thumping in your ears and your conscious nearly leaving you, but you can still hear her, still see her.

"Stop doing that!" she screams. "Please!"

The ropes have cut into her skin, causing her to bleed. The sight of her is horrifying. You’ve never seen her this pale before, she's almost taken on a green hue.

"Please stop", she begs and screams once the man picks up a gun. She starts to frantically fight against the ropes again. "Please, I need him! Don't kill him! He's all I have!"

The man stops to look at her and smirks, lowering the gun.

"Oh, right, your dear family", he purrs. "Your poor, little, unsuspecting family. Where are they now, Jerry? Tell me."

Jerry squeezes her eyes tightly shut. You can feel the gaping hole of the gun press against your temple.

"Tell me or I'll fucking kill him", he growls.

"They're fucking dead!" she shouts through broken sobs, glaring at him. "Someone fucking murdered them, okay?!"

"Mhm, and they didn't suspect a thing!"

Jerry’s eyes widen as she puts things together. Your messed up head can also understand the uncanny connection.

"Did you …?"

"It was so satisfying, seeing the scums who gave birth to you disappear from this earth. That’s what they deserved — for giving birth to someone like you.” He turned back to you, rising the gun towards you again. “And now, I’m going to get rid of the last one you care about.”

You shut your eyes, preparing yourself to die. Your body is exhausted. You don’t want anymore pain, better to put you out of your misery.

“No, please”, Jerry shakes her head. “Please, let him live. I will do anything if you let us leave.”

“As tempting as that is, I rather want you dead.”

He hovers his fingers on the trigger. His body suddenly jolts to the side, falling down. The gun clinks against the stone floor. You look up in horror. The door opens and black dressed men run in. They’ll kill you, you think. On the contrary, they untie Jerry who flies up from the floor to get over to you. You fall into her arms, sinking down on your knees. Jerry hugs you tightly, holding your head down in her shoulder. 

“My poor baby”, she sobs, running her hands over your back — the only place where you’re still unharmed. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Too exhausted to cry, you just sit in her embrace. You’re not even sure if you’re happy that her men came in time to save you. You’re still in excruciating pain … and you’ll have to live with this memory for the rest of your life. 

“It’s okay, baby boy”, she whispers in your ear and sobs. “You’re safe now. Don’t cry. I’ll patch you up, I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Weirdly enough, her being nice makes you feel even worse. You’d rather have her joke about your pain and tell you to ‘man up’ instead of her babying you. You can feel her lips press against your forehead. 

“Don’t cry”, she whispers, hugging you tighter. “My beautiful boy.”

One of her men carries you out to a black van where they patch you and Jerry up to their best ability. Every move hurts, everything burns. 

The second you get home, you’re tucked in bed together with Jerry. She holds your body close to hers. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, she whispers. “I really am. I’m sorry that you had to experience so much. I really, really am.”

“I’m so tired”, you whisper monotonically. 

“It’s okay, baby boy. Just sleep. Nothing will ever hurt you again. I will never let anything come close to you again. From now on, I’ll never let you out of this room. I will take any repercussions to keep you safe.” She cups your cheeks. “I did mean that — that you’re all I have. And I will keep you by my side.”

“I want to sleep.”

“Sleep. Sleep for as long as you want, I will be here and I will kill anyone that tries to disturb you, I fucking swear on that.”

She kisses your forehead and rests your head on her chest. You drift of to sleep immediately, hoping that all the pain will be gone once you wake up. Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear Jerry cry softly.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober day 25 - Surgery

Hello and welcome to: me handwaving away potential plot issues, the fic. Renado can do surgery because I say so. Wild sees Time as a father-figure but doesn't realize it because I say so. appendicitis is known and able to be treated because I say so!!! and I don't really love how this turned out but. 'tis what it 'tis.

Warnings: appendicitis, symptoms from that, off-screen surgery

ao3 link

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Something was up with Time.

They were in Twilight’s lands, a few hours from the castle, and been dumped on opposite sides of a ravine the moment they'd gotten here. Luckily nobody had fallen in said ravine, but the group had been split in two, and they were now making their ways to castle town separately. Normally Wild would be interested in seeing Twilight’s home, but he had been too busy keeping an eye on Time, certain there was something up with him.

