#because the coordinators can’t figure out which level/class I should be in

[waugh-bao]

*

[sondepoch]

One Night (Marius x Reader)

Teaching a Billionaire to Touch Grass (And a Minimum Wage Worker to Treat Herself)

Marius clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at 2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

MASTERLIST

The car is silent. 

As Marius gets inside, he thinks that this might be the first time he’s not opening the passenger door seat for a lady partner, the first time he’s allowed himself to stalk straight into the driver's seat and angrily wait for his passenger to enter on their own.

Actually, he thinks, this is also the first time in years that he's actually driving. The first time someone managed to call for him so late that even his chauffeur was off-duty.

“I’m really sorry about this, Sir,” you mumble as you climb into the seat next to him, apologies never halting as you ramble on and on and on like an idiot who can't read a room. “I, ah, didn’t think this would happen, I'm so…”

Marius ignores you.

He glances out the passenger window and catches Darius Morgan’s equally-annoyed gaze. Seriously? the man seems to be asking, an unimpressed look crossed over his face as he eyes you through the car window. I don’t fucking know, Marius’s gaze says back, and he shakes his head the slightest as he starts the car.

“What’s your address?” he asks, interrupting your apologies. Propriety should make him feel somewhat embarrassed over the way he's acting,  but he can’t bring himself to be even a little polite right now.

“It’s by the Harbor. Um, if you go straight on Main Street and turn right at the—”

“Forget it,” Marius interrupts you. He taps the small car screen on his right, opening up the GPS interface. “Just type it in. I’ll drop you off.”

Your face falls at his irate voice, but you wisely don't comment on it, instead typing in your address as he asked. He watches you cautiously the whole time, for once not caring about the performance anxiety his gaze naturally brings to everyone he looks at. To your merit, you don't mess up anymore than you already have, deft fingers moving with the preciseness he’s used to seeing from you, but the skill can hardly impress him after you called him to pick you up from here, of all places. As the GPS routing sequence activates, Marius lets out an annoyed huff. This is not where he wanted to be right now.

Then, the car hums to life as he presses down on the accelerator, and he’s speeding in the direction of your home, trying to abandon his anger with the jailhouse the two of you are leaving.

I should be at home right now, he thinks as he moves onto the highway. He thinks about how long it had taken for him to coordinate this night off from Vyn’s tutoring sessions, Pax’s board meetings, his schoolwork, and the NXX’s meetings. I should be sleeping, or painting, or calling Rosa, or—

“Fuck,” he mutters when traffic begins to slow down. 

He’s in a traffic jam.

So much for sleeping. And painting. And calling Rosa. 

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, both at you and the cars around him. Why are there so many people on the road at—Marius glances at the car’s dashboard—2:38 in the morning? Why did the GPS's projected time to get to your home just double? Why is the universe out to get him today, on the one night Marius thought he could catch a break?

“Okay,” he seethes, drumming his fingers on the wheel as the traffic around him grows impossible slower. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “We’re going to talk about how inappropriate this was.”

“I—I’m really sorry, Sir, I—”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Maybe he is, actually. Marius is too pissed to be sure. “What I want to know is why you thought it was okay to call me, of all people.”

He keeps his glare fixated on the road, knowing that if he shoots you with the same thunderous look he uses to fire people, you’ll probably be too terrified to speak. Still, when you finally start talking, he can sense the fear in your voice.

His grip on the steering wheel softens the slightest.

“I, ah, initially was planning on calling Mr. Vincent. But he—”

“Really?” Marius snaps. “You’re his assistant, right?” Marius thinks back to all the times he stalked into Pax Headquarters only to see Vincent there with his morning coffee in hand and you, always three feet behind, holding Vincent’s work files. The Board of Directors criticized Marius for allowing his assistant to have an assistant, but never did he imagine you to be so…

Incompetent, he wants to say. Foolish might be a better word for it, though.

“Ah, yes. His administrative assistant.”

“And you want me to believe,” Marius huffs, “That the first person you wanted to call to bail you out of jail was the man you’re an administrative assistant to?”

Traffic gets ever slower, and Marius’s car rolls to a complete stop.

“Yes,” you whisper, and you start wringing your fingers in a manner so sheepish that Marius almost wants to believe you. Almost. “I, ah, was going to call him first. But then I remembered that his vacation started last night and that he’s already left Stellis. So I figured that if I called him, he’d just call you, so I…”

He wouldn’t call me, Marius thinks. Vincent is smart enough to find someone else to pick you up from jail. Regular people don’t ask these kinds of favors from their boss. Especially not from their boss's boss.

“Do you know that people usually ask their friends for these things?” Marius asks. Some of his anger seeps away when he realizes how apologetic you actually are, and he moves forward in traffic the slightest. “Or family, perhaps. What you did was…” Marius tries to find a kinder word than completely inappropriate. “Was highly unusual.” He sighs. “Why didn’t you ask someone else?”

He stares at you through the corner of his eye. You’re pursing your lips, holding back tears. Again, his gaze softens.

“I don't have anyone else,” you whisper.

Marius thinks it’s strange for you to imply that you even have him, especially when he’s nothing more to you than a high-level corporate executive, one that you’ve never spoken directly to in your entire life, but he doesn’t press you any further.

Releasing the final remnants of his anger in a soft sigh, he switches lanes and decides to pull into the nearest exit.

“Darius said you were in that cell since yesterday afternoon. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

“No, but…”

“This traffic isn’t going anywhere. We may as well get you something to eat.”

He exits easily, pulling into a district of Stellis that he’s never been in before, and ignores your quiet sniffle. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Earlier, he was ignoring you out of spite. Now, he doesn’t respond because he wants to preserve your dignity.

As he focuses his attention on the district he's pulled to, ignoring the GPS which vehemently opposes everything he's doing, Marius realizes that he's pulled into a rather poor sector of Stellis. It’s filled with unhealthy fast food joints, late-night drunkards, and a bunch of loiterers who are eyeing his high-end car suspiciously.

After driving around and surveying the options, Marius sighs. 

“The only places open are these fast-food restaurants,” he says, cleanly leaving out the option of getting food from a club or anywhere else a tabloid might be able to snap a picture. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, and Marius finds that your smile is oddly sweet. “Ah, would you be okay with that one over there? I go there a lot, and their food is...better than other fast food places.” 

Marius squints at you for a moment. He tries to recall your salary, and when he fails, he thinks of Vincent’s. Surely, you make a similar wage? You shouldn’t need to frequent fast-food restaurants like this, right?

Shaking his head, he decides not to ask about it. Things like where you eat are your business, not his, and it’s not his place to question you on your personal decisions.

He pulls up to the drive-through, somewhat relieved to find that the dine-in option isn’t even available at this hour, and lets you order whatever you want. You end up taking a meager meal, one that Marius doubts will actually fill your stomach when he can hear it growling so loudly, so when you turn to him and ask what he’ll get, he orders some fries in hopes that he can hand them off to you in case you’re still hungry. 

Minutes later, the two of you are parked on the side of the road with your respective meals in your laps. Only once you’ve finished (and after Marius is starting to pawn his fries off to you, finding that they’re rather unappealing to his pallette) does he think it’s appropriate to actually breach the subject of why you were tossed in jail.

“So,” he drawls, listening to the cool hum of the air conditioner. “Drugs, huh?”

He hears you choke on a fry.

“Th-they weren’t mine!” you blurt. “Honest, Sir, they—”

“Relax,” he says, eyes flitting down. “I’m not going to have you fired over this. Vincent wouldn’t want that. If anything, the court will decide.”

You relax a little at that, but Marius can sense that you’re still on edge.

“I...appreciate that a lot, Sir. But, really, the drugs weren’t mine. I—I’m sure there’s video evidence to prove that. I was just coming home from work when a kid told me to hold onto this bag, and—”

Marius lifts an eyebrow. He may be out of touch with the realities of the common class, but even he knows how ridiculous your story is.

“I didn’t take it, though! He handed it to me and I put it on the ground! But...but an officer saw me put it on the ground and assumed it was mine...and then...you know what happened.”

Marius sighs. You've always been a good, low-profile worker. He has no reason to believe that you'd get involved with anything bad: but he can't help but doubt you. When he next speaks, his voice is laced with hesitance. “Is there anything to prove your innocence? Pax can help get you a good lawyer, but without evidence, it’ll—”

“There is!” Your eyes are too determined to be anything other than sincere. “Or, ah, there should be. It happened right outside my apartment. I’m sure someone there has surveillance footage of what happened.”

Marius ignores the quiet “hopefully” you add to the end of that. 

“Alright,” he says, deciding that it’s not his place to decide whether or not he believes your story. “Tell me how you got my private number, then. Pax employees shouldn’t have access to that information.”

“Oh, ah…”

Your gaze turns sheepish. Marius grows even more interested in your response.

“Mr. Vincent had it written down a couple months ago. I accidentally saw it. I tried to forget, but…”

You seem to be kicking yourself over the blunder, but Marius is impressed. A mind that can remember something months after having seen it only once is a valuable thing, he thinks. It’s a waste for someone with your brain to be working as a mere assistant’s assistant.

“I’m really—”

“It’s okay,” Marius says. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m...not mad at you.”

And somehow, he really isn’t angry anymore.

The two of you finish your meal soon enough, Marius having successfully pressed his fries into your hands. It seems that you really are hungry because you down those in a manner of minutes, and the man almost regrets not having ordered more when he hears your stomach still grumbling beneath the hum of the car as he returns to the highway.

As Marius lets the GPS guide him back onto Stellis’s most frequented roads, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that all traffic is gone. He speeds down the road with a renewed vigor, somehow sidestepping the usual sleepiness that overcomes him during these kinds of drives with your idle commentary of the road, little mentions of “I once saw a turtle here” and “there used to be four lanes here, but they changed it to five” and “this mile-post had the wrong number on it for years before I reported it and highway patrol got it changed.”

If anything, there’s a faint smile on his face when he finally pulls off the freeway, almost amused by your quiet chit-chat. 

“Is this the right neighborhood?” Marius asks as he pulls into one of Stellis’s residential districts. 

“Yeah, it’s just a little further down.” You gather your purse in your lap and thank Marius for the umpteenth time.

“It's okay,” he says, slowing down. The apartments are looking poorer, now, dingier, but he tries not to let that show on his face. “Is it here?”

“Right at the end of the street,” you say, and with only a mildly concerned look on his face, Marius drives you further down the road.

His eyebrows furrow as he realizes what kind of neighborhood you live in, and he wonders if your wage truly is so poor that you have to live here, of all places. The apartment complexes here are unrenovated, a disappointing amount of them sporting broken glass or graffiti on them. Litter covers the grounds, and even in the thick, 3-AM darkness, Marius can make out hundreds of beer cans scattered across the lawns. Bushes are either dying or overgrown, and there are cigarette butts everywhere. 

Marius realizes that between his suit, his car, and his three earrings, he might have more money on him than everyone who lives here combined.

“Which...which of these apartments is yours?”

He looks around warily, quietly hoping that you’ll say it’s none of them.

“Ah, it’s the first window on the second floor of that…” you trail off as your pointer finger lands on an apartment where all lights are lit—and three masked figures stand illuminated, clearly ransacking your house.

“Oh my god,” Marius blurts, already getting his phone out. “You’re getting robbed, what the—”

“No, no!” You’re quick to place a hand on Marius’s arm before he can dial Emergency Services. “Those are, ah, just the neighborhood boys. They...they do bad things, but they’re good kids. Don’t worry. I’ll chase them out in no time, you don’t have to—”

“Are you serious?” Marius asks, dumbfounded. “This—how can you go back to a home like that? You could die, or—or—”

“Sir,” you say, looking him in the eyes with more seriousness than he’s seen from you this entire night. “With all due respect, this is the best I can afford.”

Marius falls silent at that.

You open the door silently, casting your eyes down. “Thank you again for everything,” you murmur. “I...I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again.”

But then, Marius thinks about the weak story you gave to him earlier, where you claimed that someone handed you drugs and then left you with them, and he wonders whether it might have actually been true. Whether this neighborhood, with its burglars and alcoholism and litter, could actually present you with that reality. Whether something like that may happen again to you, or, worse, Marius thinks as he glances back into your apartment at the three masked robbers, if you could actually get hurt.

Against all better judgment, his arm snaps out. He grips your wrist instantly, not thinking about propriety or class divisions or economic status or anything other than you, one of his company’s employees, and your safety.

“Don’t go there,” he blurts. When he realizes that you’re not tearing your arm free of him, he speaks again. “At least, not while they’re there. I’ll come back here with you tomorrow to make sure you can return in a safe environment, and—”

“Sir, I can’t just get a hotel or—”

“I have two guest bedrooms. You can take your pick. Just—ah—” Marius glances out the window at the poor neighborhood you live in, and he winces. “I can’t let you go home to this. Not...not while there are robbers in your house. Please understand.”

“This...this kind of problem doesn’t just go away,” you mumble, but Marius relaxes when he sees your grip on the door loosen. “And besides, it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay in your apartment.”

“Most people wouldn’t call it appropriate to call your company’s CEO to bail you out of jail,” Marius jokes, but the humor of it is lost on you.

“I…”

Your face falls.

“A—that was a joke,” Marius stutters. “I was joking.”

“Right.”

The atmosphere of the car goes awkward, made even worse by the GPS’s automated reminder that your destination is on the left, but the more Marius looks out his window, the more he decides that he can’t possibly let you return to this apartment. He’ll give you a raise if he has to, but this is something no one should be subject to.

“Alright,” you finally relent after Marius makes it clear that he won’t speak unless it’s to plead with you more. “Just for one night.”

“Just for one night,” Marius agrees, already planning how he can make sure that you have a better home to return to than this one for all future nights to come.

[glimmerglanger]

Sooo, I got this prompt from @anstarwar

Hi! I just stayed up til o’dark thirty finishing MYB and just had to hop over and say WOW. Love your writing! If you’re still taking prompts for supplemental stories I’m super curious what happened to Bly when he “woke up?” I just can’t help but think it’d be so devastating for him....I wanna give him a hug....anyways thank you!

AND OOOOF. Well, it’s not going to be a...happy time? For anyone? You’re probably going to want to give him more of a hug after this?

This snippet deals a lot with mind-control related trauma, being forced to kill someone against your will, suicidal ideation/a suicide attempt, and survivor’s guilt. People don’t always handle trauma in a neat and tidy way. This is… NOT neat and tidy, anger is one stage of grief, and something people who are hurt lash out, so lots of warnings for all of that. Past Blyla. A lot of hurt.

~~~~

Bly had some information to work with, by the time the thing in his head just stopped working, between one breath and the next. The thing had controlled his body for a timeless stretch, piloting him around the ship, to his quarters and to the bridge.

It read all the reports issued by the Imperial Command, and so Bly saw them, too.

He’d read that the Vigilance had been taken, taken by traitors in a mutiny, and he’d wanted to cheer, because of course Cody had found a way out, a way around the things in their head. 

He’d read that the Emperor wanted the heads of CC-2224 and the traitor Kenobi and so he’d known, too, that General Kenobi had somehow survived. That Cody had been strong enough to - to not pull the trigger on the Jedi he loved.

Not like Bly, who had leveled his blaster on Aayla’s back and squeezed the trigger and--

He wished he could grab his blaster again, but his body fought him, over and over again, until it just stopped. 

Bly was standing on the bridge when the thing in his head just...went away. There was no warning, no way for him to prepare. One moment, there were restraints around every piece of him and the next they were just gone.

Someone whimpered, across the bridge as Bly stared forward, breathing raggedly, swaying on his feet. His hand moved, automatically, towards the blaster at his hip. His fingers curled around the grip and he had it in hand before Ambler hit him around the chest and bore him to the floor, panting, “Don’t - don’t - please.”

“Get off of me,” Bly rasped out and they were poor first words, ragged and wet. He couldn’t breathe properly. His eyes stung and burned. The entire world had gone blurry. He reached for the blaster again - he’d shot Aayla in the back, his General, his everything, he’d shot her in the back and--

“I can’t,” Ambler said, knee on Bly’s wrist, the weight making his fingers spasm open. “I can’t, sir, I’m sorry.”

And Bly tried to say something, anything, else, but the words wouldn’t come, not for a long time.

#

Ambler refused to give Bly his blaster back, even after Bly got his breathing under control. Bly stared at him, the initial surge of emotion that had come with freedom fading away. He could control it. He had to control it.

Ambler had done the right thing, Bly decided, behind his helmet. He had things he needed to do, before he-- 

Made up for things.

He shook that thought aside. His brothers needed him. They didn’t have a General anymore - he’d seen to that - which meant--which meant they needed Bly to keep them safe. To help them figure out what to do.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the tears drying all over his cheeks under his helmet, and ordered the nat-borns on the ship restrained. And then he started looking for the Vigilance. Cody had gotten them free, he had no doubt. Somehow, the crazy son of a bantha had freed them all, and--

And he was wanted by the Empire. Kriff, they were probably all about to be wanted by the Empire.

Which meant they needed to be together. They’d be safer in greater numbers. “We had a message about some kind of attack on Kamino,” Burr said, from across the bridge, as they tried to figure out where to go. “But the message got cut off.”

“Head there,” Bly said, his voice a ragged mess. It was as good a place to go as any.

#

They found ruination on Kamino, but no sign of Cody or the Vigilance. No sign of any of their little brothers. Whatever had happened on the planet was long over by the time they dropped out of hyperspace.

But there was a buoy, tiny and transmitting on a strange frequency. Circuitboard decoded it while Bly sat in his quarters, staring at the wall, trying not to think of anything, definitely not the way Aayla had looked in his bunk, blue skin peeking out from beneath drab gray blankets, lekku curling softly with pleasure, and--

The buoy was transmitting coordinates, Circuitboard said, when he commed Bly. Bly looked down to find that he’d torn his sheets into long strips. He’d been twisting them, winding them into a long rope.

He stared down at his shaking hands, just for a moment, and gave the order to head to the coordinates, rising to his feet. He felt he should be on the bridge, at least for the start of their journey.

By the time he got back to his quarters, someone had taken away the damaged sheets. They’d taken away a lot of things. The room looked almost bare. Prickle - his new medic - was waiting inside the room, arms crossed, and said, “I can stay in here with you, or you can come to the medbay with me, the choice is yours.”

“Do what you want,” Bly told him, hollow inside, and curled up on the bare bed, not thinking about Aayla’s fingers stroking over his brow or the marks on his cheeks or--

Or anything else.

#

Cody left them a trail of breadcrumbs to follow, like they were playing one of the hunt-and-find games they’d indulged in back on Kamino, years ago. Cody’d always been better at hunting than hiding.

Maybe that was still true, because Bly found the Vigilance in orbit around an ugly gas giant on the borders of Wild Space, a small little flotilla around it. There were two other Venator-class ships by the Vigilance, and for a beat Bly wondered if the entire thing was an Imperial trap, his he and his brothers were about to be shot out of the sky.

He didn’t raise their shields. 

And a moment later familiar voices came over the comms, shouting words of welcome and relief.

#

Cody insisted that Bly come over to the Vigilance. Bly wasn’t sure he technically had to obey Cody’s orders, anymore, but if anyone was in charge of all of them, it had to be Cody, and so he went. 

He stared at the wall of the shuttle, even after it landed. He managed to get to his feet when Cody opened the rear hatch, turning to look at his brother - his batchmate - opening his mouth and then closing it again, before asking, “How the kriff did you do it?”

Cody looked back at him, expression tightly controlled, and said, “It’s a long story.”

Bly just stared at him. He felt...hollow inside. Cody winced, a little, and then exhaled. “Come on,” Cody said, reaching out and gripping his shoulder, “I’ll tell you.” 

#

Bly listened to all of it. He had a feeling, deep in his head, that Cody wasn’t going into the details, but it didn’t really matter. Bly got the gist of it. Cody really had saved his Jedi. Nearly blown up his head to do it, but he had, while Bly had drawn his blaster and--

“Where is he?” Bly asked, sitting in General Kenobi’s quarters - the ones Cody had been living in for years - and staring forward, eyes burning.

“On the bridge,” Cody said, with a little shrug. 

Bly nodded. He remembered what Aayla had looked like, last time she’d been on the bridge, her eyes tired as she looked over holos, one hand bandaged from a fall, lovely and alive and--

“I should get back,” Bly said, standing, because his men were in Cody’s care, now, and, obviously, Cody would take better care of them. Cody’d almost killed himself, proving that, while Bly had just raised his blaster and pulled the trigger and--

“You’re going to stay here,” Cody said, like it wasn’t even a question, in the same tone that had led to them fighting more than once when they were shinies on Kamino, Cody always thinking everyone should just listen to him-- “Catch me up on everything. Get some rest, for a day or two.”

“With all due respect,” Bly said, tone too flat to be sharp, “I’m rested plenty.”

“I talked to Prickle,” Cody said, and Bly wondered why, staring forward, not looking at Cody, even when Cody tried to step into his field of view. 

“That so?” Bly asked, trying to muster the energy to care and failing. He should have cared about them whispering about him behind his back, but he just--

Didn’t.

“That’s so,” Cody said. “And so you’re staying here.”

“Fine,” Bly said, gaze flicking momentarily towards the blaster at Cody’s hip. “Whatever you say, sir.”

He caught Cody’s wince out of the corner of his eyes, and a part of him wanted to apologize immediately but-- He’d done so much worse. Things he’d never be able to apologize for, he’d lifted his blaster and--

“Good,” Cody said, firm. “Let’s get some dinner.”

#

Bly pushed mush around his plate. He ate a bite, maybe two. His appetite had died with everything else that mattered, systems and systems away from where he currently was. 

Cody made noises about him needing to eat more, but he’d just have to live with what Bly could manage, unless he planned to bring in a tube and force it down Bly’s throat. Maybe he would. Bly considered the idea dispassionately.

In the end, Cody just frowned over him and took Bly back to his quarters. Cody brought along an extra meal, and something in Bly’s gut twisted hard, just looking at it. He felt like there was something inside him, a dam, perhaps, and that it was starting to crack, all down the middle.

He didn’t want to know what was on the other side of it.

“Why don’t you get in the fresher,” Cody said, and Bly shrugged. The fresher looked the same as the one he’d used for years. There was even a Jedi robe hanging on one of the hooks along the wall and for a moment he could imagine--

But it wasn’t Aayla’s. The weave was too heavy. And she’d preferred darker, richer colors. Earth tones. He stared at his fingers, clenched in the fabric, and made himself release it with a shudder. He took off his armor. Set it aside. Stepped under the water.

Aayla had loved the decadence of a water shower. She’d insisted he join her in one, more than once, the two of them wedged in together, laughing as they jostled for space and it always ended with her in his arms, hands sliding on the slippery walls, her fingers clenching at his shoulders, and--

He’d shot her. In the back. Hadn’t even hesitated. Ordered her body pushed into a shallow grave and she’d probably been ravaged by scavengers and--

Bly jerked out from under the water. He dried off, pulled back on a set of blacks that looked clean. Cody’s, he assumed. They mostly fitted; after years of different experiences, their bodies were no longer exactly the same. They’d built muscle differently. Some of them were stronger than others.

Cody had managed to fight the thing in his head.

And Bly had--

He tried to hold together the splintering dam inside his head, stepping back out into the main room. He wondered where Cody expected him to sleep, and the consideration fell out of his head when he realized they weren’t alone anymore.

Cody was sitting on the end of the bunk, talking to General Kenobi, low and earnestly. And Kenobi--

Was alive. Standing there in his tunic, his hair with more white in it around the temples than Bly recalled, a lightsaber on his belt. And seeing him split the widening cracks in Bly’s chest even further. He felt his jaw grinding as Kenobi looked up and over at him, inclining his head a little as he said, “Commander, I’m...so sorry, I--”

Kenobi cut off at a sharp, ragged-edged sound. Bly realized after a moment that it was coming from him. Laughter. 

Kenobi shifted his weight back, just a little, as Bly rasped out, “You’re sorry?”

He was distantly aware of Cody standing up, reaching out and putting a hand on Kenobi’s stomach. But that seemed like it was happening somewhere else. Everything, the entire world, was Kenobi’s expression, his too-wide eyes and the way all the color had washed out of his face. 

“Bly,” Cody started, and Bly felt his mouth twist up, felt the last little pieces of resistance in his chest wash away. 

“You’re sorry?” Bly repeated, taking a step forward. “She’s dead and--you’re sorry? You?”

Kenobi took a step back. “I--”  

“It isn’t fair,” Bly snapped, moving closer, and oh, it wasn’t, nothing about this was fair, it was brutal and wrong and -- “She’s dead, and you’re still here. Still just fine, aren’t you? Just like always? And you’re sorry?”

Cody stepped between them, one hand extended out towards Bly, mouth moving when he said, “That’s--”

“Why did you get to live?” Bly demanded, trying to bat Cody’s hand out of the way. Cody grunted and reached to grab him. “When she died? Why couldn’t it have been her? Just -- it should have been her, not you, she was--”

His words cut off when his shoulders hit the wall, both Cody’s hands in the front of his blacks, something dark and snapping in Cody’s eyes when he snarled, “That’s enough. Not another kriffing word, do you hear me?”

Bly opened his mouth, and never got a chance to say anything, because Cody jerked back from him at the sound of retching from the fresher. Cody swore, viciously, and pushed him against the wall again. “You stay right there,” Cody snapped, heading for the fresher, reaching for his comm and spitting something into it that Bly didn’t hear.

When Bones showed up, a few moments later, to collect him, Bly went along willingly enough. Whatever anger had moved through him had dissipated as quickly as it had come. He just felt… empty again. Completely empty.

[starshine583]

For the soulmate letter prompts, Felinette with prompt O please.

O: Opportune outfit (soulmates will eternally color coordinate, even if they have not met one another yet, and often times have similar patterns in their clothing)

(Thank you @symwinter and @desiiigirl for this ask! I had a ton of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy!)

“We’re here live tonight at the Carrousel du Louvre where Audrey Bourgeois is hosting her biggest party yet! Celebrities of all kinds will be invited, including Jagged Stone, Gabriel Agreste, and MDC herself! Stay tuned to catch sight of these incredible fashion icons!”

Marinette drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves as her miniature limo drove up to the front entrance. She’d been to plenty of parties before hosted by celebrities, but none as big as this. There were going to be reporters everywhere who would hold her under a magnifying glass all evening and powerful, influential people that she would have to tip-toe around to make a good first impression. On top of that, this was going to be the night she revealed her exclusive designer’s dress that she’d kept a secret for the last six months! It was an extremely important event for her, and she didn’t want to mess anything up.

The limo pulled to a stop in front of the red carpet, causing Marinette’s breath to catch in her throat. She quickly checked her hair and makeup, then smoothed out the corners of her dress. 

“You can do this.” She muttered to herself. “You’ve already made it this far. Now, you get to show the world why.”

The driver opened her car door, and Marinette offered the reporters a bright smile as she stepped outside. Screams of delight and excitement swept over the crowds of people that were huddled on both sides of the carpet. Cameras were flashing everywhere, almost blinding her, but Marinette kept an elegant stride despite it as she signed a few autographs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, MDC has just arrived at the gala, and may I say her dress looks absolutely dazzling!” A reporter to her left trilled. “The navy blue mixed with those silver dots and stars makes it look like the night sky! And the way the sheer fabric in sewn to the dress makes it look like the stars are trailing behind her as well! It’s truly a fantastic creation, especially with that diamond, crescent moon necklace to compliment it! Could this be that secret design that MDC’s corporation has been hinting about for so long?”

Marinette tried to contain her grin, but by the time she walked inside the Carrousel du Louvre, she was positively glowing. After spending many sleepless nights working on Starry Night- as her design was called - hearing the multitude of praises from the reporters was immensely satisfying. It made the whole project feel worthwhile.

“Oh, Marinette!” 

Audrey Bourgeois, having heard the commotion, waltzed over to the Louvre entrance to greet her. She seemed to be as fashionable and haughty as ever, and Marinette pulled an extra bright smile in an effort to please the woman. "Bonjour Audrey." She said politely. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for inviting me to your party.”

“Oh, think nothing of it!” Audrey replied, linking her arm with Marinette’s to guide her into the heart of the party. “I’ve been dying to speak with you about your latest designs, anyway. You’ve certainly made a name for yourself since the first time we met.”

A bit of tension melted from Marinette’s shoulders at the comment, and she felt a more genuine smile settle onto her lips. The last time she saw Audrey was when she’d been offered that job in New York, the same job that she ended up declining. It was good to know that Audrey wasn’t holding a grudge against her for that.

“Yes, these last two years have been quite eventful.” Marinette agreed. She’s managed to build a small company out of her designs that’s only continued to grow. The fact that she’d already designed things for Jagged Stone and Gabriel himself definitely helped her take-off.

“Indeed. Even my customers all the way in America have heard of you, which is why I wanted to propose a collaboration between us.”

“A collaboration?”

“Yes! Imagine how much popularity you’ll gain if we-”

“Audrey! Audrey Bourgeois!”

Audrey’s pleasant expression quickly soured when someone from across the room called out her name, interrupting whatever proposition she was going to make. 

“What is it?” The woman snapped. “I’m busy.”

A man stepped forward from the crowd, his countenance stern and unimpressed. “We were supposed to talk about the location of your next fashion show. Need I remind you that I have other business I need to attend to tonight?”

Audrey huffed and rolled eyes. “Fine, fine, we’ll talk then. Marinette, dear, do me a favor and stay put while I go discuss a few matters with M Laurence.”

Marinette nodded and took to idly surveying the room while the two strolled off to another corner of the Louvre. She wasn’t sure why Audrey would have to leave to talk about fashion show locations, but she supposed it also wasn’t any of her business either. Everyone had their own way of working, right?

The Carrousel du Louvre was an extraordinary place, especially with the gold and silver decorations lining the walls. Lights reflected off of the glass pyramid that dipped into the center of the room, making it shine almost as brightly as it would in the day, and the floors were polished so well that Marinette could actually part of her reflection in it.

The guests were no less remarkable than the setting too. Save for a scarce few, she could recognize every face in the crowd, be it through newspapers, magazines, movies, or heads of rival companies. A part of her almost miniscule in the presence of such greatness. Audrey certainly knew how to throw an enchanting party.

“Yo, Marinette! Is that you?”

A voice that Marinette immediately recognized yelled out to her, and she turned around with an eager smile to greet them. 

“Uncle Jagged! When did you get here?”

Jagged wormed his way out of the crowd with a wide grin. “I should be asking you the same thing! That dress looks great by the way.”

Marinette giggled and offered him a little spin. “Thanks! It took me forever to finish it. How have you been?”

“Oh, the usual. I’ve been rock and rollin’ to my heart’s content. Have you tried the food here yet?”

“Afraid not. Audrey told me to stay put until she came back from a meeting with somebody.”

Jagged scoffed and gently took her by the arm. “Audrey Shm-audrey. You’re an adult now! You can do whatever you want, like coming to try these over-priced cream puffs with me.”

Marinette snorted, but before she could reply, a cacophony of squeals tugged her attention to the front entrance of the Louvre. Someone new was joining the party, and it had the reporters quite excited.

“It appears that Felix Culpa has decided to come to the gala after all! There was speculation of him skipping out, but we’re happy to see him regardless!”

Annoyance swirled in the back of her mind at the mention of the actor, though she tried to hide it for the sake of civility. Ever since she started her small fashion business, Felix Culpa has been indirectly stealing her designs and wearing them without giving her an ounce of credit. She’s not sure how, since she’s jumped through who knows how many hoops to keep her projects a secret, but he does. Magazines, social media, behind-the-scenes pictures from his movies- anything he appears in, he’s wearing something of hers, be it a t-shirt or a tuxedo or a button-up shirt with jeans. It was infuriating, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not figure out where the leaks were coming from. No one was sending out emails, no one was going to visit him in person, and no one was posting any pictures of the working process online. And yet, he still managed to match his outfit with everything she created.

She couldn’t even sue him for copyright! Because, technically, all of the outfits that he’d worn so far had been made from a mix of his own wardrobe, and that, unfortunately, wasn’t a crime. 

Whatever, she thought to herself with a slight shake of the head. At least he can’t copy me tonight.

“What’s this?”  A reporter gasped. “Folks, I’m not sure if I’m actually seeing this, but Felix Culpa has just stepped out in a silver tuxedo with a navy, button-up shirt underneath that matches MDC’s outfit exactly!”

Marinette’s jaw had to have dropped to the floor when she heard those words. How was that possible? There was no way Felix could have coordinated his outfit with hers! No one even knew what she was going to be wearing! Unless this some insane coincidence?

“Oh, Look at that! He even has a small, diamond star clipped to his tie! Could Felix Culpa be dressed as MDC’s moon?!”

Marinette whirled around to face the entrance. This was most certainly not a coincidence. Even if he did decide to wear a silver tux tonight, nothing should have prompted him to wear a diamond star clip. Not unless he was trying to copy her designs again.

“Marinette? Are you alright?” Jagged Stone asked, noticing the sudden shift in her mood.

“I’m fine.” She said, forcing a leveled tone as she eyed the door. “I’m just going to go greet M Culpa, if you don’t mind.”

“ No problem! Come find me by the hors d'oeuvres when you’re done.”

Marinette didn’t bother throwing Jagged a tight smile as she stalked towards the door. Instead, she focused on how, exactly, she was going to call this esteemed actor out on his indirect theft without making a scene. This was a high class party, and she couldn’t afford to make a fool of herself. At the same time, however, she desperately needed to know how he’d been matching her outfits to a fault. 

Felix Culpa strode into Louvre a moment later, wearing the very tuxedo that the reporter had described. The silver jacket and dress pants matched the glittering stars on her dress, while the navy blue, button-up shirt underneath matched the main color of her outfit. Don’t even get her started on the diamond clip! It was like the thing had been bought as a pairing with her necklace! The only way he could have coordinated with her that well was if he looked at a picture of her dress directly, which didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have seen her dress! It’s been in her personal apartment since she started working on it!

His eyes scanned over the room leisurely, stopping when they landed on her, and for a moment, Marinette felt her anger falter, because my gosh was he a gorgeous man. She’d seen pictures of him plenty of times, but they apparently didn’t do him any justice. His strong jawline and defined cheekbones were perfectly framed by his pale, blond hair in a way she’d never noticed before. Then, there was his slender figure that the tuxedo seemed to cling to..

Marinette shook her head slight. Focus! There was a reason I was walking over here!

She offered the man a smile as she approached him, so as not to alarm him towards her somewhat hostile intentions, and he returned the smile with a slight nod.

“I assume you’re MDC?” He said in greeting.

Marinette nodded, barely holding back a sarcastic tone as she replied, “What gave me away?”

A small smile graced Felix’s lips, and he gestured to her dress. “I believe I’m supposed to be your ‘moon’.”

Marinette swore she felt her eye twitch. Was he being smug about it now?

“Yes, it would seem that way.. If I might ask, what prompted you to dress that way this evening?”

Felix glanced over his outfit thoughtfully, before giving her a little shrug. “Nothing in particular, I suppose. I simply felt like it.”

Marinette bit her tongue to avoid scoffing. He simply felt like it? No one accidentally coordinates their outfit with a specifically crafted dress because they ‘feel like it’. That’s just preposterous!

“I would like to compliment your work, though. It is my understanding that you brought that dress to life yourself?”

“..I did.”

“It’s phenomenal craftsmanship. I’m afraid I’ve only heard of you in name alone, but the praise clearly wasn’t over-exaggerated-”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. Did he just say that he’d only heard of her in name alone? Meaning he hadn’t seen any of her other designs yet?

“-I couldn’t imagine stitching that many stars onto a single garment.”

“I’m sorry,” She politely cut him off. Did he expect to get away with lying straight to her face? “But did you just say you’d heard of me in name alone?”

He nodded. “I’ve been rather busy as of late and haven’t had time to check with things in the fashion industry.”

“Then how do you explain your other outfits?” 

A blank expression fell across Felix’s features. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your other outfits.” Marinette repeated, almost through gritted teeth. “I have proof that you’ve been blatantly plagiarizing my designs for the past two years. How do you explain that if you supposedly haven’t seen any of my work until now.”

Felix raised a brow, appearing to be genuinely confused. “Mademoiselle, I can assure you that I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

This time, Marinette did scoff. How could he not know what she was talking about? If it had been once or twice, Marinette could write it off, but consistently matching her designs for two years? That’s no accident. How else would he manage to-

“Oh, there they are!” A reporter gasped. “MDC and Felix Culpa have already found each other! The moon and stars circling around each other as always. I’ve never seen such a fashionable pair of soulmates!”

Marinette froze, and from the looks of it, Felix froze too. 

Soulmates.. Color coordination.. Was that why Felix had been ‘plagiarizing’ her outfits all of this time? Was that why he claimed not to know anything about it even though it was glaringly obvious? Had she been obsessing over a mystery that had had a reasonable answer right in front of her face all along?

Her eyes trailed down to his suit, the suit that matched hers perfectly, and the realization that washed over her nearly caused her to face-palm. 

He hadn’t been copying her designs.

He’d been copying her outfit specifically.

Because they were soulmates.

“..What was that you said about my plagiarizing your designs?” Felix asked after a moment.

Marinette let out a defeated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, I feel ridiculous now.”

A soft chuckle passed Felix’s lips, and she glanced up just in time to catch the spark of amusement dancing in his silver eyes. Gosh, this beautiful human being was supposed to be her soulmate now? How was she going to cope? How was she going to Alya, the person she’d been ranting to for a good year now, about this new development? Actually, did Alya know about this all along? She always did act strange when Marinette brought it up, with her sly smirks and mischievous smiles and-

Felix offered his arm to her. “I, personally, would love to hear about this ridiculousness if you don’t mind sharing.”

Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, but she took his arm with a huff despite it. “I guess I might as well tell you. We’re probably going to be spending a lot more time together after this, anyway.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Felix replied lightheartedly, shooting her a smirk that made her heart skip a beat.

Marinette glanced away to regain some composure, but failed miserably as she only felt herself blush harder. Darn Felix Culpa and his stupid, breathtaking face.

She absolutely loved it.

(Send me a letter and I’ll do a thing!)

(The next one I’m going to be working on is J for Daminette!)

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And so preparations for the final event begin! Let’s see if these being one on one matches helps me get through them a bit faster when I’m not having to transcribe quite so much action all at once.

[No. 32 - Smile, Prince of Nonsense Land!]

Another character profile to start out with! (I swear I’m gonna have to make a post compiling these once we’ve gotten all of them for class 1a… maybe run a comparison with the end of chapter profiles? Eh shrug.)

I swear, my instincts say that something that that tail should not be as flexible as it is because of its circumference. I know, I know, quirks, freaking magic, don’t think about it, but still. It’s a very straightforward quirk with a surprising amount of utility, and he makes full use of it. Good for him! Now, onto the chapter proper.

Kirishima is pretty hyped for a tournament, thinking about how they’ll be up in ‘that ring he sees on TV every year.’ Mina asks him if it was a tournament last year as well, but Sero’s the one to answer - the format’s always different, but most years involve some kind of head to head competition. (Apparently the year before theirs involved foam sword fighting, and now I’m incredibly disappointed we didn’t get to see that for this sports festival finale… would have been absolutely hilarious.)

Midnight holds up a box of lots, saying that match-ups will be decided by drawing lots. Once that’s done, they’ll move on to the festivities and then the tournament itself. It’s up to each of the sixteen finalists whether or not they participate in the fun, since she figures some of them would rather take a breather and save their strength. 