The older hero had been acting funny their entire walk, barely talking, gaze distant, his steps slowed just enough to be suspicious. Time may have been weird, but his mood today was weird weird, and based on the frequent looks the others in his half of the group gave him, Wild wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

“You see it too huh?” Warriors said as he came up beside him, and Wild nodded, watching as Time casually rested a hand over his middle.

“How could I not? He’s been acting weird all day,” Wild replied, watching as Sky talked about everything and nothing as he walked beside Time, obviously trying to provoke a response. Time nodded along, but it was obvious he wasn’t paying much attention. “Do you think he’s sick?”

“I don’t know,” Warriors murmured, eyes narrowed. “But I don’t like it.”

“Maybe... he’s hiding an injury?” Wild suggested with a shrug. “That one peahat did come pretty close to him this morning. Maybe he got hit.” And that’s probably how I’d act if I was hiding an injury.

“True,” Warriors agreed, and his face grew determined. “Either way, this has gone on long enough. Enough ignoring the problem.”

Warriors abruptly strode ahead to block Time’s path, and Wild followed, worried and curious about the confrontation. Time blinked as they stood in front of him, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Do you need something?” Time asked mildly, and Wild couldn’t help his snort.

“Well we were about to ask you the same thing,” he said dryly, and Time’s eyebrow stayed raised.

“If I need anything? No, I’m fine,” he said, and Sky frowned beside him.

“You’re sure? You’ve been a little... off today, old man,” he said hesitantly. “We’re a bit...”

“Worried?” Time finished for him with a slight upturn of his mouth. Wild thought it looked strained. “Well there’s no need. I believe breakfast just didn’t sit very well with me.”

“And that’s why you keep holding your side?” Warriors asked with his arms crossed.

“Yes. Indigestion.”

“So it won’t hurt if I do this?” Wild asked, before shooting out a hand and lightly punching Time where he’d been holding his side.

He hadn’t expected anything except maybe a wince—Time was wearing full armor after all—but when Time gasped and curled protectively over his side, Wild nearly jumped backwards in surprise.

Warriors grabbed Time’s arm to steady him, and Wild exchanged looks with Sky as Time quickly tried to straighten back up. But the damage had been done. They’d all seen that.

“So, indigestion?” Warriors asked flatly, and Time frowned, looking at him.

“Yes. I’m not injured,” he insisted. “It’s just... intense.” Warriors hummed disbelievingly, and pulled him to the side, pushing him down to sit on a log.

“Then you won’t mind if we make sure,” he said firmly. Time sighed, but carefully began pulling his armor off piece by piece. Wild moved to sit beside him, and Sky stood next to them, fiddling with his sailcloth while he watched. Time’s hands faltered a little as he removed the pieces at his chest, and Warriors had to help him out of the biggest pieces, a hiss coming from between Time’s teeth as he lifted his arms up.

But finally it was all removed, and Warriors lifted up Time’s shirt, studying the skin beneath.

All three of them leaned forward to look, expecting any number of grisly sights, but... there was nothing there. Time’s side looked perfectly normal, and Wild raised a confused eyebrow.

“See?” Time said with a sigh. “I’m not hiding anything from you boys. I really do just think breakfast didn’t agree with me.”

Sky looked convinced, but Warriors’ expression had creased, and he leaned closer to Time’s waist with a frown.

“Where’s the pain concentrated?” Warriors asked him, and Time gestured to his side, a place between his bellybutton and right hip.

For some reason, Wild's heart skipped a beat.

Warriors face creased further.

“Time. How much pain are you in?” he asked seriously. “I need you to be honest.”

“I’ve had worse,” Time said slowly, and Warriors gave him a look. “...But it’s definitely up there.”

Warriors nodded, and set his hand on Time’s side. He lightly felt at it, then gave his skin a gentle prod with his fingers. Time sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hand jerking down to bat Warriors’ away, and Wild was certain his face paled. Warriors pulled back, then stood and felt Time’s forehead, a grim look settling on his face.

“This isn’t indigestion,” he said, and Wild felt his heart beat a little faster as a heavy silence fell over their group.

“...Well, what is it?” Time asked finally, looking uncomfortable.

Warriors swallowed. “It’s... well, we always called it phantom knife, since when it gets worse it feels like you’re got a knife in your gut, but it has a technical name. Appen-something.”