She starts to call for the first place team to draw lots, but Ojiro raises his hand, calling for her attention. He then states that he’d like to drop out, much to the shock of the others. Someone (I think Kirishima?) asks him why, since this is his chance of being noticed by the pros. Ojiro stats that he has no memories of the cavalry battle or anything that happened in it up until the tail end. And it’s probably his quirk that did that. 

Ohh, ominous. And Izuku’s really concerned for Ojiro here. Ojiro states that he knows this is a great opportunity, and he knows it seems stupid to throw it away, but this final turnament… everyone else made it with their own strength. But he’s standing here and he doesn’t even know how or why. He just can’t take it. 

Hagakure says that he’s thinking about it too hard, and that he can just show what he’s made of in the tournament. Mina agrees, saying that by that logic, she shouldn’t really be here either. Ojiro starts crying, hiding his face in his hand as he shakes, explaining that he’s talking about his pride here. He doesn’t think it’s right. (He also has no idea why the girls are dressed like that. Really, the entire cheerleader gimmick seems a bit… awkward, here.)

Izuku has no idea what to say. But class B’s Nirengeki does - kind of. He admits that he can’t remember anything either, so he wants to withdraw as well. This is a contest of skill, so letting someone who didn’t do anything advance… doesn’t that defeat the whole point of the sports festival? Isn’t it against the rules?

Kirishima starts to tear up, calling the two manly. Up in the booth, Present Mic announces the strange turn of events, while Aizawa wonders what Midnight, as the coordinator, will decide. Midnight’s ruling?

She likes it. The two are allowed to withdraw. Aoyama puts a hand on Ojiro’s shoulder and promises to win it for him. 

Midnight tells the kids that replacing the two will be members of team Kendo, who took fifth. Kendo replies that if it’s gonna be like that, then shouldn’t it be team Tetsu instead? Her team was immobilized pretty much the whole time, while team Tetsu were giving it their all to keep what they had until the very end. She then hastens to assure that they aren’t colluding or anything, it just feels right.

Tetsutetsu is in tears by the gesture. After a brief transition, it’s decided that Tetsutetsu and Shiozaki will join the finalists, bringing the number back up to sixteen. And with that, the match-ups can be drawn!

Izuku notes that if he wins his first match, his second’s gonna be against Shouto. Which I feel is very rude of him to just entirely discount the possibility of Sero winning the match. I mean, it’s an honest assessment, but STILL. Rude. Anyways, before his match with Shouto, he still has to face off against Shinsou, who has to be-

And speak of the devil, there’s the guy in question. He wants to know if he’s Midoriya Izuku, which startles Izuku. Izuku recognizes him from the declaration of war two weeks back. He goes to respond, only to be cut off by Ojiro’s tail over his mouth. Shinsou huffs and turns t head away, while Ojiro warns Izuku not to answer him. 

We get a few other reactions from some of the other students: Shouto contemplates how his match with Izuku will be sooner than expected, and that he wants Izuku to bring his best before he takes him down. Katsuki wonders out loud who Uraraka is, which startles an eep out of her, possibly for using her actual name. Mei approaches Tenya, chucking as she starts to ask him something. And Present Mic announces that they’re setting aside the tournament for the time being, and getting on with the thrill-a-minute festivities. 

There’s a few snapshots of what everyone is up to over the course of the side events: some of the non-finalists racing massive balls (probably rubber?) around the inside perimeter of the stadium, Ojiro talking to a stressed out Izuku, Tokoyami napping in a tree, Tenya drinking five (5) cans of orange juice, Katsuki doing… something, Shouto crouched down resting somewhere outside the stadium, and finally some students searching for items on the cards they were given. Oh, right, and the girls are doing cheerleader stuff, with Hagakure being the most enthusiastic, and Jirou and Momo as the least. 

Honestly, with that jump, Hagakure is either buff as heck, or Ochako is lending her a hand. 

While all this is happening, Izuku is narrating how some people preferred to psych themselves up, while others tried to relax. Everyone was dealing with it differently. And before they knew it, the time had come.

We come back into the narrative as Cementoss is just finishing up crafting the battle platform from scratch, which is honestly incredibly impressive. I guess his manipulation of cement includes being able to dry it out super fast. And really, with how it looks, he’s just showing off. Especially with those torches, like, those can’t have been made from cement. Were they just put there and the cement set around them? Did he use the cement to manipulate them into place? I have questions, sir.

As I said, showing off just a touch. 

Present Mic thanks Cementoss before asking the crowds if they’re ready. He talks about how the students have been through hell to get here, but now it’s time for the one-on-one tournament! They’ll only have themselves to rely on. Even if someone isn’t a hero, that saying holds true! You know it! Spirit, technique, strength, wisdom, and knowledge! Use them all and show us your best!

...They’ll only have themselves to rely on, even applied to non-heroes? Uh, wow. Talk about the underlying 𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓾𝓮𝓼 showing up here. I honestly can’t help but think that Izuku’s issues with heading off alone in the current manga arc has less to do with emulating All Might, and more absorbing all these small asides and comments from all the staff of UA. Which is fucking 𝕪𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤.

Anyways, while Mic’s doing his thing, Izuku is trying to calm himself before his match, only for Toshinori to come up to talk to him. He notes how it took a while, but Izuku’s finally getting the hang of using One For All, and gives Izuku a wonky thumbs up. Izuku is surprised to see his mentor there, but also corrects him - he doesn’t really have a hang of it, he’s still uneasy. He brings up his microwave visualization thing, and how he’s been trying to recall when he launched it at the villain, but it still feels dangerous. As if he could fall apart if he loses focus for a second, and, well, it’s like Toshinori saw. Given the level his body is at, even when Izuku controls it, it only gives a small boost in power. 

Toshinoir thinks on it for a bit, before reminding Izuku about that talk about giving it between zero and a hundred. As Izuku is now, heis body’s capable of about five percent. Izuku considers that, thinking that if it’s like that, then he’s just gotten lucky with everything. Toshinori gives him a few thwacks on the head and neck, telling Izuku that that’s because he’s always been trying his hardest, calling him a prince of nonsense. He also chides Izuku, saying he’ll never be a hero looking so mopey.

While Izuku recovers from the assault, Toshinori tells him to listen, before stating that especially when Izuku is feeling worried or scared, that’s when he needs to smile. Izuku’s come this far, so show some bravado, even if it’s fake. To punctuate this, Toshinori swells up into All Might, giving him another thumbs up. And I guess it kind of works as motivation, since Izuku seems less stressed?

Anywho, we finally get into the first match! Present Mic announces the two, with Izuku getting a comment about his making a weird face despite his good performance, and Shinsou getting a comment about not having done anything to stand out yet. The rules are simple - win by knocking out your opponent, immobilizing them, or getting them to say ‘I give up!’ Bring the pain! Recovery Girl’s on standby. And fight dirty if you must! ‘Ethics’ have no meaning here!

...this explains why Shinsou immediately went for such a low blow. 

Anywho, Cementoss makes himself a seat to watch from, so as to be prepared to stop the match at any time. Present Mic clarifies that going for the kill is a big no-no and will disqualify you, because a true hero’s fists fly only when in pursuit of villains. 

Shinsou starts talking, contemplating the ‘I give up’ option before asking Izuku if he gets it? That this battle’s going to test his strength of will. If you have any kind of vision for your future, there’s no sense in worrying about how you get there. Like that monkey, babbling about his stupid pride. 

Wow is Izuku pissed. Present Mic announces the start of the match as Shinsou rhetorically asks what kind of dumbass throws away a chance like this. Izuku rushes forward furiously demanding to know what Shinsou just said - only to stop dead. Shinsou calls it his win, while in the stands, Ojiro is stressing out, tail flailing as he snaps at how he’d warned Izuku about this. Toshinori is waiting at the entrance to the stadium, confused. 

Present Mic asks what’s wrong, the battle’s just started, show some spirit! Mere seconds into the match, Izuku is frozen in place?

And we end the chapter on that cliffhanger. What an introduction to Shinsou, and we have more to go in the next… one or two chapters, can’t recall. 

Anywho, see y’all next time for spooky quirk shenanigans! Can’t believe our first ghost sighting is about to happen. Fricken love ghosts.

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 280: I Am Red Riot

Previously on BnHA: The pro heroes over at Gunga Mountain struggled against Gigantomachia and the League until finally Midnight was all, “fuck it, let’s just put the kids in charge.” Momo immediately got to work organizing a sophisticated counteroffensive involving an exploding swamp, a bunch of sedative cans, and a massive coordinated team attack. I gotta tell you guys, it’s really something to watch a large-scale group attack in which all of the team members are actually competent. I don’t know what Japan put in the water when all these sixteen-year-olds were growing up, but that shit has paid off big time, and basically the only reason Machia hasn’t gone down yet is because he cheated and was all “sneeze” and the kids all got blown away because they are little and because he is really, really big. Anyway so then Dabi set the forest on fire because he loves doing that, and the chapter ended with Mina using her Acid Man attack to make herself FUCKIN’ FIREPROOF so she could charge through the woods ready to save the day and stuff!

Today on BnHA: Mina launches herself straight at Machia like the beautiful corrosive wild child she is, but then everything goes to shit when she recognizes him from that one time she almost got murdered while giving a strange man directions. Just when it’s looking like she might get killed for real this time, KIRISHIMA SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY AND SHOVES HER TO SAFETY AND IS ALL “BOTTOMS UP” AND HEAVES A LITERAL CAN OF WHOOPASS RIGHT IN MACHIA’S MOUTH. At this point the grown-ups are all “oh wow look at that, time for us to take over for you kids now, don’t worry we’ve got it all under control” because Oh Those Wacky Pros and all that, but at least Majestic finally deigns to show his face so that’s a plus! The chapter ends with us cutting back to the Jakku battle, where Tomura is curled up in a little ball all “curse you heroes, how dare you [checks notes] save people all the time”, which is a real take and a half. Anyway so things are looking up, which can only mean everyone is about to die. That’s how it works, right. Shit.

HOLY SHIT LOL

THIS IS MINA. SHE’S REALLY COOL AND SHE CAN MELT PEOPLE. um, the hell kind of tagline is that?? holy fucking shit?? “melt and succumb”?? IS THE SUCCUMB PART REALLY NECESSARY. IS THAT NOT ALREADY IMPLIED. it’s like saying “die and then perish”, which actually sounds really badass and I’m about to make it my new go-to threat actually so you know what never mind. where the fuck were we anyway

“IS EVERYONE SAFE” some absurdly bad-at-gauging-situations kid from class B is yelling while the forest is on fire and all the kids are recovering from having been catapulted fifty miles by King Dodongo’s windy yeet breath. of course they are safe, sweet child. of course everyone is absolutely fine, why the fuck would they possibly not be safe after something like that

KAMINARI NOOO MY POOR SWEET BABY

AT LEAST HE’S STILL CONSCIOUS ENOUGH TO MAKE STUPID JOKES. holy shit this baby got concussed to hell and back and then Machia turned him and the others into precipitation and he wasn’t in any kind of state to even try to land safely, I hope to god someone caught him

Sero is all “is there anyone still in range!” and damn, I like that he’s taking charge and trying to regain their momentum. he is so criminally underrated. I feel like he’s in the top six or seven of class 1-A kids who I would most trust to take charge. which is very high praise because that class has a lot of charge-taking kids

SPEAKING OF

it “probably” can’t get through her acid, she says. my god. sometimes the spirit of Plus Ultra just takes ahold of these kids and it’s like, I want to ruffle their hair proudly and then grab them by the shoulders and shake them vigorously because WHERE EVEN IS YOUR SELF-PRESERVATION WHY DO NONE OF YOU HAVE IT GODDAMMIT AIZAWA REALLY SHOULD HAVE EXPELLED YOU GUYS AFTER ALL

man. and yet I really do love this “be the one who can do it” stuff. what a heroic fucking attitude dfjfklks. I’ll just go put on my humongous sandwich board that reads GIANT FUCKING HYPOCRITE and go stand in the corner

damn it this week’s scan is annoyingly dark, it’s really hard to tell what’s going on but it looks like the pros are attacking Machia and the League at long last. way to go guys it only took you seven years but you finally hopped to it

MINA WHY IS THE ACID COMING OFF OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. PUT IT BACK!!!

I KNOW SHE’S NOT GONNA DIE DAMMIT BUT AHHHHH AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH

okay what the hell is up with these weird zen proverbs though

“your fear stricken heart”, “the shortest path”, what the fuck even is this. whose thoughts are these. normally these translations are honestly decent enough but I gotta say this time around I’m totally being thrown for a loop lmao

(ETA: FYI I’m only just now realizing that he was saying the shortest path to Master, as in Tomura, not “master” as in to master something fjkldjskf lol some delayed reading comprehension there. so basically he’s just bitching about how annoying these little “flies” are proving to be.)

JESUS CHRIST

okay is it just me, or is Gigantomachia suddenly showing intelligence in his eyes instead of mindless animal instinct the single most pants-shitting thing you’ve ever seen?!! holy shit. the way he just LOOKS at her out of nowhere all of a sudden?? holy fucking shit DO NOT HURT MT. LADY OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. AND DON’T YOU DARE HURT MINA EITHER!! JUST FUCKING DIE AND PERISH

but also though, is that recognition in Mina’s eyes?? because even though this dude is 80 feet tall now, her encounter with him a couple years back had to have been one of the more memorable experiences of her young life. damn I was wondering when this would finally come into play

OKAY YES THE NEXT PAGE IS A FLASHBACK OH SHIT

this has nothing to do with anything but Mina just has the prettiest hair, btw, and this “just woke up covered in acid” look is a particularly good one on her. it looks so soft and fluffy, like damn. this is like Shouto-hair-billowing-in-the-wind levels of pretty here

NOOOOO

oh my god holy shit?! putting her back in the school uniform to show the slip in her mentality is a PUNK MOVE, HORIKOSHI, and I respect the shit out of you for it you manipulative bastard. goddammit. bracing myself for the incoming wave of Mina feels... here they come... they’re a lot... let’s see if I can latch on to anything I can actually figure out how to describe in words

okay well here’s one, my respect for Mina’s bravery just went up like a thousand percent in this instant, because now we know this was actually such a traumatizing event for her that hearing Machia’s voice again years later immediately sent her into a full-blown flashback. she was that scared and yet she still stood up to him and didn’t hesitate. and now I’m remembering how her knees just buckled right afterwards, and just...

and this visual, though!! what a brutally effective way to show that in her mind she went right back to being that scared middle schooler again for a moment. god fucking damn. holy shit you guys is Kirishima fireproof because if he comes waltzing out of the woods next I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. lolo kids getting traumatized left and right this arc is fucking merciless

um eXCUSE ME!?!?!

YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT LET GO OF HER RIGHT NOW OR I AM GONNA LOSE IT!!

THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!

holy shit he could have fucking snapped her neck like that??! I don’t like this at ALL WHAT THE FUCK

OKAY SERIOUSLY

I’M GONNA NEED ANOTHER KID TO STEP IN HERE WITH A LAST MINUTE SAVE LIKE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, OR I AM GOING TO THROW MY COMPUTER OFF A FUCKING CLIFF AND MOVE TO THE DESERT AND BECOME A HERMIT AND NEVER READ MANGA ON THE INTERNET AGAIN

OH THANK GOD

TODAY WE SPELL “REDEMPTION” K-I-R-I... ETC. THERE’S A LOT OF LETTERS BUT YOU GET THE DRIFT!!!

holy fucking shit y’all. I mean, it’s not like it came out of nowhere, like the setup could not have been more obvious, but let me assure you that none of the predictability lessened the actual impact of this moment in the SLIGHTEST. Horikoshi really wrote a flashback scene one hundred and thirty five chapters ago and planted it, watered it once a day, and patiently waited for THREE LONG YEARS until he could finally harvest the badass fruits of his labor in the midst of his most epic arc to date. I’m so fucking hyped I’ll even forgive him for sacrificing Mina’s big moment and having her get rescued, because it’s such a good reversal. he didn’t freeze up this time. he promised himself he’d never freeze again and he didn’t and he saved her and god fucking damn. anyways so now Machia is going to treat him like a fucking action figure though but he’s a solid little dude he can take it hopefully

NO WHAT IS THIS!!! STOP KILLING MY MOOD!!!

she better not be dead!! SHE BETTER NOT FUCKING BE DEAD I WILL RUN MY PC THROUGH A PAPER SHREDDER AND GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH MY FEELS ON A MOUNTAIN IN TIBET

CHINTETSU!!

well we know he’s fireproof. another callback at the least expected of times lmao

so Tetsu’s all “yeah Kirishima’s not really all that fireproof but he totally ran over here anyway to save you. oh wait that probably wasn’t very comforting of me to say.” maybe that’s why it seems like he might not have actually said it out loud, now that I’m reading this over again. good call Tetsu

ARE YOU STANDING UP AND CASUALLY STRETCHING OUT YOUR BACK

I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE HOW MUCH I HATE THIS GUY RIGHT NOW. WE’RE REACHING LEVELS OF HATRED RESERVED FOR NAZIS AND PEOPLE WHO WALK TOO SLOWLY IN FRONT OF ME IN A GROUP SHOULDER TO SHOULDER INSTEAD OF SINGLE FILE SO I CAN PASS IN FRONT OF THEM. YOU’RE A FUCKING TOURIST IN NYC YOU PIECE OF SHIT

lmao he’s just dropping this random hero person and letting him fall to his doom wheeeeee

remind me to leave all of the League of Villains’ texts on read for the foreseeable future. goddamn. I still love you guys but also, fuck you so damn hard

OHO A LIL RED SCALY BOI ISN’T DONE YET!!

real talk, just between you and me, I’ll lower my voice so that Kirishima can’t hear. so uh. we all agree that even if Kiri is fireproof and squishproof, that little can of tranquilizer juice technically shouldn’t have been, right? but we’re all going to hush and pretend like it was anyway for the sake of not spoiling his big moment. even though I am crossing my arms and tapping my chin with my finger while doubtfully glancing to the side

anyway here he goes!

YEAH KIRI GO GETTIM [stage whisper] there it is, in his pocket. should’ve burned. we won’t discuss it

OH FOR FUCK’S

TOGA YOU LITTLE WIENER BUT WHAT’S THIS ABOUT “MY HALF” NOW????

DID HE GRAB MINA’S MID-AIR?? IS HE REALLY REACHING INTO HIS BACK POCKET AND FUCKING UNZIPPING IT RIGHT NOW WHILE HOLDING ON TO NOTHING AND PRESUMABLY FALLING THROUGH THE AIR. DID A LITTLE BIT OF OCHAKO’S QUIRK RUB OFF ON YOU OR WHAT

OH SNAP SON HE REALLY DID THE THING HOLY SHIT???

AND TOKAGE FLEW OVER AND SAVED HIM AND NOW TANKS ARE SHOOTING AT MACHIA, LMAO WHAT IS THIS. MOMO HOW MANY GUNS DID YOU MAKE

Shouji standing there trying to be useful any way he can. are eyeballs really that much more effective if you make them the size of tennis balls and hold them up above your head. legit question, I don’t really know how eyes work

okay after 45 seconds of googling this my impression is that no, they are not. well good on you for giving it the old college try anyway though Shouji

oH MY GODLKDLK?!?!

DID SHE SAY WHAT I THOUGHT SHE SAID, DID SHE SAY MAJESTIC, ARE WE GONNA SEE MASJKESLTKCI DSFLKJL

oh my god he really is the Magic Man dude??? TIME TO DUST OFF MY INVENTORY OF ADVENTURE TIME QUOTES

(ETA: AHH FATGUM AND GANG ORCA ARE THERE TOO YESSSS!)

“that’s enough depending on some interns” oh, okay. now that they’ve done all your work for you. I see, I see

so now Gigantomachia is LITERALLY UNHINGING HIS JAW I can’t fucking believe this dude you guys. everything he does is just like, ARE YOU SERIOUS

please go to sleep already. thanks to you I have my keyboard set to capslock as the default for the duration of this chapter

ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU FUCKING WAITED UNTIL MAGIC FUCKING MAN SHOWED UP TO TEACH US MAGICAL LIFE LESSONS AND NOW YOU’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE TOMURA FIGHT?? WHY DO WE KEEP LETTING THIS MAN GET AWAY WITH THIS

oh my god you guys they really fucking did it

I guess that Howitzer slash fire punch combo really was that potent huh

anyway so now Endeavor is standing there making a big speech instead of reaching into Tomura’s pocket and taking the bullets that he doesn’t know about and shooting him with one asap. dammit Endeavor

aaaaand Tomura is firing back with the wisdom of Shimura Fucking Kotaro of all people

well you sure convinced me. damn I don’t know what I was thinking. heroes suck you guys. how dare they help other people all the time

so now he’s all “PERIOD, EXCLAMATION POINT!!”

take that Endeavor. you heard the man. it’s not destruction without conviction, as god as his witness he will have you know it is destruction WITH conviction. something something the great sage Shimura “I hurt my family for absolutely no reason at all, fuck this ‘helping others’ bullshit” Kotaro. I hope you packed your textbooks because you just got SCHOOLED. I hope the person who ordered you signed up for delivery notifications because you just got SENT. I HOPE YOU LIKE CAPITALISM BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT OWNED. I HOPE YOU CHOSE PAPER AND NOT SCISSORS BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT ROCKED

what an absolutely, unreservedly bizarre place to end the chapter lol. we’re really just done with this week, just like that. Majestic showed up and Gigantomachia opened his chin like a garage door and Tomura is all “you may have won the battle but you suck” while he buys time for Aizawa to suddenly sneeze or something so he can make his terrible comeback and continue Horikoshi’s Traumatize Every Kid in Class 1-A 2020 campaign. what an arc this is my friends. what an arc

[blubberquark]

E-Sports

Occasionally, you can read about a game adding or already having “e-sports features“ like tournaments or spectator mode, or about trying to “bootstrap an e-sports scene“ by hosting a tournament with a five- or low-six-figure dollar amount prize pool.

This is not how it works. You can’t turn any game into an e-sport by paying people to play it, or by adding features that enable players to run their own tournaments. E-sports are computer games as competitive spectator sports.

For this to work, you need:

Full-time competitive players

A large audience of passive viewers

A media industry/tournament circuit with sponsors, commentators, broadcasting channels, hosting and monetising professional matches

You cannot have #3 without the first two. You cannot have full-time professional players without #2 and #3. It all feeds into the other pieces.

Maybe, if you cannot afford to have a tournament circuit and full-time pro gamers, you can instead have something similar on a smaller scale:

A high-level hobbyist competitive scene

A small, but committed crowd of enthusiasts keeping the game alive

Enough interest for the enthusiasts to fund an annual tournament

The small-scale model seems to be how speed running and the fighting game community operate. The large-scale model is how StarCraft used to work, and how League of Legends, CS:GO and Overwatch work today.

Professional Competitive High-Level Play

E-sports depends on world-class players who can make a living playing your game at a world-class level. They are called “professional gamers”. They train for the game as their day job, probably with some cardio, gymnastics, and hand-eye coordination exercise mixed in. They have sponsors and trainers, which I will cover more in depth in point #3. For there to even be world-class players, the game has to reward high skill.

A competitive scene needs a a balanced, but competitive game. A competitive game with has skill measurement and a high skill ceiling.

E-sports pro gamers are playing the same game as regular players, but they are very good at it, so good that they dominate matches against average players, and even matches against good players. That’s what makes them world-class. If you could spectate just any game on the ladder, the e-sports scene would nor be special. If the outcomes of a match are heavily influenced by randomness, there can’t be a big difference between world-class players and people who just picked up the game. If the game provides high skill measurement at low levels, but runs into ceiling effects at high levels, for example if pro players frequently play a perfect game of computer golf, or a perfect game of computer bowling, there is no skill measurement at high levels, and high-level matches become boring.

An e-sports scene can only exist when the game is balanced for high-level play and has a long skill chain. I the game is discovered to have boring solutions, it must be patched.

How can you determine who is a “world-class“ player after the game launches? How can you be sure the pro-gamers are really world-class if they only play against other pro gamers? How do players ascend from competitive hobbyist to pro? An e-sports game needs a lively hobbyist competitive scene. Good matchmaking and a public ladder allow professional players to practice against random high-level players, hobbyist players to measure their skill against pro players, and everybody everywhere to know where the metagame is at. After all, what good is skill measurement if you never measure yourself?

An e-sports game needs a ranked ladder and good matchmaking.

The pro gamers will probably spend a significant amount of time each week training, sparring against team mates, practising specific moves, techniques, or strategies. This requires custom matches (ranked ladder matches are still good for raising team brand recognition on twitch though, in addition to getting a feel for the metagame). I heard that during the heyday of StarCraft II, some teams spent hours practising defence against cheese like 6-pool Zerg rush, a bunker rush, or a Zealot/Stalker all-in.

Of course, if you practice defence against bunker rushes for days only for bunkers to be nerfed on the day of a tournament, it’s all moot.

There must be a way for competitive players to practice in custom games against colleagues. Patches affecting balance or tournament play must be small and announced well in advance.

The Passive Watching Experience

The audience cares about the game, knows what’s going on and who is winning, and loosely follows the metagame and the goings-on in the e-sports scene, but not necessarily all the beef and player transfers.

The simplest, but not easiest, way to a large audience for an e-sport is to have a large player base. People who occasionally play the game at a hobbyist level are already familiar with the mechanics, and a little emotionally invested in the outcome of games. Even in some real-life spectator sports (like football), you expect almost all people in your audience to have played the game at some point in the past.

A large hobbyist player base also feeds into the smaller pool of more competitive players, and thus ultimately into the pro gamer scene.

All this is presupposing that the e-sport still resembles the game as most players know it. If the high-level matches look completely different from hobbyist ones, if different skills are important, and if it is difficult to know for a hobbyist player what is going on and who is winning, it is much more difficult to parley a hobbyist player base into an e-sports audience. In some Nintendo party games, like Mario Kart and Smash Bros, (but not Mario Party, which is only casual and does not have a competitive scene) most players are playing only very casually against friends, and in others, most players are only playing in single-player mode. They don’t care about winning or getting good at the game, so they are less likely to care about e-sports.

For a large player base, the game has to be easy to pick up, easy to understand, and still fun and competitive at the entry level. Being easy to pick up and understand also makes e-sports games easier to watch and understand passively.

Having multiple games modes can be a nice compromise, allowing casual players to play in a low-skill game mode while competitive players have a higher skill ceiling. This works best if the cards, units, weapons, or whatever your game has, and all mechanics and physics still follow the same rules, and only a few elements are swapped out. Playing with the same rules but different starting configuration and goal state is better than playing “easy mode” with a completely different balance. Casual observers can follow and appreciate e-sports matches if they know what’s going on. By changing the win condition, starting state, and introducing a couple of new mechanics, new game modes can mostly maintain the game mechanics while shifting the dynamics of a match. Keeping the dynamics but making the moment-to-moment gameplay less predictable for the casual observer is much more confusing.

For the viewers who are not playing the game at all, e-sports broadcasters must explain what’s going on, who is winning, and what the current metagame is.

In some games, the metagame is more important than in others. Card games like Hearthstone are difficult to understand for viewers who are not up-to-date on the metagame, even though the mechanics are easily explained, and the card-specific rules are written on the cards. Without knowledge about the current metagame (which decks are dominating the ladder, whether aggro, control, or combo decks rule, what kinds of tech cards/adjustments players can add to react to small shifts in the metagame) it is nearly impossible to make sense of what is happening. That is true even when the viewers see all the cards and know both decks in advance. Specifically, it is difficult to understand why a player is playing fast or slow, greedy or safe, defensive or aggressive, and also who is winning. The same goes for Magic - The Gathering. It’s nigh impossible to understand how a matchup between two decks works without knowing what other cards could be in there, but aren’t. This can ruin the experience for people who know the rules but play the game only very casually.

Other games may have clearer indicators of who is winning and what is going on, but even fighting games with health bars, RTS games with supply counters, and MOBA games with lanes whose battle lines you can see on the minimap won’t let you tell who is winning based on one factor alone. Such a game would be boring! In every competitive game, there should be a way to sacrifice hit points for better positioning (e.g. in Smash Bros or Virtua Fighter), or to fall back on a lane in exchange for gold, so there is never a “simple” metric to see who is winning. If there were such a metric, the first player who gains a small advantage by that metric would just snowball out of control and dominate the match.

In any case, passive spectators benefit from additional visual feedback, because while the players know which buttons were pressed, the audience does not. Passive watchers have much less information than active players. In the first-person view, it can be enough to just indicate whether something failed or succeeded, hit or missed. A fighting game player knows which button he pressed, and his opponent knows whether he blocked correctly or not. Nonetheless, the game should also communicate visually which type of action the players chose for the benefit of the audience.

Visual spectacle and clear legibility are sometimes at odds with each other, but visual spectacle can make watching a game more “fun“.

Having too clear an indication of who is winning can be a detriment, too. It’s good to have clear visual feedback, but not to have limited gameplay options. If the future trajectory of a match is set in stone as soon as one player establishes a clear lead, the game is no longer fun to watch from that point onwards. In games with perfect information, or with enough information, the losing player might simply resign instead of drawing out the match to its bitter conclusion, but in some games with fog of war, one player might be oblivious of his disadvantage, or he might go on and on looking for “outs“ while the audience already knows how everything will eventually play out.

This is just one way in which games can be boring to watch at higher levels of skill, even if the audience understands what is going on. There needs to be a certain flow of action, to keep viewers engaged and entertained. The game should get going without a long set-up phase, and should wind down without a drawn-out endgame. To keep viewers involved at all times, decisions throughout every phase of the match should influence the outcome.

Comebacks, reversals, pivoting to different strategies, risky plays with big pay-offs are all ways to introduce drama into the watching experience.

Fighting games are harder to read for the audience moment-to-moment, the matches are shorter, they can end abruptly, and they are difficult to get into. All this means they don’t make for as fun a watching experience compared to MOBAs, RTS games, or objective-based modes in first-person shooters.

Digression: Let’s Play and Variety Streaming

E-sports is not the only way to broadcast games for entertainment. Your YouTubers and variety streamers can make a living on games, but they don’t have to be world-class. People don’t watch them because they are good at the game, or sometimes not at all because of the game, but because of the streamer’s personality, the community, and the funny commentary. Playing the right game is a way for small twitch streamers to gain new viewers, but it’s not what keeps people around. Some streamers mainly stream the same single-player game every time, and are so good at it they have a streak of hundreds of games in hard mode. Even they retain their viewers because of their personality, not because they are the best at the game.

Of course, a variety streamer or Youtuber can also play competitive games like Chess, PUBG, or Rainbow Six: Siege. It’s played a different format though: Viewers see what the streamer sees, and a face-cam, and if the streamer is eliminated from a round of PUBG or Fall Guys, the streamer often does not spectate the rest of the round for the viewers find out who wins.

YouTubers of average gaming skill can even play tournaments of casual but competitive (in the sense that you play against each other) games against other YouTubers, or organise tournaments in more casual goofy games like Ultimate Chicken Horse, Duck Game, Mount Your Friends, Golf with Friends, or Rock of Ages and still draw in viewers. This is a common method of cross-promotion.

Variety streamers also play party games like Quiplash, Cards Against Humanity, or Mario Party as a backdrop for conversation with other streamers.

They sometimes play competitive games in a team with other streamers, but the necessity of coordinating within the squad in League of Legends, PUBG or CS:GO means more airtime will be dedicated to the actual game, and banter will suddenly have to make way for tactics.

Events and Broadcasting

E-sports events have legitimacy, teams, sponsors, brand recognition that draws an audience, and commentators.

E-sports broadcasters usually call the commentators their “talent“, not the players. The players or “athletes“ come and go, and they get sponsor money from elsewhere, but the commentators and moderators are hired by the broadcaster/event organiser. The commentators are usually both entertaining personalities and knowledgeable about the game. They fill dead air with background info about he players and their recent matches, explain what’s going on, crack jokes, or just do play-by-play commentary. Viewers are often more attached to commentators than to players. There are usually two commentators and a dedicated off-screen observer controlling the spectator camera, in addition to a referee spectating the game, and the players. Additional moderators and interviewers may be on the stage during an e-sports event. Sometimes experts (retired pro gamers) are brought in to analyse a replay in the pause between matches, like in real sports.

While variety streamers play both the role of “entertainer“ and player, this is split up between players and the commentators/moderators, so players can focus on winning and commentators can focus on filling dead air.

By “legitimacy” I mean this: Players in tournaments are supposed to the best of the best, and the organiser’s brand guarantees that viewers won’t see any old boring game, but a pro game with high stakes. If there is a random member of the public in the pool, you know he played his way through some preliminary rounds. I could host a LAN party, throw a Kernel Panic tournament, and declare the winner the 2021 world champion, but I would not have any legitimacy in the eyes of the player base. Large prize pools, a structured and well-regulated tournament, big-name players, and a blessing from the developers can bestow legitimacy.

Getting players, sponsors, broadcasters and an audience into a room takes a lot of money. E-sports sponsors are usually manufacturers or brands of higher-priced gaming hardware, like Alienware, Razer and ASUS ROG, or snack foods and energy drinks. The products are either used by the pro gamers, thematically connected to the game in some way, or used by the audience. Snack foods go well with watching e-sports, but less well with playing. You wouldn’t want to eat a packet of crisps and move your hands back and forth between the crisps and the keyboard and mouse...

With so much money invested and riding on the success of e-sports events, there is a lot of incentive to diversify and look for the next big thing, but also

Takeaway

When you read news about a developer or publisher “establishing a game as an e-sport“, it often means throwing money at a tournament and getting sponsors on board.

When you read about a developer “adding e-sports features“, it often means a ladder, tournaments, or spectator mode.

Of all the prerequisites established above, the most important to establish a game as an e-sport are:

balance

skill measurement/high skill ceiling

easy to learn

interesting to watch

fun to watch

A game like Fall Guys is popular and “fun to watch“, but not particularly interesting, the drama only works if you follow a single player all the way to the last round, not if you watch the action from high up. Fall Guys has a lot of randomness and a low skill ceiling.

Amazon once even hosted a casual game tournament in which variety streamers played mobile games against each other. The goal of that event was to sell their Fire (Android) tablets. This did not kick-start a competitive mobile gaming scene.

There were rumours of EA trying to “establish“ Star Wars: Battlefront II as an e-sport, by funding a large tournament, but the game was neither interesting nor fun to watch.

It is a fool’s errand to “add e-sports“ to a game, instead of trying to make a good game first, or at least one that is fun to watch.

[starryknight09]

Six feet under

Febuwhump Day 9: buried alive

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“This will teach you to stick your nose in other people’s business.” The boss guy, Marco or Bob or Josh or whatever his name was, said.

Peter rolled his eyes even though they couldn’t see it through his mask.  He tugged again at the cuffs holding his wrists together behind his back, but no dice.  They must be made out of vibranium or something, which meant this guy had spent a pretty penny to catch him.  Peter almost felt flattered.  After all, he’d only spent the last couple weeks busting all the guy’s dealers and cleaning up the drug ring that he’d tried to set up in Queens.

“Put him in.” The boss guy commanded.

The two lackeys holding onto each of his arms pushed him forward until they reached the open coffin dangling by pulleys over a dug out grave.  Well this looked fun.  The men at his sides lifted him up and slammed him into it with a coordination he didn’t think they’d possess.

“Hey!” He protested but the lid snapped shut before he even had a chance to attempt escape.  He pushed against the cover with his feet but it didn’t budge.  Was this thing lined with vibranium too?  That could be problematic.  A second later he felt himself falling before his back slammed into the coffin again, presumably having landed at the bottom of the six foot hole dug out under it.  Ouch.  That had kind of hurt his wrists, which were still trapped behind him by the stupid handcuffs.  

“Hey Karen?” He didn’t know why he whispered.  There was no way the goons could hear him.  But somehow being stuck in a casket made him feel like he owed it some kind of reverence.

“Yes Peter?”

“Uh night vision please.”

His mask switched to the view filter as requested, but it didn’t help.  No secret hidden trap doors made themselves known.  Not that he’d expected them to.  No, now he could just see where the bad guys thought he’d spend his final moments of life.  The thudding of dirt hitting the coffin lid made his heart rate increase.  He was literally getting buried alive right now.  Yep.  This situation was definitely not ideal.  

“You appear to be in an undesirable position.” Karen said, completely understating it.  “Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“Um…” He kicked his feet up against the lid as hard as he could.  Over and over.  After a handful of times, not so much as a splinter appeared.  He knew he probably should be panicking right about now, but he wasn’t because he still had his suit.  The bad guys hadn’t even considered that he’d be able to call for help.  So, all in all, this was just a minor inconvenience.  

“Yeah.” He agreed with a sigh.  “Call him.”

“Hey Pete what’s up?” Tony answered on the second ring and the tension that had been building up in his chest unfurled.  “Madame Secretary was just asking if you were still planning on coming up for the weekend. You are, right?”

“Ok, so don’t freak out.” He started, not quite sure how to explain his dilemma without Tony going postal.

“You saying that is making me freak out.” Tony replied, voice tense.  “What’s going on?”

“Ok so I might be in a bit of a situation.” The rain of dirt thudding above him had slowed.  He wondered if they were using some kind of equipment because shoveling by hand definitely would’ve taken a lot longer.

“Uh huh.  What kind of situation?  Start using your words kid.”

“Ok, first, I just want to let you know that I’m ok.  I’m perfectly fine.  So when I tell you, don’t go flying off the handle.”

“You’re really not making me feel any better.” Tony interrupted.

“I’m, um, kind of stuck.”

“That’s not an explanation.  Start explaining.” Tony said, and Peter could tell he was in the suit now because of the almost imperceptible tinniness of his voice.

“I’m sort of…” He winced before just ripping off the bandaid.  “Buried.”

The heavy silence almost weighted him down more than the pounds of dirt on top of him.

“I’m sorry.  I think I must’ve misheard you.  You’re what now?” Peter could tell he was freaking out.

“I’m buried.  As in underground?  Pushing daisies?  Six feet under?  I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.” Peter explained, trying to keep a lightness to his tone.

“The attitude isn’t cute.” Tony snapped and a few seconds later Peter heard him release a long calming breath.

“Seriously Tony I’m ok.  Just…I can’t get out of this by myself.”

“You promise?  You’re not in any danger of asphyxiating?”

“Um, not imminently.” He answered.  For a chemistry class project last year, he and Ned had figured out the amount of time a human could actually survive buried in a coffin, which had seemed a little morbid at the time, but now was turning out to be quite useful.  He knew he had at least a few hours before things would start to get dire, so he didn’t have to panic, because he had every confidence that Tony would have him out by then.

“You’re really not helping out my stress levels here kid.” Tony complained.

“Sorry.”

“Just hang in there.  I’m tracking your suit.  I’m twenty minutes away.” Tony said, then asked in a panic, “You’re in your suit right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok good.” He heard Tony take another deep breath.  “So how did you manage to get yourself in this situation?”

“I’ve been working on busting up a drug ring in Queens the past couple weeks and apparently I really really pissed off the head honcho dude.” He explained, trying to roll into a more comfortable position, so not all his weight was on his wrists.  His hands were starting to tingle.

Tony snorted.  “So this guy decided to…bury you?”

“Yeah he even put me in a coffin.  I think maybe he was trying to be poetic?  But I don’t know.  Seems like a waste of money.  Like, aren’t coffins really expensive?”

Silence met his question.

“Um Tony?  Are you still there?  You didn’t fly into a power line or something, did you?” He tried not to sound scared, but if something happened to Tony, he was dead.  Literally.

“I’m here.” Tony said, but he didn’t sound quite right.

“Are you ok?” He asked.  Tony always used to joke about having a weak heart but after he’d barely survived the snap it’d actually become true.

“Am I ok?  You’re the one literally stuck in a coffin underground and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” Tony’s voice got more high pitched.

“Um yeah.”

“I’ll be ok when I get you out.  How does that sound?”

“Ok.” He mumbled, feeling appropriately chastised.  

“Just do me a favor.” Tony requested.  “Keep talking to me.”

Peter smiled.  That he could do.  

“Just no more talk about being buried, underground, or coffins.  All right?” Tony added.

“Sure.  No problem.  So last week at practice, guess what Flash did…”

“You’re making that up.  Morgan did not say that.” Peter laughed.

“Yes she did!  I swear!  If you don’t believe me, ask her.” Tony said.

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, I know you will.”

Peter made a mental note to do just that.

“I’m here kid.” Tony said, much more solemn than a second earlier.

“Oh thank god.” He said with a desperate exhale.  “Because I have to tell you I’ve been trying really hard not to think about it, but it’s starting to get hard not to think about it.”

“I know.”

“Are any of the goons here?” He asked, curious, because if there were, that would be the last mistake any of them would ever make.  Tony wasn’t someone you wanted to cross.

“Goons?  Who uses that word?”

“I do.  I like it.”

“You sound like some 1960’s mobster, but to answer your question, no, none of them are here.  Looks like they hightailed it out of here after burying you.” Peter could tell he was disappointed.  No doubt Tony wanted to exact his revenge.

“So…what’s the sitch?  How long until you can get me out of here?” He tapped his foot anxiously against the end of the coffin.

“The sitch?  Seriously kid, what kind of movies have you been watching lately?” Tony joked, which must be good news, because if he was capable of joking around then his situation must not be too dire.

“Good ones.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you.  I’m going to need a chronological list.”

Peter rolled his eyes but the next second he got distracted by a humming scraping noise.  “Hey!  I hear something.  What is that?”

“I’m digging you out.  Hopefully it won’t take too long.  Just sit tight.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m not going anywhere.” He joked.

“What’d I say about being cute?”

“Um, don’t do it?”

“Oh, so you do hear me when I talk.  You just don’t listen.” Tony said, but there was no bite to it.  Peter could tell he was still stressed, so instead of continuing the banter, he stayed quiet and waited patiently to be freed.

He had no idea how much time had passed but eventually he had the sensation of being lifted and placed back on solid ground.  A couple seconds passed and he heard Tony grunt and swear.

“Um, I think they might’ve used vibranium on the coffin.  I couldn’t kick through it.” He warned, figuring Tony had tried to open the lid and failed.

“Forgot to mention that little detail, huh?”

“Oops.” Peter smiled.  “You didn’t throw your back out did you old man?”

“Here I am saving you and all I’m getting is sass and more sass.” Tony mock complained.

“You can still get me out right?” The nerves hit him again.  Wasn’t vibranium impossible to damage?  Isn’t that why it’d been used to make Cap’s shield.  What if he was still stuck in here and he was going to suffocate and—

“Relax Pete.  I’ll get you out.” Tony reassured him.  “Contrary to popular belief, vibranium’s not indestructible.  You just need a high enough and concentrated enough heat source.  And some time.”

“Like a laser?”

“Exactly like a laser.” Tony said and Peter didn’t think he was imaging the pride in his voice.

“Do you have one on the suit?”

“Of course.”

Thank god.

“Hang in there.  This might take a little time.”

Peter tried to stay patient, but the closer he got to his release, the more difficult it was to wait.  He just wanted out.  At least he could follow Tony’s progress.  The seal around the coffin lid glowed visibly as Tony lasered away at it.  Tony hadn’t been kidding about the time comment.  It had to have been close to forty five minutes before the laser finally made it all the way around.

Before the glow from the last bit of lasering had faded, Tony ripped the cover off.  Peter squinted from the light, but he could make out Ironman standing over him.  The helmet nanobots retracted and Peter gave Tony’s pale face a wide smile.  He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Tony grabbed his upper arms and yanked him up and out of the coffin, pulling the mask off his face the second he’d set him on his feet.  

Peter smiled.  “Oh thank you.  That’s so much better.  Except…ooo ow!”

“What?  What’s wrong?” Tony asked, looking over him frantically for some kind of hidden injury.

“Nothing.  Just I was lying on my hands and they fell asleep and now, oh, ow, the feeling’s coming back and they’re all tingly.  Ow ow ow.”

Tony let out an audible sigh of relief.  “So you’re good?”

“Besides still being handcuffed?” Peter complained at the cuffs still around his wrists.  “Yeah, I’m good.”

Tony rolled his eyes but gripped his shoulders and spun him around.  “Hold on.  I’ll get you free.”

A minute later, his wrists sprang free and he winced, the movement irritating the tingling.  Regaining sensation was slightly overrated.  He glanced down at them, noticing Tony had left the thick cuffs on but had sliced through the chain that connected them.

“There.” Tony declared and twirled him back around.  “You good?”

He nodded.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“In that case…” Tony pulled him into a relieved hug.

Peter hugged him back, squeezing tightly, not needing to worry about controlling his strength since Tony was still in his suit, although hugging the suit wasn’t quite as comforting as hugging the real thing.  He kind of wanted to ask Tony to get out of it, but he didn’t want to act like a scared little kid.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled once the normal appropriate amount of time to hug had come and gone.  Clearly this had bothered Tony more than he’d let on.

Tony kissed the side of his head and finally released him, but Peter could still see the remnants of tension on his face.

“You scared me kid.” Tony admitted.

“I know.  I’m sorry.” He hung his head.

“Let’s just agree this was a one and done.”

“Agreed.” Peter nodded.  “I have no plan to end up in a coffin anytime soon.”

“Good.  You better not.” Tony said like a stern warning but the hint of fear in his eyes belied it.

“Can we go home now?” He asked, exhaustion hitting him hard as the adrenaline faded.

Tony nodded.  “I’ve made the executive decision that we’re moving your weekend visit up by two days.”

Peter let out an amused exhale.  “Ok, but when we get back, can you get these things off me?”  He held his arms up to show the cuffs still dangling around his wrists.

“I don’t know.” Tony said, the nanotech re-forming the mask around his face.  “I think I might leave them on for a day or so as your punishment for getting yourself in this situation and practically scaring me to death.”

“Tony.” He whined in protest.  He didn’t think the man was actually serious, but you could never be too sure.

“Or if you want, we can discuss a more suitable punishment.” Tony said, the Ironman armor making his voice sound more serious and intimidating.  At this point, though, Peter knew Tony wasn’t completely kidding.  Some kind of consequence awaited him.  Probably not the cuffs staying on, but something.

“Hm that coffin’s looking better and better.” He joked, pretending to look at it longingly.

“Not funny.” Tony said sternly in what Morgan had coined his ‘dad voice’ before grabbing him around the waist and blasting off into the air.

“Hey can we stop for ice cream on the way?  I feel like getting buried alive in a coffin is kind of an ice cream situation.” He said, loud enough so Tony would hear him over the wind.

“No.  No ice cream.  God, you and Morgan are the reason I have so many grey hairs.”

“I thought that was from old age.”

“You’re really scoring lots of points today Pete.”

Peter grinned.  “Are you sure we can’t get ice cream?”

“No!”

“So you’re not sure?”

“No.  No ice cream!”

Later that night, after Tony had gotten the cuffs off him, and they’d had some time to emotionally recover, Peter ate his bowl of chocolate cookie dough ice cream while he watched Moana, sandwiched between Morgan and Tony.

[makaylajadewrites]

Almost Heaven

Summary: “You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment.

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Potential tws: Smut, unrequited love, cheating/infidelity, angst

Word count: 3727

Read on AO3 here

--

Hotch had been staring at him all day. He could feel those dark, dangerous eyes tracing the shape of his figure while his nimble fingers worked over the map, pushing in color-coordinated thumb tacks. Red for dumpsites, blue for locations of interest, and black for local hotspots. That was only relevant because their four victims all happened to be teens and young adults, so by determining where they spent most of their time, they might be able to determine the common denominator between each victim.

But he couldn’t concentrate with Hotch’s constant and unwavering gaze. It was enough to make Reid somewhat uncomfortable, and the squeak of weight lifting off of a chair was enough to send a shiver up his spine. He didn’t look back, trying to keep his attention on the map in front of him when Hotch came to stand directly beside him. The lack of space between them was anxiety fueling for Reid, and he slowly turned his head to acknowledge his superior with a quirked brow, though the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch eyed him with an intense, yet oddly expressive look, and it sent a shiver directly down his spine. “Sir?…” he questioned, his voice cracking from his nerves. They had both been making predictions and voicing theories, and the sudden change from Hotch was a little disconcerting for Reid. He didn’t let it show though, save for the apparent confusion on his face which Hotch barely even paid attention to.

“I have a proposition for you, Spencer,” he said out of the blue, and Reid jerked his head upwards in surprise towards his unit chief, the mere two inch height difference now seeming bigger than ever. He felt small, insignificant beside his superior, but the eye contact between them never wavered.

“A proposition?” he parroted, feeling his heart racing in his chest now, faster than ever before.

“Yes,” Hotch confirmed, his voice low, enough to make Reid aware that he was being quiet on purpose. “After this case… We should blow off some steam together. Maybe some drinks at my place,” he suggested, and Reid swore his eyes had bulged out of his head from the shock of the statement, and a familiar tingling built up in his stomach.

“Wh-Wha-Sir, th-that’s… we can’t—“ Reid’s incessant rambling was cut off by a finger pressing to his lips, and Hotch acknowledged him with a strangely humored quirk of his lips and rise of his brows. Spencer felt his cheeks burn, and the blush on his face and neck was prominent. “Reid, if we aren’t at work, we can be friends. You’re friends with Morgan and JJ right?”

“And Penelope and Emily…” he hummed in embarrassment, and the chuckle that rumbled above him was uncharacteristic enough for Spencer’s eyes to fly upwards again.

“Exactly my point. Relax, it’s not worth stressing over. You can always say no, of course,” Hotch reminded gently, his hand gently coming up to cup the curve of Reid’s elbow, and Spencer couldn’t help the instinctive flinch at the unexpected contact, but Hotch’s hand didn’t move and he felt an odd sense of calm from its stabilizing hold. He nodded and swallowed nervously, forcing a smile on his lips since it was very difficult to tell a man like Hotch no.

That lingered on his mind all day, and Reid found himself both nervous and excited at the prospect of spending time with a man like Hotch.

~

Spencer had known he was abnormal for a long time. Ever since he was a kid, really, since he had never been able to fit in with the others. But that probably had something to do with the age gap between him and his peers, because while Spencer was barely on the cusp of puberty, the teens in his graduating class were nearly full grown adults. They had explored their sexuality, grown into themselves and expanded on their ability to network with others. But Spencer? Spencer was still just a child; he had no idea who he was yet, despite the fact that he could solve the most complicated of equations within a matter of seconds. He was inexperienced even now at the age of twenty-four. He had never kissed anyone before, not a man or a woman.

Aaron was definitely handsome to Spencer, even if he was ten years his senior and, most importantly, married with a baby. But growing up the way he had, he was more accustomed to spending time with people who were older than him, which probably explained why he found older people more attractive. They were mature, grown up, and much more responsible than young adults like himself. Even he was an old soul, preferring a good book and a cup of coffee over blinding club lights and sickly sweet alcohol.

Spencer, despite his participation in sexual activities, liked to identify himself as bisexual. The older he got though, he realized he had a lean towards men over women. Women were pretty, men were handsome, but something about being with a man seemed more appealing to him. A lot of women were attracted to the typical alpha male, and Spencer was honestly no different. He found Derek attractive for one, but they were better off as brothers than lovers. Besides, Derek was as straight as they came, and he couldn’t possibly hold any interest in men, least of all Spencer Reid. But Aaron? Aaron Hotchner was on a whole other level. Even if he was married.