“Appendicitis.”

Wild wasn’t sure how he knew the word, but it came out anyway, and the other heroes looked at him in surprise. Wild swallowed. Where had that come from?

“Yes. That’s it. You know of it?” Warriors asked, and Wild gave a helpless shrug.

“I... no? Must be from before,” he said a little awkwardly.

“Hm. Well the point is,” Warriors said quickly, beginning to gather up Time’s armor, “Time needs a doctor. As soon as possible.”

“What?!” Sky said in alarm, and a cold feeling ran through Wild’s chest as he stared at Time.

...For some reason he wasn’t surprised, though.

“He needs a doctor, basically there’s a small organ in his middle that’s not working right, and needs to be taken out,” Warriors explained quickly, and grimaced. “I can't do it. I’ve only seen it happen once, I just know the symptoms. We need a doctor, which means we’ll have to make it to castle town.”

“Wait, he’ll need surgery?” Sky asked, and Warriors gave him a tense nod, standing up again.

“Captain,” Time said, his face still pale. “How serious is this?”

Warriors breathed out, and paused in his frantic movements. “It could be worse. But you need a doctor,” he said, and gave Time’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’ll be all right old man. Twilight’s kingdom is pretty advanced, I’m sure they deal with this all the time.”

“He’ll really need surgery?” Sky asked again, looking a little green, and Warriors nodded.

“It’s minor, honestly not all that worse then taking out an arrow,” Warriors said, then offered his hand to Time. “But we need to get moving, it’ll only get worse if it’s not treated.”

Time nodded, and Wild’s heart clenched at the way Time’s face carefully hid his pain, the older hero trying to stay calm. Something felt familiar about the expression, weirdly familiar, but it was gone before he could try and grab at it.

“I’m going to ask Twilight where the closest doctor in castle town is,” Wild said as Warriors carefully helped Time stand, the older hero wincing. Warriors nodded at him, and Wild pulled out his slate, quickly contacting Wind. The sailor picked up after only a minute or two, and Wild rapidly explained what they knew about the situation.

“Rancher? Did you hear all that?” Wind asked behind him, and Twilight’s face appeared in the slate, blatantly worried.

“Yeah, I did. But you all shouldn’t go to castle town,” Twilight said quickly. “Kakariko is much closer, and the doctor in castle town is a jerk anyway. There’s a shaman in Kakariko, he knows medicine, and he’s patched me up more times than I can count. I’m sure he can do this.”

“Sure enough for him to give your ancestor potentially lifesaving surgery?” Warriors questioned, and Twilight gave a sharp nod.

“Yes. I trust him.”

“Okay, then guess we’re headed to Kakariko,” Sky said with a tense exhale. “Where do we go?”

“Head for death mountain, if you see red rocks you’re in the right place,” Twilight explained. “We’ll head that way as well and meet you there.”

Wild nodded, giving Twilight a nervous smile, and cut the connection.

“You ready old man?” Sky asked worriedly, giving Time a quick look over.

“Yes, I’m ready. You all don’t have to treat me like glass,” Time said with a smile. None of them missed how strained it was though, and Wild swallowed, fastening his slate back to his belt.

Would Time really be okay?

And why do I feel like this has happened before?

“Let’s go,” Warriors said in a sharp voice, and they got moving without further ado, Wild and Sky giving each other one last worried look before following.

(...)

The trip wasn’t long, but Wild spent all of it consumed by a horrible anxiety he couldn’t shake.

They were nearly carrying Time by the time they made it to Kakariko, the older hero’s face flushed and sweaty with fever, a hand clasped shakily over his middle. He’d thrown up twice on the trip here, and Wild was restless and shaky as they hurried into town and asked for directions.

They definitely wouldn’t have made it to castle town, not with Time’s condition, and Wild tried not to worry too much as they helped Time through the street and to a building near a spring.

More than just Time’s condition was bothering him though. Wild had no clue how he knew the name of what was affecting Time, and whenever he looked at him too long, something felt like it pressed in on his head, something important.

But nothing else had come to mind, so Wild was left fidgety and nervous and feeling like he might throw up as Warriors knocked sharply on the door. A few moments passed, and then the door was opened, a tall man with dark hair and tanned skin looking down at them.

“Hello, how may I help you?” he greeted, and Sky stepped forward.