That was probably why Spencer had been able to convince himself that spending time with Aaron might not be so bad. He sat in his car, parked across the street from the Hotchner house while scrubbing his sweaty palms over his dress pants. He still had on his clothes from work that day, although his sweater vest and tie were absent and currently on his bedroom floor. His coat was wrapped around himself, his thick glasses perched on his nose. He was biting his lip, gnawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth while staring at the lighted porch, noticing that only one car was in the driveway - Hotch’s car. This was beginning to look more and more like a suggestive escapade, and he was growing anxious.

He needed to get himself together.

This was just two friends hanging out after work, having a few drinks, doing guy things.

That was all it could be. Hotch wouldn’t cheat on his wife and Reid would never let it get that far.

With a deep breath, Reid got out of his car and stepped foot on the porch, his trembling hand wrapping against the mahogany. God, he was nervous, more nervous than he should have been, and he was afraid of embarrassing himself in front of Hotch, a man he found both attractive and admired deeply. This was a terrible idea, but he didn’t have the chance to back out, because soon, the door opened and there stood Aaron, as casual as could be, wearing a pair of jeans and a dark, v neck tee shirt.

Spencer felt like a fool, more than he ever had in his entire life. He was so insignificant compared to Hotch, even now, outside of work hours. Hotch was a handsome man, married with a kid, he owned a house all his own, a nice car, and still, he could look at Spencer and make him feel things he had never felt before. It frightened him a bit, and it made him somewhat worried about what was to come. He paled in comparison to Hotch, and Reid was definitely feeling that now, dressed like he was while Hotch was as comfortable as could be in normal out-of-the-office attire. He should have just left when he had the chance, just drove away and gone back home where he felt safe in his little bubble with a book and—

“Come inside,” Hotch said as friendly as could be, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. Reid’s lashes fluttered in slight apprehension, but he entered the house and stood awkwardly in the foyer while Hotch closed the door behind him. “I have bourbon and wine. The wine is Hailey’s, but she won’t mind,” he said dismissively, and Reid watched incredulously as Hotch strode across his living room in the direction of the kitchen as if this were the slightest bit normal.

“I-I can do a glass of wine…” he settled eventually, Hotch’s inquisitive stare meeting him from the kitchen.

“Good. Make yourself comfortable,” Aaron said calmly, and even though his nerves were on high alert, Spencer did just that. He slipped his coat off before sitting on the couch, holding it awkwardly in his lap while he waited tensely for Aaron to return. Alcohol was definitely sounding better and better. He needed something to help him relax anyway. Aaron eventually came back, carrying two glasses; wine and bourbon. Spencer took the wine glass hesitantly, and the second their fingers brushed together he felt a spark shoot up his arm, but he knew it had to only be him since Aaron didn’t react at all.

“I’m surprised you came,” Hotch said, sitting beside him on the couch, angled towards him with one of his legs crossed over the other. He regarded Spencer with an expression that was not unkind. In fact, it lingered somewhere near fondness and warmth. Spencer took a sip of the wine, hoping that one drink alone would settle his nerves some.

“Me too, actually,” he murmured rather embarrassedly, and Hotch let another rare smile form on his lips. Spencer smiled back shyly, reaching a hand up to push his bangs back, even though they seemed quite fixed, over his forehead.

“I’m glad you did though,” Hotch countered, and Spencer gulped down another drink before even bothering to think of a response.

“Why?” he questioned then, turning his upper body to face Aaron, his brows raised a bit since he genuinely was curious as to why Hotch would want to spend time with him of all people. It seemed to him like Hotch would have a much more enjoyable time with someone like Gideon, but for some reason, he was interested in Spencer. He didn’t quite understand it, and regardless of Hotch’s response, he doubted he ever really would.

“Do I have to explain my every motive to you?” Hotch said almost teasingly, and Spencer was realizing how much he liked to see him smile. He looked down and shrugged a bit, a smile lingering on his own face.

“I guess not. I just never would have imagined you would willingly want to spend time with me. Not many people do,” Spencer explained briefly, as deprecating as it was. But it was the truth, and Hotch must realize how odd it was for him to spend time with the young doctor outside of work.

“You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

“Am I?” He asked, his voice a bit quieter. He looked up towards Hotch again through his dark lashes, and Hotch’s hand slowly came over to rest on his thigh. And the worst part was that it wasn’t unwelcome either.

“You are,” Hotch clarified, his own voice dropping as that hand slowly slid up and up and up to the juncture of his hip and thigh, and then back down to his knee where it squeezed just slightly. Reid’s eyes followed the movement very closely, his tongue flicking out over his lips. He downed the rest of his wine, and Hotch’s hand gently took the glass from him, setting it aside in favor of touching Reid again.

“We shouldn’t, Hotch,” he said, finding his voice eventually even if it was nearly a whisper. His hand came over top of Hotch’s on his leg, but Hotch didn’t waver at all. “What about Hailey?”

“What about her?” Hotch murmured, and the young doctor gasped in surprise as Aaron’s lips attached to his neck, suckling gently and trailing kisses up to the curve of his jaw, nearing his chin.

“She’s your wife,” Spencer reminded through quiet hums, and Hotch’s hot breath exhaled over his collarbones as he sighed.

“Forget about her,” Aaron murmured, rising his head up and cupping Spencer’s cheek with a warm palm. “Only think about me.”

The second their lips connected, Spencer felt all previous apprehension and hesitance leave his body. He was caught up in a whirlwind of desire and Aaron Hotchner, and although it scared him, he couldn’t back out now. This was happening, and Spencer was enjoying it far too much to even think of pulling away now. Hotch’s lips were warm against his own, and despite his own inexperience, he was guided through his first kiss very carefully and slowly, and he never knew that it could be that nice. “Come here,” he heard in a whisper, and Spencer instantly slid closer, Aaron’s hands leading him gently on top of him. Spencer’s legs straddled Aaron’s lap, and he looked down from his newly elevated position at Aaron’s face. Aaron looked more pleased than ever, his dark eyes locked onto his face while his hands found purchase over his bony hips.

A hand rose to his chin, gripping it gently and bringing him down so that their lips could meet once more. It was brief at first, just a gentle pressure, but soon it turned into something much more. Reid shuffled above Hotch as they kissed, and he moaned into the other man’s mouth as their hips slotted together, their arousals evident to one another. Hotch pulled back slowly, not saying a word as a hand danced down the column of buttons on his shirt, and one by one, they were undone and his chest was bared. Spencer shivered at the warm hands that touched his cool skin, and he felt more alive than he had in a long, long time. A muted moan burned in his throat as fingers flicked over his nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, and Aaron rumbled in laughter beneath him. “Sensitive, hm?” He murmured teasingly, and the younger man bit his lip, nodding his head frantically.

“A-A little…” Spencer confessed embarrassedly, his hands gripping onto Hotch’s shoulders. Hotch didn’t respond immediately, running his fingers over every inch of his torso before stopping suddenly. A hand came to his neck, the thumb brushing over his jaw.

“Bedroom?” He suggested, and despite the moral contradiction raging on inside of Spencer’s head, he nodded his head.

It felt wrong, to be laying half naked in Hotch’s bed where he slept with his wife. But his mind was taken elsewhere as a hand swiftly undid his pants and slipped inside to pay attention to the heat built up in his groin. Spencer moaned as that hand cupped his arousal, and he gazed up at Hotch, pupils blown wide with lust and kiss-swollen lips parted erotically. Hotch must have liked what he saw, because he loomed over him and bowed his head for their lips to meet once more, his hand fondling his cock through the wet fabric of his boxers.

“Oh god,” Spencer heard himself breathe, the friction of his boxers over the head of his erection enough to send him over the edge. He whimpered, evidence of his climax now coating the inside of his boxers. His face glowed red in embarrassment, but Hotch didn’t view him with any negative judgement. Instead, he smiled and slipped his hand out of his pants, stroking down his side and letting his fingers dip into every indent of his ribcage. Spencer panted quietly, looking away to hide his shame.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologize,” Hotch said without missing a beat, licking his lips, “You are gorgeous, Spencer.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a bit, and he grasped onto the front of Hotch’s shirt to drag him upwards, craving his attention once more. He had yet to initiate a kiss on his own, but he did this time, and while it was a bit sloppy, it was still passionate. Hotch didn’t seem to mind either, moving to take off Reid’s pants and soiled underwear. He pushed them over the edge of the bed before returning his focus to Spencer’s now bare body. They both moved back from the kiss, and the young doctor pouted a bit beneath Aaron, his lanky legs spreading almost on instinct while his arms dropped to rest over his head. “I don’t like being the only one naked,” he hummed, and Aaron chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek almost affectionately.

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” he mumbled, sitting up on his knees between Spencer’s thighs and slipped his shirt off over his head, his toned abdomen making Spencer feel so small yet again. Hotch’s pants and underwear soon followed, and Spencer bashfully looked over Aaron’s body, his own insignificance shining through to him, although he didn’t bother to voice it. It was too humiliating, and he was just glad that Aaron didn’t seem to think of him that way.

“It’s never too late to say no, Reid,” Hotch reminded him gently but sternly, running a hand up his leg, from his calf to his thigh, and letting it rest there steadily.

“I don’t want to say no,” Spencer admitted, and that was enough for Hotch. He reached over into the bedside table, withdrawing a gold-packaged condom and a bottle of lube. Hotch wasted no time in squirting the lube over his fingers, smirking slightly at Reid as they slipped between his legs. A digit circled his puckered entrance and Spencer gasped at the sensation, looking up at Hotch nervously. Hotch didn’t say anything, but he made sure to maintain eye contact between the two of them. Spencer realized then that this was so much more than a measly one-night stand. This was genuine affection, and Hotch’s gentleness and concern for his wellbeing made him aware of that. That didn’t mean this was any less wrong.

A finger slipped in slowly, twirling against his tight walls in hopes of helping him relax. Spencer took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling slowly to aid that process, and soon, one finger turned into two. Aaron’s other hand had raised to his cock by then, pumping him slowly while his fingers scissored open his hole. Spencer was not a quiet man in bed, he had learned. He was very vocal, very responsive, and that seemed to egg Hotch on more.

A third finger breached his entrance soon thereafter, a breathless moan passing Reid’s lips. Hotch brought one of his legs over his shoulder, pressing kisses to the side of his kneecap while his fingers slid in and out of his ass with audible wet noises. Before Reid could slip over the edge again, Hotch’s hand stilled and he withdrew his fingers, his tight body barely letting them go. Hotch leaned down to press their lips together once more, their foreheads knocking together gently. “Are you ready?” Aaron asked in a whisper, and Spencer quickly bobbed his head yes without even considering the consequences. Aaron made him feel real, and he never wanted that to go away.

It was more painful than Spencer had remembered. His body fell apart in Aaron’s hands, his walls stretching around the other man’s cock as he bottomed out within him. Spencer was already a panting mess, their eyes never straying from one another.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Hotch breathed against his lips, giving Spencer all the time in the world to adjust the intrusion. Spencer had no idea sex could be this good, but Aaron’s constant praises probably had something to do with his new realization. They lazily kissed each other while giving the pain time to subside, and when it did, Spencer’s hand came up to Hotch’s face. The older man instantly moved to press his face further into his palm.

“Move,” Spencer breathed, and Hotch’s hips instantly began to rock back and forth at a slow, steady rhythm, his cock slipping in and out of his body with little resistance. This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment. His lips parted, moans slipping from him effortlessly as Aaron picked up the pace, moving much quicker than before and essentially turning Spencer’s brain to mush. This was almost heaven, and even though he was being fucked by a married man, he wouldn’t have it any other way, because this was close as he could get to heaven.

“Aaron… Touch me Aaron,” he begged in between his cries of pleasure, his voice reaching octaves unheard before. Aaron’s hand wrapped around his weeping cock once more, and that was pretty much the breaking point. Less than two minutes later, he was coming hard, sobbing out loud as his release spurted over Aaron’s fingers and onto his own belly. Hotch continued his own movements, gradually growing sporadic while his own grunts and groans grew in volume. Soon, he reached his own climax, milking himself in Spencer’s tightened passage for several thrusts. He pressed kisses across Spencer’s face, their lips meeting on several occasions until he rode out his orgasm, slipping out unceremoniously. He rolled the condom off of his softening cock, reaching over for a few tissues to clean up his younger partner.

He laid down after and gathered the younger man in his arms, a hand rubbing up and down his back. “Good… That was really good,” the older man murmured lowly into his hair, now damp with sweat. Spencer was faced with the realization of his actions, his eyes wide and watery, the emotions coming in shockwaves. Despite this, he huddled further into Hotch’s chest, the older man falling asleep shortly after. The overwhelming feelings of guilt and despair manifested in his very being, tightening his throat and collapsing his lungs until he was caught in a silent fit of sobs besides his temporary lover’s sleeping form.

This wouldn’t last.

It wouldn’t be forever, but perhaps it was never meant to be.

[quicksilversquared]

The Substitute Ladybug: Chapter 2

After Lila takes things too far and Marinette ends up with a broken leg, Paris is going to have to deal with a different superhero arrangement for a bit. Having to share her superhero identity with her parents before Hawkmoth can be defeated isn’t something that Marinette had planned on doing, but- well, it might end up being a bit of a blessing in disguise.

links in the reblog

Going back to school with a broken leg- well, it was pretty intimidating.

After all, their classrooms at school were divided between two levels. There was a lot of bustle and unintentional pushing as students moved between rooms when they were switching classes, and some of the doors- like the bathroom doors- weren't exactly going to be easy to push open with crutches. Then there was the worry of Chloe trying to take advantage of Marinette's hindrance to try to do something to her. Getting to her seat, slipping away unnoticed if an akuma attacked, being able to do any quality focusing when she was on her pain meds...

Well, she would have to take the day as it came. And as it turned out, it wasn't so bad after all.

Mr. Damocles pointed out a fairly hidden elevator that she could use. Kim and Ivan offered their services to piggyback-carry Marinette up and down the stairs at school if she didn't want to bother with finding the elevator between classes. As soon as he heard what was going on, Adrien offered the same thing, clearly eager to be of help. Everyone had heard what Lila had done and was horrified about ever doubting Marinette, so everything there was back to normal. Alya had even made a post on the Ladyblog apologizing for posting Lila's lies and calling her out for Marinette's injury, so all of Paris- or at least everyone who followed Alya's blog- knew how terrible of a person Lila was.

And Hawkmoth didn't attack until after school, which meant that Marinette didn't have to bother with slipping away. She could follow the fight from the comfort of her temporary bedroom, surrounded by pillows and blankets.

"Okay, I've managed to get into the city's video feeds," Vipera commented, watching her screen. All she had needed to get the screen on the lyre was to want it, and then she had noticed a little button to push. It expanded across the middle of the instrument, large enough for her to easily follow. "And it should hop from feed to feed, whatever will get me the best view."

"Fantastic!" Coccinelle told her. "I think we've got the hang of this right now, it seems a very standard-issue akuma. We've seen far worse."

Vipera nodded. She had to agree. As far as first akumas for her mom to face, this was a pretty good one to start on. It would involve a bit of fighting, but there had been far more complicated and difficult akumas before.

For the most part, she was going to stay out of things. If she talked too much, that was just one more thing for Coccinelle to keep track of. If they needed help or if she spotted an opening or a trap, then she would speak up. And of course, if she needed to use Second Chance, then she would tell them what they needed to do instead.

The fight raged on, and Vipera followed it carefully. She needed to be hugely on top of things to be able to figure out when to activate Second Chance, if it was needed. It would be harder to do now, when she wasn't physically at the fight, so lapses in concentration were not allowed.

(Oddly enough, Vipera liked that. It was a challenge, something that kept her mind on the top of its game. It wasn't the usual physical challenge, maybe, but the mental challenge...)

It wasn't long at all before the akuma fight wrapped up, with only a few helpful suggestion from Vipera. The two superheroes on the scene fled before reporters could get close and ask any questions, and Vipera sat back with a hum, considering that.

On one hand, holding off could be a good thing. The less information Hawkmoth got, the better. The longer they could hold off making any statements- well, then Hawkmoth would be kept in the dark.

On the other hand- well, Hawkmoth had eyes. He could see that Coccinelle was different than Ladybug. He wouldn't know what that meant, maybe, but he might try to send out more akumas until he got the answers that he wanted.

Vipera leaned forward, tapping her chin in thought. More akumas would definitely not be a good thing, so they would want to discourage that somehow. Even though Coccinelle had put on a good show with the first akuma and her martial arts training had shown through, inexperience was inexperience and Hawkmoth would try to take advantage of that with a difficult akuma that would put a strain on all of them. So if they could make the battles harder for Hawkmoth and his akumas...

Well, there had been some times where Vipera thought that maybe she could activate Second Chance and shorten the fight a bit. It would have required a bit more coordination- maybe Chat Noir should have an earpiece in, too, so she could talk directly to him- but that was a possibility, something that they could explore to maybe make Hawkmoth step back and reconsider sending out more akumas.

"Almost back!" Coccinelle said in Vipera's ear. "I'm going to use your balcony. That seems the safest. I'll mix it up in the future so that I don't get tracked back."

"That seems like a good idea," Vipera agreed. She waited for a confirmation that her mom was back, then detransformed. A check of the clock revealed that she was due for pain meds, and so she took one before maneuvering to sit at her desk, wincing when her cast bumped into the desk's side and sent a spike of pain up her leg.

Superheroes had to keep up with their homework, after all. Since she was going to keep being involved in the battles, even with her broken leg, that meant that she had to keep on top of her assignments and not spend too much time loitering around.

Planning for future battles would have to wait. For now, Marinette had homework to do.

  Four days in, and Paris was apparently worried about their missing superhero, even with Chat Noir's announcement about Coccinelle just being a short-term temporary replacement while Ladybug got some much-needed rest. They had seen temporary heroes before, of course, but rarely without both of the other superheroes- and never without Ladybug.

It took everything in Marinette not to laugh, really. She wasn't missing from the fights, not really. There had been three battles so far, and she had been overseeing all of them, watching, waiting for a sign that she needed to step in.

Vipera had used Second Chance exactly once, and that was to warn Coccinelle and Chat Noir about a sentimonster rearing its head. She seemed to have a fifth sense about when it would be a good idea to activate her power, even if there was nothing that was obviously off yet. And nothing had gone seriously wrong in that instance, but Coccinelle and Chat Noir were able to respond and take out the sentimonster without a problem before it even got a chance to get going and interfere with their battle with the akuma.

Marinette had spent a lot of time talking with Sass to figure out how to get full use of her powers, tapping in to that fifth sense and being able to manipulate the fight more effectively. While her parents could deal with her mom being gone for fights- they had enough seasoned staff in the back kitchens of the bakery that her dad could cover the counter for a while- it was better not to have to be short-staffed for long. If she could shorten fights with her use of the Snake, then Marinette wanted to do that.

For now, though, things were going well.

"Chat Noir and I sometimes did patrols, back when we were starting out," Marinette told her mom as they worked on dinner together. Marinette could sit at a tall chair at the counter and chop veggies, facing her mom as they worked. "We haven't done that a lot recently, because we've been so busy with school and it's hard to keep up with everything sometimes, but it was fun to hang out." She made a face. "Except when we were just patrolling to keep Mr. Damocles from hurting himself. That was just frustrating, because it was every. single. day."

"Chat Noir has suggested that we do some patrols over the weekend," Mrs. Cheng told her. "Or, rather, run some loops around the city so that I can get some practice in with your yo-yo. I thought it was a good idea, because that's definitely an area that I'm struggling with. And then he's suggested some fighting practice, too, just to make sure that I'm on the top of my game."

"I think it's a really good idea!" Tikki piped up. "Since Chat Noir is used to a certain level of fighting ability at his back, and he might automatically do something that doesn't work as well when he doesn't have Ladybug next to him. The two of you have been fighting alongside each other for so long, you can practically read each other's minds, it seems. Coccinelle might be temporary, but she'll be doing enough fights that it's important to have some of that teamwork and training there."

Mrs. Cheng nodded as she dumped a cutting board of chopped veggies into her frying pan. "Exactly! And Chat Noir seems like such a nice boy, so it'll be nice to get to know him better," she added. "I want to know the boy that my daughter's been spending so much time with!"

"Maman!" Marinette complained, immediately embarrassed. "We're just friends, you know that!"

Her mom laughed, giving the sizzling veggies a stir. "I know, but I like knowing your friends, too! And you can't deny that Ladybug and Chat Noir seem quite close," she added with an impish smile. "I mean, I think all of Paris saw those photos of you two kissing-"

Marinette yelped. Loudly. Tikki was giggling, the little traitor. "It was because he got hit by Dark Cupid and I was trying to break him out from under the spell, because that's what works in fairy tales!" She pouted at her still-giggling mom. "And it did work, because he snapped out of it, so there!"

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Cheng said. There was still an amused edge to her voice, not entirely convinced, but Marinette wasn't going to keep on arguing. It wouldn't get her much anywhere, after all.

"I do worry about him, though," Mrs. Cheng added after a minute of silence. "Besides just the hero thing. He said that he was homeschooled for most of his life-"

Marinette was pretty sure that her jaw had hit the floor. "Mama! He's- you're not supposed to talk about civilian lives! It's too dangerous, we could find out each other's identities before the kwamis say it's okay!"

"I've not given away anything that would give me away, Marinette," Mrs. Cheng told her. "Which- well, would be where you go to school and the bakery, really. Anything else I would think wouldn't be specific enough to give anything away. There's two million people in Paris, Marinette. The chances of you two knowing each other enough that me saying anything else would result in a reveal surely can't be that high-"

"Chat Noir has had brunch with us, Mama!" Marinette protested. "He knows civilian-me! It's not like I've never interacted with him on this side of the mask before!"

Her mom considered that. "Oh. Hmm."

"Exactly!"

Instead of promising that they would never talk about their civilian lives again, Mrs. Cheng smiled. "Speaking of that brunch- what was that all about, dear? Your dad was under the impression that you had confessed your love for Chat Noir!"

...Marinette had admittedly temporarily forgotten about that bit.

"He spotted me on my balcony pretty much right after I detransformed," Marinette hastened to explain, before her mom could get any more ideas. "And wanted to know why I was there. So I had to distract him, and come up with a reasonable explanation for why I was there-"

"Because 'I live here' wasn't good enough?"

Marinette froze. She...hadn't thought of that. "Oh. But it was late, and I was really, really tired!" she added on hastily when both her mom and Tikki started to giggle. "So I just blurted the first thing that came to mind and it doesn't mean anything I just thought that playing fangirl was a good idea!"

"I suppose we should stop teasing her before she explodes," Mrs. Cheng told Tikki, amusement lacing through her words. "I feel like Chat Noir might be upset if she did, since he's already looking forward to her return so much."

Marinette pouted.

"Anyway, as I was saying before- just because Chat Noir knows you doesn't mean that you know him, Marinette- he's been homeschooled, and I get the impression that he's not had great adult role models in his life," Mrs. Cheng continued over Marinette's spluttered objections. "He's been asking me about things that have happened with his friends that he hasn't understood, since he hasn't had many good friends growing up and learned pretty much everything about social interactions from anime, of all things. So I think having more time to properly discuss things and have some adult guidance during our training sessions will be good for him. Akuma battles aren't the most ideal for giving a good dose of parental advice."

Seriously, Marinette couldn't believe her ears. Her mom had apparently decided to mother her partner. What was next, inviting him over for dinner?

...she wasn't going to suggest that. Her parents would probably decide that they should all transform and go out to eat together, or maybe have a picnic in the park.

"I think Chat Noir will benefit from it," Tikki agreed happily. "And clearly he knows that something is off with some of his social interactions if he's asking about them. Really, it's a compliment, Marinette!" Tikki added when Marinette looked dubious. "He's decided that whoever raised you must have given good advice, because he sees you as well-adjusted."

Marinette gave a short nod. Maybe Tikki had a point, but- well, she was still adjusting to the idea of Chat Noir telling her mom more about his personal life, because maybe there were two million people in Paris, but how many people were close enough to their area of Paris to be able to respond to akuma attacks in the same window of time that Chat Noir did? And out of those people, how many of them were teenaged boys?

(Blond teenaged boys who had been homeschooled for at least part of their life. That- that was getting uncomfortably specific.)

(Maybe there were more of them than Marinette thought. Maybe Chat Noir wasn't actually blond. Maybe she shouldn't think about it too much.)

"Anyway, I think I'll be spending a little more time transformed than initially planned," Mrs. Cheng finished, giving her pan on the stove a little shake before checking to see how cooked the vegetables were getting. "Just to take advantage of the ability to dole out a bit more parental advice. And to train, of course. We want to have the best possible chance of getting the Ladybug Miraculous back to you safe and sound!"