“Are you Renado? Link sent us here, our friend needs help,” he said, gesturing back to Time.

The man opened the door further, and looked at Time, a frown creasing his face. “Any friend of Link’s is welcome here. I’m Renado, bring your friend here, I’ll see what I can do for him. Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Phantom knife, if you’re familiar,” Warriors replied grimly, and Renado’s eyes widened as he hurriedly gestured them in.

“Yes, I am. Set him there,” he instructed, and they carefully set Time on a cot in the corner, Time groaning as they moved him. Renado hurried over, and checked his heartbeat and pulse, and did a few other things Wild wasn’t sure were for. “...Yes, this is phantom knife, for certain. Luda?" he called, and a girl appeared, haircut a bit like Four's. "Phantom knife. Well on its way. We'll need to act now."

Warriors began asking questions as Sky’s face turned green again, and Wild stared down at Time, watching as he held a hand protectively over his side, face screwed up in pain.

Wild swallowed and went to his side, and Time looked up at him with a shaky smile.

“I’ll be fine, Champion,” he managed to whisper, and the tight feeling came back to Wild’s head again, familiarity pressing in on him.

Wild stared, heart thudding, words sticking in his throat. Time’s expression tensed with pain, he heard Warriors’ voice ask him what was wrong, and then—

...

“Your highness, are you all right?”

Sunshine cast a glow on the tiled floor, bright curtains drawn back to let the light in. It caught on Zelda’s dress, making the gold trim even brighter, and Link made sure to stand in a spot where it wouldn’t potentially obstruct his vision.

“Perfectly fine,” Zelda assured the servant who’d asked, and Link’s ears pricked at the fake-cheerful tone. “Just a bit tired from my morning prayers, I believe.”

The servant nodded, then stepped away, Zelda’s smile immediately dropping from her face as they were left alone again. She glanced at Link, and he wordlessly tilted his head, a silent question.

“I wasn’t lying, I’m all right,” Zelda huffed, then rubbed at her eyes. “It’s just a stomachache. I’ll be fine, Link.”

Link raised an eyebrow, studying his charge and noting how she seemed pale under her makeup, her cheeks extra flushed. He knew she hadn’t eaten a thing all day either, and had a feeling she was hiding how bad she actually felt. Per usual.

He couldn’t really argue with her about it though, since she had several appointments this afternoon she couldn’t miss. And it wasn’t really his place to argue with the princess anyway, even if their relationship was a good bit better then it used to be.

And they both knew if she was seen taking a break, rumors would fly even worse then they already did.

So Link remained silent as Zelda stood, a hand braced on the table before she took a deep breath, and walked down the bustling hallway, him following a few paces behind.

They made it through two appointments, Link watching her like a hawk as she lost even more color. Zelda's hand constantly strayed to her middle, her expression growing tighter with held-back pain. Link was on the verge of insisting she skip her next commitment when her body made the decision for her.

Zelda turned a corner on their way to a meeting, and stumbled on seemingly nothing. Link rushed forward to catch her when her hand missed the wall, and as his hand bumped her side, she gasped, her face paling further.

She clutched at Link, but quickly released him, the hallway she'd tripped in an unfortunately bustling one.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she hurriedly reassured as a small crowd of people stopped and stared, alarmed questions and gasps lobbed in their direction. “I-I’m—”

Zeldas knees gave out on her without Link's full support, and Link stopped her from toppling, alarm rising in his chest. Someone shouted for help, for a doctor, and the next several minutes were a bit of a blur, Impa appearing, helping Zelda to her bedroom, a doctor Link vaguely recognized showing up.

Link stayed outside to guard as an examination was had, and did the same later as Zelda, sickly and pale, was taken to the doctor’s clinic.

“Appendicitis,” Impa explained as the door was closed, and she and Link were left alone. She sighed, and clasped her hands behind her back. “You probably know it as phantom knife. We're lucky we caught it when we did. If it had been much longer..."

She sighed again, and shook her head.

"They're doing the procedure now."

Link gave her an alarmed look, and Impa patted his shoulder, despite the worry in her own eyes.

“The doctor has done this before, Link. Zelda will be fine. I know of several people who have needed their appendix removed, and they are all fine," she reassured.

Link breathed out, and kept his hands resting on the master sword as Impa strode away to deal with something else while they waited. Impa was right. She always was.