"Of course, Maman," Marinette agreed. She paused, considering, then looked over at her mom again. "Do you want to hear about some of our past akuma battles? I mean, I know all of Paris sees news coverage of most of the fights anyway, but..."

Mrs. Cheng beamed at her. "Would I like to hear about the battles from Ladybug herself, who was in the thick of things? Of course!"

Marinette beamed, her mind racing to come up with a good fight to start with. "Well, a couple months ago..."

  "Marinette, dear, wake up."

Marinette groaned at the voice disturbing her sleep, automatically trying to roll over to bury her face in her pillow before the blanket rolls that she had set up to keep herself from disturbing her leg too much stopped her. Another tap at her shoulder made her frown again, and then her eyes slowly fluttered open to see her mom standing next to her bed, carrying a flashlight in one hand. She frowned.

"Mom? What's going on?"

"There's an akuma attack and I need to borrow the earrings," Mrs. Cheng told her as she helped Marinette sit upright. "You don't have to stay up for this one, Chat Noir and I will be careful."

"No, I want to help," Marinette insisted, the fog already clearing away from her brain as adrenaline rushed through her system. She pulled out the earrings, passing them to her mom before digging in her dresser drawer for the Snake's bracelet. Aside from Tikki's healing abilities being stronger when she was with Marinette instead of with her mom, this was why she always took back the Ladybug overnight, so that Coccinelle wouldn't sneak off without the Snake's backup. "So both you and Chat Noir should have your earpieces in, okay?"

"If you insist, dear. But remember, if you get tired, just let us know and go back to bed. Rest will help your body heal faster, and I know you've been tired." Mrs. Cheng slid the earrings into her own ears before smiling at her daughter. "We'll be safe, I promise."

With that, she went out the door. Marinette looked to Sass.

"Tonight?"

"I think that you're ready," Sass agreed. "You're tuned in enough to the fights to be able to really use Second Chance to its full extent. And a late-night fight...I don't doubt that both Coccinelle and Chat Noir would welcome the opportunity to have a much-shortened fight and go back to bed."

Marinette nodded. Still, the idea of using Second Chance so many times in a row- well, it was a little worrying. But she had been practicing, she hadn't just been thrown into the deep end during a battle, so in theory things shouldn't be too bad. "Okay. Sass, transform me!"

Green light filled the room, and Vipera settled her lyre on her lap with the screen pulled out. She could already get feed of the akuma near the Kidz+ TV station, even though the other superheroes hadn't gotten there yet, which meant that she got an early look at the akuma's powers.

An early look at the akuma's powers, plus a good view of which way the akuma was facing, what the corrupted object was, and how much attention the akuma was paying to its surroundings at any given moment.

Perfect.

"Okay, I have a visual on the akuma," Vipera said into her earpiece, noticing the icons at the top of the screen that told her that both Coccinelle and Chat Noir were out and both had their earpieces in, so both would be able to hear her. "And I want to try something new tonight with Second Chance, to direct the battle from here. I'll know what the akuma is planning on doing before it does it, and we can have the shortest fight ever." She paused and rethought that statement. "Well, aside from the battles with Mr. Pigeon and Mr. Rat. I don't think that those take more than a couple minutes now."

Chat Noir snorted in amusement at that last bit. Her mom was unconvinced.

"I don't think that two in the morning is the best time to be trying new strategies, dear," she told Vipera. "Perhaps we could try it during the day sometime?"

"Sass said that tonight would be perfect," Vipera told her teammates. "Because I'm tuned in enough to the sort of fifth sense I was telling you about and familiar with all of the uses of the Snake's powers. It should shorten up the fight."

"I'm all for trying it," Chat Noir said at once. "If you think it'll work, then I bet it will. Worst-case scenario, it doesn't go nearly as well as you think it will and you need to re-power and we have to fight like we normally do, without the Snake's back-up. Just don't- don't use Second Chance too many times, like Aspek did."

"I don't plan on it," Vipera told him, because she didn't. Adrien hadn't been nearly as tuned in to the Snake's powers as she was now, and he hadn't had the preparations she had had, either. "And I'll be careful, promise. So for this to work, you have to listen to me and do what I say, or else there'll be no point."

"Okay!" Chat Noir agreed at once. "You know you can be my puppeteer any time you want, my Lady."

Coccinelle sighed, like she was going to say something about that, then decided not to. "I'll go along with it as well. Just let us know if the plan changes."

Vipera nodded. Obviously. "Of course! So, how close to the Kidz+ building are you?"

"One block," Chat Noir reported. "And I can see Coccinelle, she's coming at my two o'clock."

"Okay," Vipera said, her mind already whirring as she watched the akuma onscreen. "The akuma is near the TV station and moving north, but not very fast. The butterfly is in his belt, I think. Watch out for the wand, he's using it to turn people into statues. I don't see a sentimonster yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if one shows up. It would be easiest to do an ambush attack from behind, but make sure that you wait for an opening. He likes swinging around periodically."

"Got it!"

Vipera nodded, eyes intent on the screen and occasionally swapping out for other cameras to track her mom and Chat Noir as they drew closer and to scan the rooftops for any signs of a sentimonster or the supervillains. There was no sign of them yet, but there had been a delay in the superheroes' response.

"Dropping in in three, two, one-" Chat Noir murmured in her ear, and Vipera set the time.

There was no going back now.

The next- well, it was four and a half minutes for the superheroes, but closer to an hour for Vipera- were tense as Vipera followed the fight from all angles, resetting often and directing the superheroes' almost every move. It was a mental exercise as she had to remember all of the previous instructions that she had given plus a new one or two on top, in the correct order and with the right timing.

She wasn't Ladybug for nothing, though, and years of childhood games where she and her parents played the add-on story-telling game came in handy. There were maybe two times when she had nearly flubbed up the order of her commands, but she hadn't and so Coccinelle and Chat Noir had been able to wrap up the fight in practically no time.

"That was fantastic, Vipera!" Chat Noir said breathlessly as the akuma fluttered away. "Great job! I hope you didn't have to cycle too many times!"

"I kept it under control," Vipera said, because really, all things considered, she had. She glanced at her Miraculous. "I'm going to detransform soon. Be careful going home, in case Hawkmoth decided to come out."

"Got it, my Lady!" Chat Noir said cheerfully. Seconds later, Vipera's Miraculous beeped one more time and the transformation released. She grinned at Sass, exchanging a fist bump.

That had been amazing.

"You'd make a good full-time Snake," Sass said appreciatively as Marinette wriggled back down into a lying position. Her mom probably wasn't going to bother returning the earrings now, since it was only going to be a few hours until it was time to get up, so she might as well go to sleep. "Not everyone figures out how to- well, how to weaponize Second Chance like that. Though that's what makes you a great Ladybug as well, because you can turn anything into a tool to get an advantage."

Marinette grinned, pink staining her cheeks. "Thanks."

"It's only the truth." Sass yawned, floating over to her dresser and inhaling the snack that she had left out for him there. "You did really well tonight, and you'll only get better with practice. But for now- you've been up longer than your partners. It's time to rest. Good-night, Marinette."

Marinette smiled back, reaching over to flick off the light. "Good night, Sass."

[adapted-batteries]

Making Art

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Relationship: Flynnstone

Word count: 7274

Summary: Instead of never leaving his hometown, Jacob goes off to college under the guise of getting the only degree his dad values, petroleum engineering, but of course also majoring in art history. In “Survey of Native American Art,” he meets someone who he only knew before as “guy who basically lives in the library stacks.” Of course, Fate decides he needs to suffer through a group project with him.

Alternative summary: What would happen if Jacob Stone went to my alma mater and met Flynn there?

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

Jacob thought well and hard about how he was going to convince Issac to let him go to the University of Tulsa. There were several hurdles he had to overcome: Pa was a University of Oklahoma man, and here he was wanting to go to the nerdiest school in the state; he already knew more than enough to run the oil business, why would he need to waste his father’s money on a useless degree; if Jacob went to Tulsa for four years, he couldn’t keep cleaning up his father’s messes, and there was a real risk of Isaac running the company into the very ground it drilled. 

He had solutions to all of these things. The University of Tulsa had the best petroleum engineering degree in the Plains, and he’d always be a boomer sooner fan. And, while his high school grades weren’t too spectacular, his test scores and essay application for the Presidential Scholar program at TU got him a full ride. All he needed was Isaac to let him go and then not kill his company, and he’d be set.

Isaac didn’t need to know about Jacob’s ulterior motives. Tulsa was over 100 miles further from home than Norman was, for one, and Tulsa had a budding humanities program that Jacob really wanted to get invested in. He’d suffer through the engineering degree, but what was going to get him through it were the other courses he had in mind to take out of the humanities, languages, and arts departments. If he was lucky, he’d weasel himself a position of some sort at Gilcrease Museum just so he could learn even more from their displays and get into their archives.

When his acceptance letter came in the mail, Isaac read it with disdain. “When’d ya apply to that place? OU not good enough for you hm?” 

Jacob kept the kitchen counter between himself and his father. “No I, well, I wanna do good for the business, and TU’s got the best oil program in the state, you know.” 

“I didn’t need no fancy engineerin’ degree to make money,” Isaac countered, eyeing Jacob.

He kept himself from flinching from his father’s glare. “No, but now days you gotta have one to get started. Besides, couldn’t hurt to have one to spread our reach.”

Isaac tossed the nice letterhead on the counter. “Hmph. Well, how’re you gonna pay for that? I can’t just shill out that money.”

“I’ll, I’ll figure it out,” Jacob supplied. He’d already sent off his extra application for a full ride scholarship, which he hoped his more than qualifying exam scores and a 15 page, single-spaced analysis on Choctaw artwork and mythology would be convincing enough to award him.

“Fine, but I’m not co-signin’ any loans.” Isaac fished around in their refrigerator for a beer. “John’s off takin’ care of Sylvia, I need you on the rig Saturday.”

“Alright,” Jacob said. He had planned to spend the evening reading some books he had picked up from the town library, but that’d have to wait. After his dad wandered over to his worn recliner and he heard the click and buzz of the TV, Jacob sighed and set about making them dinner.

---

That August couldn’t get there quick enough. There were many, many times he thought about not going. He’d miss all his friends, his home town, and his pa. But, by the time he loaded up his truck and drove two hours northeast, there wasn’t any backing out now. 

When he arrived on campus, he felt very out of place, but that feeling quickly faded once orientation week started. By the time classes started, he didn’t ever want to leave. His experience from oil rigging he already had carried him through his engineering classes, so he could devote himself to his other pursuits. Language courses, literature, history, art, those were the subjects he spent near all his time on. This also meant he spent a fair time in the library.

During his second year, a new student seemed to be competing with how many hours they could clock in the library. He was a nerdy sort, Jacob thought, which meant he was going above and beyond the above-average level of studiousness the student body already had. They quickly established a routine around each other. Jacob would go to his study carol he’d staked the previous year, the leftmost one in a set of three in a forgotten corner of the stacks no one except this new person seemed to want to go to. The newcomer took the study carol two down from him, rarely acknowledging Jacob’s presence.

Their schedule he figured out within the first two weeks of class. Mondays and Wednesdays Jacob would get there first, the new guy coming about an hour later and staying while Jacob left for class. Tuesdays and Thursdays the newcomer was there before him, and would leave around two hours into Jacob’s studying. Fridays the guy wasn’t there at all, at least not when Jacob was, but he practically lived there Saturday, no doubt not going to the football home games. 

The beauty of studying in the stacks was that no one talked like they did in the study areas. The hum of the air vents, the scratch of his and the other guy’s pencils, the flip of books, and occasional footsteps of a seeker of knowledge comprised his sound track. He and the guy even alternated who stood and waved their arm to reactivate the lights when they timed out.

Without realizing, he had learned a fair amount about the guy from just studying near him. He was either dressed like a stereotypical professor, or a bedraggled grad student, which predicted how late he had stayed up the night before (confirmed by how prominent the circles under his eyes were). He had notebooks for every subject, and he studied near every subject, though a good amount of the books he hoarded were Native American ones. When he was frustrated, he might mumble under his breath, but most certainly made his hair even more wild by running his fingers through it. When he was hyperfocused, he'd sit on one foot, scratching furiously in a notebook. 

Jacob never learned the guy’s name until the next semester when he had a class with him. Jacob had gotten himself into an upper-level Native American history course, filled mostly with history majors finishing their degrees and grad students. Not wanting to seem too eager, he chose a desk one row back from the front row. People he knew from previous history courses meandered in as it neared time to start the class, and some he chatted with, asking how their breaks were and such. The professor walked in right on time, a stack of syllabi on top of a binder in one arm, an insulated travel mug in her other hand. 

Dr. Mashunkashey had begun going over the syllabus when the door to the classroom opened, revealing the guy from the stacks. He looked a bit disheveled, running late from somewhere it seemed. “That’s a two for two for not showing up on time to the first day of my class, Flynn,” the professor said, but she didn’t seem that annoyed by it. 

“Sorry, I stayed up too late reading,” Flynn replied. “I got a bit carried away following sources referenced in Reclaiming Diné History.”

“Of course you did,” Dr. Mashunkashey said with a laugh, handing him the last syllabus. “Go on and have a seat.”

It turned out the easiest seat for him to take was the one right in front of Jacob. Jacob gave him a nod, which Flynn returned quickly, and then sat down. Jacob focused himself back on the syllabus on his desk, but his mind kept drifting to the man in front of him. He’d caught glimpses of the books Flynn read in the study carrel, and they were quite all over the place in subject matter; any given day he might have had a botany book, or a German biography, or something on Egypt. And now here he was, sitting right in front of him, apparently having spent the previous night doing the same thing Jacob did, though at least Jacob’s morning gym sessions meant he was never late to class like Flynn was.

The sound of a bunch of pages flipping snapped Jacob back into reality. The professor was explaining the main project of the class. “You’ll each focus on a particular tribe’s art, and an era within that. The paper requirements are in the syllabus, standard format. Images are welcome, but don’t shirk on your words because of them. Then, for the second part of this grade, you’ll work with a partner to make some form of art, combining the styles of both of your papers.”

Flynn raised his hand, but Dr. Mashunkashey shook her head. “Yes, Flynn, you’ll have to work with a partner.” Jacob stifled a laugh when Flynn’s shoulders slumped, but apparently not enough as she glanced at him before looking back at the syllabus. “The art component can be anything. Music, painting, writing, whatever, so long as you both incorporate themes from what you highlight in your paper. Since art can take time, and you might want to coordinate what art styles you’ll be using, go ahead and pick your partner.”

Jacob started thinking through the people he already knew in the class, but Flynn startled him out of his thoughts by turning around. “Do you want to be partners?”

“I, uh, sure,” Jacob stuttered. The professor had apparently been watching Flynn to see who he’d pick, and Jacob saying yes surprised her, based on her raised eyebrows. "Do you know what you're gonna do your paper on?"

Flynn didn't hesitate to respond. "Hohokam culture."

"I'd been thinking of doing Pueblo myself, so that should work well," Jacob said.

Dr. Mashunkashey cleared her throat, getting the class to quiet down. “Okay, now that you all have partners picked, we’re gonna get started.” She moved behind the computer and proceeded to give her introductory lecture on Native American art.

---

When the class came to an end, Jacob packed up his notebook and walked around the side of Flynn’s desk. “Hey, since we’re doing a project, we should exchange numbers.”

Flynn had been still scribbling something down, so it took a beat before he looked up at Jacob. “Phone number, yes, that’s a good idea.” He fished out his phone from a worn messenger bag stuffed with books and notebooks, handed it to Jacob, and then went back to writing.

Jacob waited for him to say more, but he didn’t speak, so he opened the phone and texted this is flynn’s number from Flynn’s phone to himself. Flynn was still writing, so he cleared his throat to get his attention. “Uh, here’s your phone.”

Flynn looked up a bit faster this time and took the phone. “Great.” He looked as if whatever was in the notebook was reaching out and trying to drag his head back to it, but he was now trying to fight it, looking at Jacob like he was trying to memorize Jacob. “Um, I’ll...see you around, in the stacks.”

He hadn’t imagined Flynn would be so awkward. “Sure, probably will.” Taking it as a cue, Flynn gave in to the pull of his notebook. Jacob wandered up to the professor; he had a habit of chatting up his professors after the first class, and today was no exception. Dr. Mashunkashey had just finished talking to another student when he walked up. 

“I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Stone.”

“And I’ve heard good things about you, too,” Jacob replied. “I wanted to take your class on Osage history last semester, but it conflicted with a class I needed to take.”

“I’ll be teaching it again in two years, so you’ve got some time,” she replied. Mumbling came from where Flynn was, making them both glance at him. “So you’ve got Flynn as your partner...that should be interesting. Do you know him from somewhere?”

“Yeah, I met ‘em in the library,” Jacob replied.

Dr. Mashunkashey laughed a little. “That sounds like the place to find him. Well, I look forward to your paper. Daniel, Dr. Griffith, liked your final paper so much he couldn’t quit talking about it.”

Jacob’s ears reddened a little. “Oh, well, I’m glad he enjoyed it.”

“Are you considering grad school?”

“Well, I’d uh, been thinkin’ about it, yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he was also doing an engineering degree to take back home.

“If you want to talk about it, stop by my office anytime. There’s definitely fellowships out there for students like you, if finances are a concern.”

Jacob couldn’t help but perk up at that. “I’ll take you up on that. See you during office hours.”

---

Flynn, it turned out, was kind of the worst. Jacob wasn’t in a rush to get the project going, considering it wasn’t due until April anyway, but Flynn wanted to get started right away...at 3am apparently. Jacob hadn’t seen the string of texts until the next morning.

    Flynn 3:04 AM: Can you do pottery? There’s a ceramics studio in Phillips Hall, I think I can get access to it.

    Flynn 3:05 AM: There’s a few designs that would work for my time, depending on what works with your era.

    Flynn 3:07 AM: You could decorate half and I’ll do the other.

    Flynn 3:15 AM: Are there specific techniques your people used in their pottery making? We should use a traditional method.

    Jacob didn’t reply right away. He went about his morning routine, and was on his way to the gym when his phone buzzed again.

    Flynn 8:07 AM: What do you think about woodworking for our project?

Jacob groaned out loud, no one close enough to hear him. No wonder the professor was shocked he said yes to Flynn. 

    Jacob 8:08 AM: We have months to do this project. There’s no need to start so early.

Jacob shoved his phone in his pocket on do-not-disturb, intending to ignore any messages for the duration of his workout, but now that Flynn got him thinking about it, he sent off one more text.

    Jacob 8:09 AM: I think pottery would probably work best. I’m sure we can manage it between the two of us.

Flynn responded almost instantaneously.

    Flynn 8:10 AM: That’s what I was thinking. Though if we really wanted to incorporate both, we could also include the woodworking.

“Lord,” Jacob hissed, earning a confused look from the bleary-eyed student working the desk at the gym. He took his student ID and apologized. “Sorry, thanks.” It wouldn’t be that bad, so long as he didn’t let Flynn get under his skin.

Despite his efforts, Jacob’s workout was overshadowed by his loud thoughts. It wasn’t that he hoped Flynn would be cool, but, well, from months studying silently next to each other, Jacob had wondered what he would be like as a friend. He wanted to know what went on in Flynn's brain, what made him tick, what he did outside of class and studying. But now, he realized, Flynn was a brilliant mess of an academic who breathed school 24/7. 

---

 Flynn hadn’t been in the library Monday afternoon, and Jacob hadn’t gone to the library Tuesday. He hadn’t gotten any texts from him either, so by their second class on Wednesday, Jacob was curious what Flynn had been up to. That curiosity grew when Flynn showed up with a new notebook he hadn't had on Monday, already a quarter of the way filled with notes. "Jacob! So I talked to Kelly, er, Dr. Mashunkashey, and she talked to the art department, who then talked to the main ceramics professor, and he emailed me back saying we could do our project in his studio."

Jacob was kind of shocked at how fast he’d contacted people. “Well, that’s good.”

“I think we could start working on it, hm, next week?” Flynn looked down at Jacob expectantly, as he’d yet to take his seat. 

For whatever reason, Jacob got an odd feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it. “I wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ goin’ so soon, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’ve only read about their pottery techniques, not done them, so extra time might be a good idea.” Flynn was practically vibrating with excitement at his response, which made Jacob laugh before he could stop himself. 

Flynn thankfully didn’t think he was mocking him. “Great! The studio is open for us Friday afternoons.”

“I can do that,” Jacob replied. Flynn somehow smiled at him even more than he was, and well, Jacob couldn’t deny it felt nice to have that joy aimed at him. It didn’t last long though, as Flynn sat down when Dr. Mashunkashey walked into class. Flynn turned around in his seat and started going through his notes on the techniques he wanted to try until the professor had her powerpoint up and running.

Flynn wasn’t as insufferable as he thought, his excitement contagious, but Jacob realized this project was gonna be tough for another reason: he was falling for Flynn.

---

Jacob hadn't done any ceramics since art in high school. Flynn said he could, as apparently he minored in art to add to his many degrees, Jacob found out. It unnerved him a bit, to know that Flynn already had 2 Ph.D.'s and 3 masters in Egyptology, two ancient languages, Chinese history and physics, and that Flynn had no plans on stopping from acquiring more. All Jacob had was a high school diploma, though he had a lot in his head from the books he devoured and the time he spent out on the oil rigs. 

The ceramics studio was thankfully empty when they arrived. The room was open, old windows hinting at a time when the space used to be an engineering workshop when the art building used to be the engineering building, which the engraved stone above one entrance still said. Shelving with a variety of in-progress and complete works lined most of the walls, with tables in the center of one half of the room, and space for throwing wheels in the other. It smelled like wet earth, and for a moment, Jacob imagined he was out on a new rig after a rain. 

The professor who taught ceramics classes gave a basic rundown of the room, clearly with the dual purpose of informing them of where things were and sussing out just how skilled they were. Flynn's rambling at various points about technique and clay types seemed to satisfy the professor, who left them to their devices. 

Flynn took a hunk of clay out of the plastic bag and started rolling out coils on top of a drywall square. "Okay, were there specific techniques you need to incorporate from your time period?" 

"Well, it was coil-based, like yours, though the clay they used had a different composition ‘cause of where they sourced it," Jacob replied. Flynn had set him on making the base, so he was rolling out a slab to index finger thickness with a rolling pin. 

It was clear Flynn had worked with clay before. He already had several coils made and covered to prevent drying out while Jacob hadn't even gotten to the right thickness yet. "Dr. Kanhg couldn't get clay with the mineral composition we needed, but he does have matte glazes we can use to make the clay look the right color, give it the more reddish hue," Flynn said. His eyes then flicked to Jacob's work, brow furrowing. "You're rolling it too thin."

Jacob had been paying attention to his clay, but then he had gotten distracted by Flynn working, how delicate yet firm he rolled out the coils under his palms, the way his hair flopped a bit with his head bent down. Jacob had rolled his clay out all right, to about an ⅛ inch thick divot in the middle with over an inch thick edges from not flipping his slab. If he was making a mini half-pipe, he would've done a fine job. "Uh, sorry, I'll start over." He went to smush it together when Flynn yanked the clay out from under his hands.

"If you do that you'll dry it out with the oil from your hands," Flynn snapped like Jacob was supposed to know that. Flynn folded it twice and then started slamming it on the drywall slab to combine it. 

"I've only done ceramics once in high school, man," Jacob retorted, puffing himself up a bit on the stool he was sitting on. 

"Clearly it shows," Flynn replied, salt in Jacob's wounded ego. Flynn, not very gently, shoved the drywall square with the now condensed clay over to Jacob. "Pay attention this time."

Jacob grunted at him, not trusting himself to say anything good, and rolled out his slab again. This time he kept his eyes glued to his work, ignoring the pinprick sensation of Flynn's judgemental gaze on him. He rolled it out well enough, and used a large yogurt container to trace out a circle and cut it out. 

No sooner than he finished sliding the knife around the trace he made and started to pull the excess clay away, Flynn snatched the circle and started working it to attach the coils. "I was gonna do that," Jacob growled, watching Flynn flip the edges up with more speed and evenness than Jacob would have.

Flynn didn't look up at him. "And I'm sure you'd have to do it twice too."

"You don't know that," Jacob muttered, watching Flynn. He looked around the studio, feeling useless, so he said, "Is there something I can do? It's half my project too."

Flynn stopped working, glaring at him for a moment before softening his expression. "Have you made a coil pot before?"

"No...but I think I can do it from watching you," Jacob said.

Flynn narrowed his eyes a bit, but gently slid the partially done pot across the table to him. "Pinch and smooth down on the inside to connect the clay, but don't push too hard or you'll warp the coil below."

Jacob got halfway done with the coil before he punched through accidentally with his finger, making a hole. "Well fuck," he said as Flynn let out a frustrated sigh. It was going to take forever if he kept working, so he passed it back to Flynn. "Sorry."

"Since you're just going to mess it up, let me make it," Flynn said with exasperation. "You can decorate, if you won't mess that up too."

"Just ‘cause I'm not some genius like you and I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I can't do it," Jacob barked. For an instant he reminded himself of his father, and he cringed a little. He’d startled Flynn too; where Flynn had been repairing the hole Jacob made, there was now a rip again. “Sorry, I, uh, look. It took a lot for me to get here, and I wanna learn just as much as you do, but if you’re gonna treat me like I’m an idiot, I’m just gonna leave.”