But he still didn’t move an inch from the door, keeping guard, and keeping an ear out.

And it wasn’t until Zelda came out of it, unconscious and pale, but perfectly fine, that he finally relaxed.

The memory ended as abruptly as it had come on, and Wild sucked in a gasp, his eyes shooting open.

“Whoa, whoa easy Wild,” someone said, and Wild swallowed as hands gently took his shoulders. Whoever had grabbed him didn’t speak further, letting Wild readjust to the present, and Wild blinked as his vision focused.

He was in what looked like an inn, a few cobwebs in the corners, a faint musty smell in the air. A few people were in the room, all looking at him, and Wild stared, then realized it was several of the other Links. He looked up, Twilight kneeling in front of him, and furrowed his brow.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Hey yourself. You were out a while,” Twilight replied, and Wild realized the light on the floor was moonlight. “You okay?”

“Mm. Yeah,” Wild said, resting his hands on his lap as his head gradually cleared. He was sitting on a bed, he realized, one with a pale blue quilt and flowers. The colors were nice.

Then memories of what he’d been doing before abruptly hit him, and Wild shot to his feet.

“Time—!”

“—Is fine,” Twilight quickly finished for him, squeezing Wild’s shoulder. “Renado finished a little while ago, said he would wake up soon.”

Wild froze, memories of Time’s pale face mixing with Zelda’s in his mind, and he blinked harshly. The situations had been so similar and the memory so sharp in his mind that they were mixing in his head, making it ache painfully.

“Hey, are you really okay?” Twilight asked more gently, and Wild nodded again, shrugging out of his hold.

“Yeah, yeah. How’s Time? Actually?” Wild asked, still feeling unsettled from the memory and the day’s earlier events..

“Well I wouldn’t say he’s doing great, but the main problem is gone,” Legend huffed from across the room. Wild heard an undercurrent of worry in it. “Leave it to the old man to have a medical emergency in the middle of nowhere.“

“I’m just relieved we didn’t have to be the ones to fix it,” Sky said with a faint smile, and a few of them chuckled.

“Can I see him?” Wild asked, and Sky nodded kindly.

“Sure, I’ll show you where he is.”

Wild brushed past Twilight’s still-concerned look, and followed Sky out of the room and down a flight of stairs. He was sure Twilight would pry further about the memory and Wild's mental state eventually, but Wild wasn’t in the mood for questions.

He just wanted to see that Time was okay for himself.

Sky opened a door on the ground floor, and Warriors looked up from a bedside, his face exhausted, but less worried than before.

“Hey champion,” he greeted, giving him a small smile. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wild shrugged, tossing aside worried questions he was already saving up for Zelda when he got home, and focusing on the figure in the bed.

Time looked... not all that different from when Wild had last seen him. He was still pale, and his bangs looked rather sweaty, a damp cloth on his forehead. His face was smoothed of pain though, and Wild’s shoulders slowly relaxed the longer he watched him.

He looked okay.

Not great, but... okay.

“I can’t believe I spaced out through the whole thing,” Wild muttered, sitting heavily on a chair. What kind of hero just checks out like that when there’s trouble?

“You really didn’t miss much,” Sky said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “It was mostly a lot of waiting. And pacing.”

“I didn’t pace that much,” Warriors huffed, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “And besides, I wasn’t the only one.”

“I thought you and Twilight would wear a path in the ground with the way you were carrying on,” Sky teased.

Warriors and Sky kept up the light jabs, and Wild kept watching Time, his breathing slow and steady. Wild set his hand over Time’s clammy one, and exhaled, mind exhausted from stress and memories.

Time was fine. He would be fine.

A small movement caught his attention, and Wild startled, then watched as Time’s hand weakly twitched, then slowly turned and caught Wild’s fingers in his own.

Sky and Warriors both looked over, eyes going wide, and all three of them saw it when Time’s eye cracked open and a faint smile pulled at his lips.

“Old man,” Wild more exhaled than spoke, and Time gave his hand a weak squeeze.

Wild didn’t hear anything Sky and Warriors said after that, barely noticed when Renado came to check on Time, didn’t hear it when the others came in and greeted Time with relieved smiles and laughs.

All he was focused on was the pure relief of Time being okay, his hand in his.