Flynn didn’t respond at first, so Jacob started packing up his things and leaving. “No, wait!” Flynn grabbed his forearm; thankfully Jacob hadn’t rolled down his shirt sleeve yet. “I’m not good with people.”

Jacob huffed. “You don’t say.” He glanced at Flynn’s clay-dusted hand, still holding him, which made Flynn release him.

“I mean, school, learning, it’s everything to me. I don’t want to mess this project up. It has to be perfect, everything does, because that means I understand it.” Flynn went to rake a hand through his hair, but at the last second realized his hands were not clean, and stopped himself. “I just want one group project to go right. I hate group projects, but I need you to prove to Dr. Mashunkashey that I can work with people. She says I need to be able to do that if I want to be a professor.”

Jacob was not expecting Flynn to open up to him like that. Nor was he expecting the warmth in his chest when Flynn said he needed him, but he pushed that aside before he did anything reckless. “I’m willing to put in the effort if you are, but you have to let me do some of the work. I’m not gonna flake out.” Jacob hadn’t realized just how spooked Flynn was until he relaxed, tension released from his shoulders. 

“Okay.” Flynn looked at the in-progress pot for a moment, then said, “I’m going to finish fixing the hole, then you can try again. You have to be gentle with it.”

“I know.” Jacob sat patiently, waiting for Flynn finish the repair. Once he did, he pushed the pot to Jacob. He started adding a new coil, but after a couple pinches, Flynn stopped him.

“You’ve got to be gentler than that,” Flynn said. “Can’t you feel when the clay is giving too much?” Without warning, Flynn took Jacob’s hand, looking at his fingers. “Oh, of course you can’t, you’ve got calloused fingertips.” He glanced up at Jacob. “Guitar, I assume?”

Jacob was doing all he could to contain himself. “Uh, yeah, and probably from years of working on an oil rig too.” 

Flynn nodded thoughtfully at the addition, clearly filing it away wherever he was storing facts about Jacob. He hadn’t let go of Jacob’s hand, and this time Jacob wasn’t going to do anything to make him. “You’re pushing too hard, and thus thinning the clay too much at the join, that’s why you punched through,” Flynn explained. He then moved Jacob’s hand back into position, but this time, keeping his hand on top of Jacob’s. Their hands together almost didn’t fit into the pot, but Flynn made it work. “I’m going to press down so you can feel how hard you can go without breaking it, okay?”

Jacob nodded, not trusting words at the moment. Flynn proceeded to work the clay through Jacob’s hand, somehow just as good as he was before. Part of Jacob’s brain noticed that he didn’t push near as hard as Jacob had been when trying to be gentle, and filed it away, but most of his brain was focused on how intently Flynn was watching their hands work, and then how intently he was looking back at Jacob when he stopped. “Did you feel the difference?”

“Uh,” Jacob cleared his throat when it came out husky, “yeah, I did. Thanks. You really know your stuff.”

He noticed Flynn blush a little at the compliment. “Good. Uh,” Flynn realized he was still holding Jacob’s hand and released him, “now you try on your own.” After Jacob satisfactorily did a whole coil, they alternated until they reached a stopping point a third of the way through. “We need to let it dry to leather-hard before we add any more, otherwise it will collapse.”

Jacob vaguely remembered that leather-hard was a term to describe the texture of somewhat dried clay. “Alright. How long is that gonna take?”

Flynn considered the room a bit, thinking. “Today’s a humid day, so it would probably be best to wrap it with a paper towel and leave it in a plastic bag, then check it tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Jacob went and gathered the plastic and paper towels while Flynn fiddled with a coil. “I guess we can come back Monday afternoon?”

“That should be good, yes,” Flynn replied, swaddling the base of the pot with paper towels. He took a strip of plastic and wrapped the rim, and apparently noticed Jacob watching him. “This will keep the top fresh so when we come back, we can continue working it.”

Jacob nodded. He helped Flynn clean their area, replacing tools and wiping down the table. Done with their tasks, they awkwardly stared at each other across the table for a few moments before Jacob said, “Well, guess I’ll see ya Monday then?”

“Yes...see you then,” Flynn said, and then without warning, he rather hastily left the studio.

Jacob watched him go, then sat back down on the stool he’d been sitting on. “Oh Lord.”

---

He felt kind of guilty when he pulled up Clayton’s contact on his phone. He’d not been great about calling like he’d promised when he left Lawton, but Clayton always told him he knew college was hectic and to not worry about it. Still, as the phone rang, Jacob felt bad about calling just to talk about his personal life.

“Hey, long time no call, eh?” Clayton said as he answered.

“Yeah, sorry man. Some of these engineerin’ classes I should’ve tested out of, but they don’t really do that here,” Jacob replied. He was in his apartment, laying on his bed.

“I bet you could test out of half of that degree,” Clayton said with a laugh. “So what’s new with you?”

“I was gonna ask you that first,” Jacob said, feeling his face heat up already.

“You know I’d tell you the same as a few weeks ago, ‘cuz nothing new’s happened,” Clayton replied. “Plus,” Jacob could hear the smile in his voice, “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna ask for advice about somethin’.”

“How’d you, ugh, never mind,” Jacob scoffed, really blushing when Clayton laughed at him again. “Yeah, I got a...situation.”

Clayton sighed. “And who is he?”

Jacob sighed. “He’s in my Native American art history class, we’re partners on the group project, but I actually knew him before it.”

“...Wait, is this the same guy who you studied with in the library?”

Jacob shook his head, yet again surprised by how well Clayton could read him, even over the phone. “Studied near, but yeah. Turns out he’s doin’ a Ph.D. in Native history.”

"So he’s closer to your age?”

“I think so, though he might honestly be younger than me. The man’s got like five degrees already,” Jacob said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“So you went and fell for a genius, huh?”

“He’s a smartass,” Jacob said, but after a moment he added, “yeah, I have.” He was super fortunate to have such a good guy as Clayton he could call his best friend. He’d fallen for him too, briefly, but Clayton didn’t feel the same, and then Clayton decided it was his job to be Jacob’s wingman. 

“And does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so at first, but now…”

Clayton chuckled. “Then tell me what happened.” Jacob explained the happenings in the ceramics studio. “Well, he sounds awkward, but I think it’d be best to ask him directly.”

Jacob knew Clayton was going to say that, but he still felt shocked. “I can’t just ask him!”

“Why not?” was all Clayton said.

“‘Cause, well, if he doesn’t, this whole project is gonna be awkward.”

“Isn’t it already though?”

Jacob thought a moment. “Well, I guess, yeah. But I also don’t wanna get distracted before we finish this project. It’s worth half our grade.”

“So you’re just gonna pine away in silence for three months?”

“It might not be three months...Flynn’s too focused on doing this project as quick as we can.” Jacob hadn’t really considered that until now. “If we get the project done quick, then there’s nothin’ stoppin’ me from askin’ him after.”

“That’s the spirit. Let me know how it goes, you know I wouldn’t mind drivin’ up if you needed it.”

“Thanks, Clayton.”

"Anytime, Jacob."

---

Jacob decided that getting the project mostly done was the priority. This meant he had to suffer through two more equally awkward handbuilding sessions before their pot was ready for the first firing. At least in class, Flynn’s back was to him, except when they had class discussions. By the time they started glazing their pot, Jacob swore Flynn knew exactly how he was making him feel.

Glazing was just as messy as he remembered in high school. Flynn didn’t care about the state of the table, or himself, so long as his strips on the pot were perfect replicas of various designs he picked. Compared to the pot making, Jacob turned out to be the better painter. The hardest part for him was picking the designs he wanted to use. 

Jacob was halfway through a strip when Flynn asked, “Where did you learn how to paint?”

Jacob snickered a little. “Same as most everything else, self-taught.” He glanced at Flynn, who currently had smears of blue underglaze where he’d wiped his forehead. “Are ya goin’ for war paint too?”

Flynn narrowed his eyes, confused. “What?”

“You got underglaze on your face,” Jacob said, pointing at Flynn’s forehead with the brush. 

Flynn swiped at his forehead, making the smear worse, which just made Jacob laugh harder. “Oh yeah? Well-” Flynn decided to go for direct retaliation and swiped at Jacob’s face with his orange-covered brush across the table “-Now we match!”

Jacob tried to dodge, about fell off his stool, and Flynn’s brush ended up tapping the end of his nose. He knew better, he really did, but Flynn had worn him down the past week, so Jacob got off his stool, holding his brush out like a rapier. “You’ll regret that,” he growled.

Taking the challenge, Flynn got into a much more trained en-garde stance. “I rather think you will!” Then, without warning, Flynn jumped around the edge of the table at him.

Jacob realized that he was outclassed, but gave a valiant effort anyway. Quickly, Flynn had him giving up ground, forcing him to the sink that sat in the middle of the room between the tables and throwing wheels. “You’ve taken a class on fencing, haven’t you?”

“Lessons, when I was a kid, but yes, I’ve been trained,” Flynn replied, spying for an opening to tag Jacob. Just as Flynn lunged, Jacob dodged left, letting Flynn catch himself on the sink. Flynn shook his head, a mischievous grin on his face. “You, you’ve got some fight experience too.” He took a swipe, forcing Jacob closer to the finished projects shelf. “But not formal, no...brawls, that’s what you get into.”

Jacob took a jab at Flynn, gaining a foot of ground, but Flynn quickly forced him back two. “Not been in a scrap in a while,” Jacob said, trying again to swipe himself some room. 

Seeing Jacob essentially pinned, his left blocked by the stoneware clay reclaim bin and a table, Flynn went for the killing blow. Jacob knew how to read people in fights, and Flynn had gotten to the “confident of a win” stage, so Jacob ducked at the last possible second. This meant he was out of range of the brush, but Flynn was now barreling straight for the shelving. Without thinking, Jacob jumped back up, wrapping his arms around Flynn’s waist as he did and pushing him back away from the shelf.

“I was going to stop myself,” Flynn quipped as Jacob released him.

“I know overshooting when I see it,” Jacob retorted. He hadn’t stepped away from Flynn, nor had Flynn stepped away from him. They were less than a foot apart. Flynn’s eyes were dark, no doubt from the adrenaline of the fight; Jacob assumed he looked a similar state of riled up. He caught himself glancing at Flynn’s mouth without thinking, and was about to step away, until Flynn mimicked him, glancing at his lips.

Jacob closed the distance between them before he could think of reasons why he shouldn’t.

Flynn kissing him back made him forget any of those reasons.

An odd wetness on his forearm made him pull away. Flynn’s paintbrush had made an orange stripe on his arm. He looked back to Flynn, eyes even darker than they had been. “Guess we should finish the pot.”

“Uh, y...yeah,” Flynn said eloquently. “I didn’t know you…”

Jacob laughed under his breath. “You’ve been driving me crazy the past three weeks.”

Flynn’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were angry at me.”

Jacob closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “You really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you’re bad with people.” He opened his eyes when he felt Flynn shaking his head, nose brushing against Jacob’s. “Well, maybe I can teach you a thing or two,” he murmured, giving Flynn a tease of a kiss before pulling away again. “But we really should finish the pot.”

Flynn took a moment to adjust his focus. “Right, yes.” He stepped away, smoothing out his shirt in an effort to make himself look less flustered. He walked over to the pot, but turned back to Jacob following him. “So, we’re doing this?”

The fact that Jacob was now finding Flynn’s awkwardness really endearing was a testament to just how hard he’d fallen for the genius. “I am if you want to.”

Flynn nodded...and nodded some more before he responded, “Okay, good, yes, I very much want to do that again.”

Jacob laughed. “Well, we can make out as much as we want after we finish this pot, ‘cause the next firing is two days from now and it needs to dry before then.”

The motivation of more set a fire in Flynn’s belly; he attacked the pot with his brush, clearly caring less about perfect replication and more about finishing in the same general design so he could go do better things. Jacob put a little more effort into his, and thus was still painting when Flynn finished his underglaze design and cleaned his materials up. Flynn managed to sit there for 30 seconds before he interrupted Jacob. “How much longer will you take?”

Jacob glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why, you got somewhere you gotta be?” Flynn squirmed on his stool, making Jacob feel the heat of satisfaction in his chest. “I’ll be done when I’m done. I might just reward ya for your patience,” Jacob said with a smirk. 

Flynn practically melted under his gaze, ears going red. “Okay...fine.”

It was just too fun seeing the effect of his words on Flynn. “Can you wait a little more for me?” Jacob rumbled, letting his voice get low and gravelly. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Flynn shuddered, making Jacob smile. 

After Jacob slightly more hastily finished his strips, Flynn practically threw himself at him. Jacob had to make himself shove Flynn off him. “Hey, I didn’t say you could do that,” Jacob growled more than he had meant to; Flynn shuddered a bit. “We need to clean up, and not make out in a public classroom.” Flynn looked like he was enjoying getting told what to do too much, red flush on his face and neck, but eyes definitely staring Jacob down. “Look, once we clean up, we can go to my apartment, alright?”

Flynn, also very aware of how he was affecting Jacob, moved back into Jacob’s space. “You took entirely too long to say that,” he said, voice low and a bit breathy. Flynn leaned–not to kiss Jacob again, but to grab the dirty paint brushes on the workbench, making Jacob lean into empty air. Flynn looked at him expectantly. “Well? We better clean up then.”

“You little…” Jacob shook his head, smiling deviously. Flynn preened as he dramatically walked to the sink, knowing full well Jacob’s eyes were on him. 

They could’ve been perhaps more thorough in their cleaning, if they weren’t both busy imagining what they were going to do to each other once they got to Jacob’s apartment. 

---

The next class, Jacob had intended to play it cool, meaning acting like nothing unusual happened between him and Flynn. That fell flat when Flynn, arriving just barely on time as usual, strode over to Jacob with a dopey grin on his face. For a moment Jacob was terrified Flynn was going to kiss him in front of the whole class. Thankfully, Flynn just patted Jacob’s hand, purposely drawing his fingers away sensually, and then sat in his seat. 

Once his brain restarted, Jacob looked around as discreetly as he could manage. No one seemed to have noticed, expect Dr. Mashunkashey, who was watching him with curiosity. Thankfully, she started class, and Jacob did his best to take notes and not reach out and pet the back of Flynn’s head.

On the way out of class, Dr. Mashunkashey stopped Jacob. “Jacob, can you talk for a moment?”

Jacob looked to Flynn, who was all but dragging him out of class to “work on the paper” which Jacob knew wasn’t what he was planning. Flynn didn’t seem to think anything amiss, so he said, “I’ll meet you outside,” and left the classroom.

“Everything okay with your project?” she asked, glancing at the door. “I know Flynn can be a bit...much, so if you need me to talk to him, I can.”

Jacob went a bit red, but tried to power through. “Oh, uh, nah, everything’s good. We’ve even started making our art piece.” 

Dr. Mashunkashey seemed a bit surprised with his response. “Well, that’s certainly a change. I look forward to seeing what you two make together.”

Jacob’s brain of course heard “seeing you two together” and had to blink a few times to refocus himself. “I, uh, think it’ll be pretty good. It’s been a long while since I worked with clay, though that’s apparently one of Flynn’s many damn talents.” Jacob kicked himself internally, cursing in front of a professor like that.

Dr. Mashunkashey, to Jacob’s surprise, gave a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t say it’s often I teach students who have more degrees than I do children. Though I think you could put Flynn in his paces from your papers so far.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be as good as him,” Jacob retorted, pausing as he briefly considered what that would entail, “I’d have to quadruple major or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Flynn seemed pretty eager to get to work.”

“Yeah...he really likes to work on things when he’s focused on them,” Jacob replied, pointedly making his way towards the door so he didn’t have to directly look at the professor. “Have a good day, Professor.”

“You too, Jacob,” she said with a wave. 

Flynn was apparently waiting to pounce on him in the hallway, which Jacob had briefly pondered if he would, so he braced his arm to keep Flynn off him. While it did keep Flynn from macking on him, Flynn also took his arm and entwined his own, and started walking down the hall. “What did she have to talk about?”

“Oh, uh, she asked if we were doing okay–I mean, our project,” Jacob stammered, glancing down at their arms.

Flynn didn’t seem to care and just kept walking towards the stairs. “Oh, well I bet she was surprised to hear I’m not procrastinating on a project for once. Speaking of projects,” Flynn leaned to speak lowly into Jacob’s ear, “I was thinking we could move our research to your place, or mine.”

“Uh huh,” Jacob chuckled. “Well, I suppose we could do that.”  

They did not, in fact, work on their project that morning.

---

In the end, they got an A on their papers, project, and presentation of said project. And Dr. Mashunkashey won her bet against her colleagues that Jacob and Flynn would get together by the end of her class.

-----

Post Notes: Sorry for the quick ending, I’ve been sitting on this fic since February and never finished it, so I figured making an ending and getting it out was better than it sitting in my google drive forever. Also, when it comes to ages, I saw them both as a bit older than your usual 18-22 college students; for both they’re at least 23 or so, Jacob from working with his father, and Flynn from doing other degrees. 

The University of Tulsa doesn’t have a Native American studies program (they really should though given location and history of the school), but they do have a well-known petroleum engineering program, which is what gave me the idea of how to get Stone to school. Considering Flynn’s all about ancient history studies, surely the ancient American people he knows about too. And I’m assuming Jacob grew up somewhere out near Lawton, OK, based on the mileage he gave in “And What Lies Beneath the Stones” since the actual town Wagoner (Wagner was what they used in the episode) is about 45 minutes southeast from Tulsa.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Akali, the Rogue Assassin build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games)

(Shit meme by yours truly.)

I mean honestly it’s about time I go around to this. With the year nearing its end (thank fuck) here’s a build I had planned pretty much since the Soulknife subclass was shown. Yeah spoilers I guess Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue because she throws a shit load of knives. No she isn’t an assassin, despite the name of “Rogue Assassin.”

GOALS

You can never have too many kunai - We need a hell a lotta kunai and shurikens to throw at our enemies. Remember that part where I said “Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue?”

Smoked 'em - We’ll need to be able to turn invisible and stay invisible while still being able to hit our foes.

Quick and deadly - You’re quick and deadly like a ninja, with dashes over and around just about everything and swift executions. Almost like you are a ninja.

RACE

Akali is a human, no matter how much training in stealth, spirits, and singing she has. She is however from the magic land of Ionia filled with magic people, and since she probably got some spiritual training from Shen I figured that’s good enough justification for me to grab a Dragonmark! A Mark of Passage Human gets a +2 to Dexterity and a +1 to another ability score: we’ll go for Charisma for K-Pop stans. You can also learn a language of your choice and Sylvan makes sense to speak to the spirits.

You have a Courier's Speed for +5 feet of movement and can add a d4 to Acrobatics or motorcycle land vehicle checks thanks to Intuitive Motion. But the main feature of note is Magical Passage for Misty Step in your pocket once per Long Rest. You know me: gotta have Flash available.

If Dragonmarks aren’t an option: Variant Human with +1 to DEX and +1 to CHA is good enough. Take the Mobile feat at level 1 instead of later in the build, and perhaps invest in Fey Touched or something when the time comes for that feat I don’t know.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - You run and jump around and throw a lot of knives. Almost like a ninja.

14; CONSTITUTION - Be it Gunblade or Riftmaker, Akali is deceptively survivable. That and even ability scores are nice.

13; CHARISMA - Charisma is tied to performance for Korean raps in whatever band you joined this time. Look I’m not saying I want Akali in Pentakill but...

12; WISDOM - Shen tries to teach you a lot of Wisdom and I’m sure at least some of it got through to you.

10; STRENGTH - ‘Kali got abs. Being a ninja requires 100 push ups, 100 sit ups, and a 10 kilometer run every single day.

8; INTELLIGENCE - Ninjas don’t normally have a good math and science program. The answer to how many kunai you brought is “yes.”

BACKGROUND

While you may have once been part of the Kinkou Order you have since decided to go rogue. When you’re part of a ninja organization killing people is cool, but if you do it on your own you’re just a Criminal. You get proficiency in Stealth but I’m going to suggest replacing your Deception proficiency with Arcana for some teachings thanks to Master Shen. You also get proficiency in Thieves’ Tools (though if you want to min-max I’d perhaps swap this out for something out) but I’m going to suggest replacing your gaming set with a Disguise Kit, because my lord Akali has a lot of skins.

Be it your old connections from the Kinkou Order or a new informant for assassination contracts you have a Criminal Contact that can easily supply info, and who you always have a direct line to. They send the target, you get the kill.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee, Pan Chengwei, and Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Artwork made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

wOw ThE cHaRaCtEr WiTh “RoGuE” iN tHeIr NaMe Is A RoGuE?!?! Blatantly obvious information aside Rogues get proficiency in four different skills! Take proficiency in Acrobatics for ninja stuff, Perception for warding, Intimidation to scare little Noxian kids (hey ninjas are scary!), and Performance for Korean raps.

You also get Expertise in two of those skills: naturally you need Stealth to be a ninja and Performance to be K-Pop artist, so take expertise in both of those. You also know the secret code language of Thieves’ Cant, which only other ninjas (or just regular old Rogues) know.

But of course you can’t be a ninja without knowing how to Sneak Attack. If you attack an enemy that’s distracted by an ally or have advantage to hit a weak point, you do an extra d6 of damage. Don’t worry: your assassination potential only gets better with time.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

Second level Rogues get Cunning Action for some ninja speed. You can now spend a Bonus Action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Yeah spoilers I guess Akali’s a Soulknife Rogue because she throws a shit load of knives. No she isn’t an assassin, despite the name of “Rogue Assassin.”

3rd level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype and Akali is a Soulknife because it turns out psionics is the fastest way to get a shit load of throwing knives thanks to Psychic Blades. When you take the Attack action you can make a psychic knife in your hand that does a d6 of Psychic damage, and you can either use it to stab in melee range or throw it up to 60 feet.

If you attack with the blade you can make a smaller blade to attack with as a bonus action. The damage die of this bonus attack is 1d4 (instead of a d6) but other than that it pretty much works the same. The Psychic Blades vanish immediately after hitting or missing, and they leave no mark on their target, which is just a nice little bit of ninja flavor.

You also have innate Psionic Power which... takes a bit more to explain that “funny psychic throwing knife.” You have Psionic Energy die equal to twice your proficiency bonus, and you can use them on the following abilities:

Psi-Bolstered Knack lets you boost your skill checks with legally-not-Bardic Inspiration, as long as you’re proficient in the skill.

Psychic Whispers lets you coordinate in team chat and set up ganks.

I’m not going to go too deep into these abilities because they’re listed in the subclass and if you don’t know what the subclass does buy Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything and read it yourself. “See? Balance.” And speaking of balance your Sneak Attack damage now increases to 2d6!

LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4

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4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement but because it’s the 4th level in a Rogue build we’ll instead be taking the Mobile feat. Along with a 10 foot increase to your movement speed you can also cross over difficult terrain (cough walls cough) without spending extra movement if you Dash. But most importantly if you attack an enemy in melee range you can run away from them without provoking an attack of opportunity, even if you miss!

Yup XP to Level 3′s meme explains it better than I can. Sneak attack and run away: keep to the shadows and never stand still.

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuestling. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 1

What? Did you think that we’d be going for pure Rogue levels? Ha ha Warlock levels go brrrrr. Regardless a connection to the Spirit Realm manifests as powers of the Archfey, such as Fey Presence to Charm or Frighten anyone within a 10 foot cube with an epic rap battle.

And you also get Pact Magic, which comes back on a Short Rest! You get two cantrips at first level: For a Shuriken that inflicts Deep Wounds on those who idolize Eldritch Blast take Chill Touch, because a ninja should always have the right tool for the job. For some ninja trickery grab Minor Illusion to manipulate the shadows to your whim.

For your leveled spells Hex will cripple your foes to make it harder for them to run while also making your strikes deadlier, and uhhh... that’s about it, really? I mean, Sleep from the Archfey list is pretty nice for a sleep bomb but you really don’t need it. We’ll be holding off on leveled spells for a bit.

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations... hey wouldn’t it be funny if we just didn’t take invocations? I mean, feel free to grab some basic stuff like Armor of Shadows or Devil’s Sight for a time, but again we’re going to want to wait for...

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get their Pact Boon and while you may never have gone to an official school you were sure to keep all the teachings of Master Shen in a tome. A Book of Shadows from the Pact of the Tome to be precise!

While Pact of the Blade would probably make more sense I’m pretty sure you can’t make your Psychic Blades into Pact weapons. That, and we need a multitude of features from Pact of the Tome more.

Picking up the Pact of the Tome will let you learn 3 cantrips from any class’ spell list. For a quality assurance guarantee on your skill checks take Guidance for that extra boost you need. For some natural Ionian magic Druidcraft will let you feel the spirit in the earth and the trees. And I know there are some spells I seem to stick into every build but yeah: Message is still good even if you have telepathy, for some silent resourceless communication between allies.

Oh and remember how we took no invocations last level? That’s because we’re going to be grabbing both Aspect of the Moon to confuse Diana mains as well as remain alert through the night without needing to sleep, and Book of Ancient Secrets to have some ninja tricks you can prepare over 10 minutes by Ritual Casting. I’d suggest Alarm and Comprehend Languages as the most in-character options but you can get more ritual spells by picking them up and inscribing them into your book (with some really damn expensive ink.)

You can also finally go and pick up those spells that I’ve been ignoring! Darkness is good for a magic smoke bomb (as long as you’re okay with blinding yourself and your allies too) and while perhaps not the most in-character Mirror Image is a damn good spell to up your survivability. And while we may already have Flash once per long rest I won’t ever complain about more Misty Step.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement: time for hee-hoo Athlete Feat that I take whenever I want a +1 in DEX but don’t know what to do. But believe it or not there’s actually a reason for it this time: Akali is an athlete, and you need to be able to perform feats of acrobatics like a ninja. Because again: you are a ninja.

You also get another spell along with another cantrip: for your cantrip Mage Hand will let you do a little bit of spirit-jitsu to reach the kimchi on the top shelf. As for your spell Pass without Trace was added in the Tasha’s extended spell list but you don’t really need it. Your friends might but for the most part I’d again suggest waiting for next level.

(Artwork by Zeen Chin. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation and to be sneaky like a ninja One With Shadows will let you turn invisible if you stand still in the dark. Alternatively (if you think Stealth Expertise will carry you) you can take Far Scribe for some more secret shadow messages.

You can also learn third level spells like Blink for a slightly unreliable Smoke Cloud that’ll shroud you randomly, or Fear because ninjas are scary.

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Fey Warlocks get Misty Escape. As a reaction when you’re hit you can drop a smoke bomb to turn invisible and then teleport up to 60 feet. You remain invisible until the start of your next turn unless you attack or cast a spell, and can use this feature once per short or long rest.

You can also prepare another spell and for a ninja flashbang grab Hypnotic Pattern to daze everyone in a 30 foot cube. What? Ninjas can use flashbangs.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation and we can finally run across the universe to whoever we marked with our shuriken. Or at least 30 feet closer. Relentless Hex lets you teleport up to 30 feet and arrive within 5 feet of an enemy you have Hexed, as long as you can see them. While you can dash for this distance or Flash (Misty Step) this will let you get past any difficult terrain or obstacles with ease.

We can also finally get what we came for: a smoke cloud we can attack from while still being invisible. Take Greater Invisibility for invisibility that remains even after you attack. Yes this does mean as a Rogue you’ll have Advantage on all your attacks (to Sneak Attack), and yes the aesthetic of stabbing people with psychic knives that leave no mark while you yourself are invisible is freaking nuts. There are other 4th level spells you can take (Dimension Door and Shadow of Moil being two worth mention) but your other spells are still good. It’s up to you what you do as again I only own the build, not your character.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 12 - ROGUE 5

At long last we’re going back to Rogue! 5th level Rogues can use their reaction for an Uncanny Dodge to take half damage from an attack. Remember that you only have one reaction per round, and this is the same reaction that you need to use for Misty Escape. So decide if disappearing but taking full damage is more valuable than taking half damage.

Your Sneak Attack also increases to 3d6, and you know those Psionic Energy die of yours? Well they’re now d8s! Finally!

LEVEL 13 - ROGUE 6

6th level Rogues get Expertise in two more skills. Acrobatics is an obvious must but I’ll leave the other skill up to you! Make your own build, even if it’ll probably include Riftmaker. (But when in doubt I opted for Perception personally.)

LEVEL 14 - ROGUE 7

7th level Rogues become masters of dodging skill shots thank to Evasion. If you make a Dexterity save and succeed, you take no damage. If you fail the save, you only take half damage! Additionally your Sneak Attack is now 4d6.

(Artwork by Pyeongjun Park. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 15 - ROGUE 8

8th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement. Hey about we cap that Dexterity score which has been sitting at an 18 for the past 6 levels? Deadliest knives, most agile of dodges, and BADDEST of dance moves. (Wait no that’s Charisma.)

LEVEL 16 - ROGUE 9

9th level Soul Knife Rogues can improve their weapons to Soul Blades, giving a few new uses to your Psionic Talent die. Homing Strikes will let you add your talent die to a missed attack, potentially allowing you to hit. If the talent die causes your attack to hit, you spend it.

Psychic Teleportation on the other hand will let you roll a Psionic Talent die as a bonus action to teleport an unoccupied space you can see, up to a number of feet away equal to 10 times the number rolled. This feature spends the die no matter how far you teleport. And finally your Sneak Attack increase to 5d6.

LEVEL 17 - ROGUE 10

The nice thing about Rogues is that they get more Ability Score Improvements. For MORE dancing increase your Charisma to show them what you’re made of. I’ll keep making jokes about K/DA don’t worry.

(Artwork by Atey Ghailan. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 18 - ROGUE 11

11th level Rogues get Reliable Talent to turn any roll of 9 or lower on a skill check you’re proficient in to a 10. As per standard whenever I hit 11 in a Rogue build I like to make a list of your lowest possible roll so...

27 on Stealth or Acrobatics

25 on Performance

19 on Intimidation

17 on Perception

15 on Arcana

With results varying based on your choice of Expertise, of course. And if somehow that isn’t enough to make a skill check, your Psionic Talent die increases to a d10 along with your 6d6 Sneak Attack!

LEVEL 19 - ROGUE 12

Hey more Ability Score Improvements! That means you can nearly max out your Charisma just before level 20!

LEVEL 20 - ROGUE 13

13th level Soul Knife Rogues get the ultimate stealth tool: the Psychic Veil. As an action you become invisible for 1 hour unless you dismiss this effect (no action required). You remain invisible unless you deal damage to a creature or you force a creature to make a saving throw. You can use this feature once for free per Long Rest, and have to spend a Psionic Energy die to use it again.

Now some might say this is a weak ability since you have Greater Invisibility, but that spell only lasts a minute. This ability is far more useful for infiltration and out-of-combat uses, as with a full hour of being unseen you should be able to get into most places that you shouldn’t be. But if you think “a second level spell extended to 1 hour” isn’t a good capstone just remember that your Sneak Attack does increase to 7d6. And that... you know... You could just go Rogue 12 / Warlock 8 if you don’t like the level 13 ability.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

They can't stop me. I mean, they can try - 45 feet of movement with the ability to dash and teleport, with Athlete helping you scale up walls and Mobile making difficult terrain a non-issue. And yeah the Mobile feat in general makes you incredibly slippery.

I make problems... disappear - Who could’ve guessed that a permanently invisible Rogue would be dangerous? With a dozen tools to play keep-away you can easily be in multiple places at once and make your enemies unable to know where to strike.

I'll make this look like magic - You’ve got a nice bit of utility too with some great skill checks (boosted by your Psionic talent!) along with a ton of cantrips and the ability to learn any ritual spell you may find.

CONS

There are over 300 pressure points on the human body - You have a lot of features that are more for flavor than actual practicality, notably Relentless Hex which uhhhh... just Dash? You also have abilities which aren’t that strong, like weak Warlock spells we didn’t swap out (feel free to do that yourself) and Psychic Veil generally being a mediocre ability. (Nothing you can do to fix that.)

I was just warming up - Your stats aren’t awful but also aren’t fantastic... well except for your Intelligence: that’s pretty bad. And without any saving throw proficiency and a surprisingly limited amount of skills for a Rogue you really won’t be helpful outside of your area of expertise.

You don't get back what I take - Almost all your class features run on limited resources. Most of your Rogue abilities rely on your Psionic Talent die, and while you may have a lot you can only get one per Short Rest. Similarly you only have two Warlock slots, which even if they come back at the end of a Short Rest it leaves a lot to be desired. Frequent tea breaks are nice and all but you can quickly exhaust yourself without breaks.

But you are quick, silent, and deadly. All the skills of a ninja in one package. Dive in, make a clean cut, and get out before they know what hit ‘em. Akali’s that girl. 'Kali go grr. 'Kali don't stop. 'Kali don't skrrt. True Damage we do it, and maybe if you perform well enough you can get into Pentakill too. Look I’m not saying I want Akali to be in every band that Riot makes, but Pentakill Akali would be equally cool and hilarious.

(Artist unknown. Made for Riot Games.)

[justanotherlifeff]

Chapter 2

8 April 2316

Monday

Musutafu, Japan

You entered the classroom to find a certain tall black haired boy drilling an ash blonde for putting his feet on the desk. You personally never cared much about rules nor did you feel like poking a nose into people’s business was something that anyone should do, unlike Tenya Iida ofcourse. You knew that he would be aiming for the hero course in UA and to be fair, you certainly hoped to see him here again given that your only form of entertainment at Soumei was pissing him off. Yes, Iida was class president back in Soumei and let’s just say, you didn’t see eye to eye. Although you never full on bullied him like Ash blonde here. Infact, while you enjoyed pissing him off, you considered him as a friend even if being in the same class as him was sometimes a pain in the ass. “Remove your foot from that desk! Such an action is insulting to those who came to UA before us as well as the craftsmen who made the desk.” Iida argued. “Like I care. What middle school are you from, you extra?” Bakugou asked him in a rude tone. That’s when you noticed another student with mossy green hair had got in. He was staring at the bickering pair with a defeated look. “My name is Tenya Iida. I’m from Soumei private Academy.” Iida answered with pride. Ofcourse… Typical Iida… He just can’t see the insult that would come with that… “Soumei? A stuck up enlist then? I should blow you to bits.” Bakugou crackled. Even though you were enjoying the bickering, you decided that you should save your clueless classmate. “Sorry about him. He just cares about rules too much. He’s been on my back about how I wear my uniform for years.” you smiled apologetically at Bakugou as Iida tried to blow away whatever damage control you did by saying, “You’re awful! Do you even wish to become a hero? And (L/N)-kun, your shoes are absolutely inappropriate for school! Why would you wear sneakers to school?”. That’s what you get for trying to save him from blondie. “Iida-kun, give up already.” you told him with a teasing smile before he noticed the green haired boy and ran towards him.

Bakugou glared at the green haired kid for a while before looking back at you and asking, “Are you from Soumei too, extra?” with a frown. “You know, after standing up for you, I expected you to not call me an ‘extra’. You wound me mister!” you told him with, acting dramatically as if his words hurted you. “Oh I know you. You’re the villain kid. And you’re gonna teach me how to behave?” Bakugou sneered. That hit a nerve and all the light bulbs in the class shattered, making Bakugou startled for only a moment. You got yourself in control within moments and smiled at him before saying, “Sorry about that, my quirk's kinda annoying. By the way, come on dude! Lighten up! I know you didn’t mean any harm but that kinda hurted you know. I don’t want any trouble. Let’s get along okay?”. The boy tched in reply. That’s when Aizawa got into the dark classroom. “ (L/N), you can’t keep breaking the lights. Go to the Principal’s office and fill out a form for new lights. We will cut that from your part time job, again.” Aizawa told you firmly. “Yes sensei” you answered with a sigh before heading to the principal’s office.

When you came back, you found the other blonde kid from class waiting for you in an empty class. “(L/N)-kun, everyone’s gone to the grounds for a quirk test. Aizawa sensei asked me to wait for you to give you your uniform.” he told you with a confident smile. “Thank you! What’s your name?” I asked him with a smile. “I’m Kaminari Denki. But, you can call me Shrek, because I'm head ogre heels in love with you.” he answered with a flirty smile, winking at you. “Aside from scaring women away with shitty pickup lines, what do you do for a living?.” I chuckled at him. He dramatically put a hand on his chest before saying, "You wound me, (L/N)-chan. Besides, didn't you just improvise a pick-up line there?" as we headed towards the changing rooms. He had his uniform in his hands too. “Totally did my friend! While I can assure you that you're not my type, I can see that you're a man of culture and I henceforth declare you as my friend. Thanks for waiting!” I joked, pretending that my hand is a sword as I acted as if I just knighted him, making him laugh. "Well, atleast I scored a hot friend!" Denki shouted towards you as you got into the girl’s changing room.

“(L/N)-kun! How did you explode those bulbs?” a shorter brown haired girl approached you, her eyes sparkling in interest. “Yes, your quirk must be very powerful.” a tall black haired girl approached you as well. “I’m Yaoyorozu Momo. Nice to meet you” she bowed slightly with a smile on her face. “Oh right, sorry, I’m Uraraka Ochako. Nice to meet you!” the first girl remembered that she didn’t tell you her name. “It’s alright. I’m (L/N) (F/N). My quirk includes telekinesis. But, unlike the typical telekinesis, mine is in the molecular level. So, when I get any sudden emotion within me, my telekinesis activates and removes molecules from the most breakable things around. Glass molecules come apart more easily which is why they break. I don’t exactly explode them.” you explained my power to them. “I see. That’s impressive. I’m Ashido Mina! You should change quickly. We’ll wait for you.” a pink girl told you with a smile. “Thanks guys!” you answered before starting to change into the training uniform.

When you all arrived at the grounds, the boys were already there with Aizawa. You stood there with the girls as Aizawa explained how things in UA works. Denki saw you out there and approached you immediately. "Now that we are friends, would you introduce me to your hot female friends?" he whispered to you as if he was plotting something devious. "Oh no. I thought you liked me! Such betrayal!" you acted as if you were offended before laughing at your own antics with your new friend. "Well, come on then, let's get you introduced to the hot girls" you laughed as you introduced him to the group of women. While everyone else was pretty much freaked out by his downright flirting, Mina joined you into teasing him about it. After getting a scolding from Aizawa to shut everyone up, you watched upon with interest as he asked Bakugou, to pitch a ball. He used an explosion from his hand to throw the ball 705.2m away while shouting… “Die”? "He is one weird guy" you couldn't help but think. After that Aizawa went ahead to explain that anyone who scores the least would be expelled. He did expel people on their first day before so you hoped that your classmates would take him seriously. He then proceeded to explain why 21 students were admitted in Class 1A instead of 20, (apparantly the two lowest scorers got the same score in the entrance exam).

The event started with a 50 meter dash. You completed it in 1.23 second as you just opened a portal and crossed the finish line taking the highest score in class. Your middle school record was 7.58 seconds. Your strength test machine broke when you used telekinesis. Again, highest score in class. You used telekinesis to levitate during long jump, scoring highest again. You scored lowest in the repeated side step as there was no way to use your powers here. In the ball throw test, you opened a portal to the moon since you decided to learn the coordinates to a certain place in the moon knowing that doing something as flamboyant as this would certainly gain you a reputation and threw the ball in there. When the display read 384400 km, everyone was surprised. You could see the visible anger in Bakugou’s face as you beat him in almost all the tests. However, you weren’t the highest scorer in this one. Uraraka scored Infinity thanks to her quirk.

You were surprised when Aizawa didn’t expel anyone. Specially given that Mirodiya, as much as you found him extremely sweet, literally broke his finger when he tried to use his powers. You were the top scorer, which wasn’t much of a surprise. However, you discovered something during the test. Bakugou seems to hate Midoriya with a burning passion. While you figured out that Bakugou is pretty much an asshole, you sensed an enormous amount of inferiority complex within him. "He has a powerful quirk, more powerful than Midoriya but then, why did he feel like he was inferior to Midoriya?" was a thought that ran through your head. You honestly wouldn’t be bothered by complex people like them usually since you preferred to keep your life simple and fun, however, Bakugou was too explosive to ignore. He ranted on how Midoriya was quirkless before the ball throwing test. It seemed that they had a history and the way Bakugo acted made you interested in knowing. After all, it doesn’t hurt to know more about your classmates, right?

When class was over, you was headed to the teacher’s quarters. However, I was stopped by Denki and a red haired kid. “(L/N)-chan!” Denki shouted as he called you. You waited for him to catch up. “(L/N)-chan, are you busy now?” he asked. “No, not really. Why?” you asked him, confused. “We were going to try out the new cafe that opened nearby. You can stick along with us if you want to. I’m Kirishima Ejiro by the way. I heard you're already friends with Kaminari so I figured that we should go together?” the red haired boy explained. “Oh sure. Why not? I don't have much to do till my shift at the gym and that's not anytime soon.” you answered. “Damn, a working woman.. Now that's cool..” Denki praised in a flirtatious tone. “Yeah working is pretty manly!” Kirishima agreed enthusiastically. “I honestly would rather just stay at home and read a manga. I'm only working cause I gotta pay for all the damage I do to school property.” I sighed only to get reassuring looks from the two boys. "Aww get a sugar daddy, (Y/N)! I've been looking for a sugar mommy my entire life but I'm cursed with sheer good looks" Denki flicked his hair sarcastically. "Oh shut up you moron!" you answered rolling your eyes and flicking his forehead with a small pebble using your telekinesis, making Kirishima laugh at your antics as the three of you went for the cafe. And this is how, the infamous 'Bakusquad' unofficially started.

[snakeboistan]

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: PLEASE

“Get it Out” I No More I “Stop Please”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911249/chapters/66190579

Pairing: Karmagisa

The rattling of raindrops pelting onto the dilapidated roof and broken down windows reverberated through the abandoned warehouse, mingling with the cacophony of moans emitted by the harsh gusts of wind. The air felt cold and chilly, but Karma was undeterred. Unlike the rest of his classmates who joined him on this rescue mission, he wasn’t taken aback by the appearance of the storehouse, with it’s rusted metal walls, crumbling floor and pieces of broken metal, glass and cardboard scattered around the floor, just waiting to cause harm. No, he had something far more important in mind to worry about the high pitched squeaking of rats and the dark splodges on the walls and ceilings of this ramshackle building that looked and smelled suspiciously like dried blood.

No, he had a goal in mind. A goal that was 159 cm tall and had the most beautiful blue eyes imaginable. A goal that he couldn’t bear to live without and had been missing from his side - where his rightful place was - for the past few hours. You see, earlier that afternoon, Shiota Nagisa - his boyfriend, his better half, his everything - wasn’t answering his texts, which, to anyone else, isn’t the biggest red flag but to Karma, it sent alarm bells ringing. Nagisa always answered his texts, always, unless of course he’s in the bathroom or his mum…

Well, anyway, that wasn’t the case because his mother had left a day ago for a business trip and wasn’t returning until a few days later but who cares when he still hadn’t replied to Karma after an hour, 50 texts, 20 calls and 10 voicemails later. So now Karma was jittery. He prided himself on being cool and calm in times of distress, in being able to think clearly and logically to come up with a plan - it was one of the things that Nagisa admired about him - but now, there he was, pounding furiously onto the wooden surface of Nagisa’s apartment door, not giving a damn about how loud he was being. His heart was racing and why wasn’t Nagisa answering dammit! His phone chimed and he looked down, hoping and praying that it was a text from the blunette with some sort of explanation or apology for scaring him. But all he saw was:

Unknown: Come to the E-Class building. It seems like a little blue haired boy has gotten a bit lost.

The rest of his classmates were in a frenzy when he had arrived; voices were raised, tears were shed, morbid conspiracy theories were flung around like they were pleasantries. But he had no use for them, he had no use for anything that didn’t give him an explanation. He stormed in through his classroom’s doors like a hurricane, ready to tear down anything and everything that stood in the way between him and Nagisa. His bloodlust was strong, palpable and whilst it wasn’t as overpowering as Nagisa’s, it was close and it stopped everyone in their tracks. He was wild, uncontrollable and was just about to punch something before Isogai’s grim figure handed him a piece of paper with coordinates on it, as well as a warning to not inform any of their teachers of this otherwise fate won’t be in their favour - a threat that seemed much more horrifying when written the few strands of baby blue that were taped onto the the sheet. 

Perfect. He’ll show this sucker just who they were messing with and make them pay. With their blood.

…..

“Holy shit,” Maehara breathed, circling the walls in front of them with his flashlight, “this place is like a labyrinth.”

Isogai surveyed the many passages in front of them, his role as the class’ leader driving him to say, “We should split up.”

“Split up!?” Okajima whisper-yelled, his hands on his head, that was shaking wildly, “Are you crazy?! That’s exactly what happens in horror movies before people die!”

“What choice do we have?” the class representative argued, “there are too many options for us all to go at once and since this building is so off the grid not even Ritsu can give us blueprints. If we want to find Nagisa, splitting up is our best bet.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Kimura gulped as he heard a high pitched wail followed by the clamour of lightning and thunder, that for a split-second cast an eerie light onto the desolate building that they were in, “doesn’t make it less scary.”

“Well you guys can go on ahead,” Karma said as he walked towards one of the corridors, “I’m going by myself.”

“Karma-” Kayano started, only to be interrupted.

“Nagisa’s been kidnapped,” Karma’s voice was terse, “the last thing I need is you idiots slowing me down.”

“Hey,” Sugino said, eyebrows furrowed, “I get that you guys are dating but Nagisa is my best friend too. All of us are worried for him so it’s best if we work together to-”

“I mean it,” Karma snapped, pointing his knife threateningly at the crowd of his classmates, “I’m going by myself and if any of you stop me…”

Everyone shivered, and it wasn’t because of the biting cold.

“Just keep your comm-link on,” Isogai instructed, “so that we can all give each other updates.”

Karma nodded briskly and turned on his heel

……. 

Karma continued walking, his government-given sneakers squelching on the puddles of murky water caused by the dripping leaks from the roof. He knew he was getting closer to the petite blunette, he could feel it. That magnetic force that always pulled him towards the shorter boy was what strung him along, acting as his own personal compass. However, despite his confidence in his path, when he found himself standing at the entrance of another empty room, he groaned and cursed to himself. But then, he felt it - that sense of danger that he can almost always detect. Hackles raised, he entered, not even flinching when the door slammed shut behind him. Ahh, so he’s getting close. If there’s one thing that he’s learned from playing video games is that when he’s getting near to the enemies he’s going the right way (“You can’t just say that every time you pick a fight, Karma,” Nagisa had said dryly). 

“Well, well, well,” a menacing voice boomed out from the shadows, “what do we have here. Has the little boy come back to Daddy?”

Karma’s eyes widened. 

That voice.

The sound of a switching flicking was what he heard before the single, dimly lit overhead lightbulb fizzed to life, flickering hazy yellow onto the murky grey walls and floor and revealing the owner of the other person in the room and his suspicions were proven correct. That burly build, flattened dark hair and deranged countenance.

“YOU!” Karma yelled, taking a threatening step forward.

Takaoka laughed, “Oh hello there, what seems to bring you here. Did you miss Daddy?”

“Where’s Nagisa,” he snarled, doing his best to push down the desire of stabbing this guy in the chest. He couldn’t kill him - no matter how good this bastard would look with the light in his eyes dimmed, with his own hands covered in the blood of the monster that took away the only good and pure thing he had in his lonely and cold life - after all, as much as he’d hate to admit it, Takaoka was the only one who knew where Nagisa was. Then, once he had his little blueberry in his arms, he’d make the man beg for mercy that he’d never give.

“Who?” Takaoka asked, his head tilted and voice lilted with faux innocence.

“You know who,” Karma’s temper was at optimum level and he couldn’t get rid of the red seeping around the edges of his vision if he tried.

“Oh you mean that little blue brat that defied me? He’s fine. More than fine actually.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?!

Karma glared, face dark with rage, “If you hurt a single hair on his head-”

Takaoka laughed, eyes wild and manic, “Don’t worry you’re little head about him. Why would I hurt him when he’s so useful to me?”

Useful?

“What the f*ck are you on about?!” Karma yelled, “WHERE THE HELL IS HE?!” 

“Patience, child,” the man cooed condescendingly, “you’ll find out soon enough. Oh the expression on your face is adorable. I can’t wait to see what you and your friends will look like when you all die.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

“No,” Takaoka smirked, “he is.”

Before he could blink, he felt his back slam hard against the wall, sending a sharp burst of pain up his spine. Thin fingers were wrapped around his throat, trapping him in place. He opened his eyes to get a look at his attacker only to feel an anvil drop in his stomach.

Lightning struck, illuminating Nagisa’s hard face, making it look stern, jagged and sharp around the edges, nothing like the sweet little angel that would smile and blush at the slightest hint of praise, nothing like the warm comforting gaze that would be directed to him as they walk together hand in hand. His eyes were glowing electric blue, tinted with uncharacteristically unnatural green near the circumference of his pupils.

“Na-Nagisa…” Karma breathed out, both in shock and due to the struggle he currently had in breathing.

“What,” Takaoka grinned as Nagisa tightened his grip, “was this not the reunion you were expecting? And to think he was so disobedient before. All it took was a few drops of a serum and now he’ll never go against me again.”

“What-what did you do to him?” Karma whispered, fear like no other swirling in his gut.

Takaoka’s face darkened, the facade of abnormal happiness washing off of him. He growled out, “your class took everything from me: my job, my titles, my reputation. Everything I loved, everything I worked for. You broke it, destroyed it with your own hands. So I decided to return the favour. You see Daddy knows what’s best for his children. And if destroying things is what you brats want then that’s what you’ll do. Starting with the one who thought it would be a good idea to go against me to begin with. Of course, I can’t kill you all by myself so I needed to get some help and this little rascal was the perfect guinea pig. You see why would I want to break you down myself when I can get one of your own to do it for me. Well, I’m going now. I hope you kids play nice.”

And with that Takaoka left, leaving the two of them alone in the abandoned room.

“Nagisa,” Karma choked out despite the fingers - the same fingers that would cup his cheek with all of the gentleness in the world - at his throat, “Nagisa, it’s me. Can’t you see me?”

‘He can’t hear you,’ Takaoka’s voice crooned in the back of his head.

He was losing oxygen so he had to act. Fast. With a grunt, he karate chopped the curve of Nagisa’s elbow, making the shorter boy loosen his grip so he used all the strength he could muster to push him away. However, all of his strength didn’t seem to be enough because Nagisa just pushed him back with full force, the impact of his head against the wall making black spots blossom in his vision. For a few seconds, the two of them were just shoving each other and Karma never felt so tired in his life. He always had the upper hand in a fight - even if he was against men double, triple his size. Months of street fights and self-taught weapon-handling would make it impossible for him to get so worn out so soon. If he were against anyone else, they’d already be knocked out.

But his opponent was Nagisa. Nagisa! Nagisa, who would always put others before himself, who would never deny someone a consoling ear or gentle hug, who reached out to a problem demon child like him with a smile despite the darkness he carried and offered him a life of warm smiles and gentle touches that he definitely did not deserve, who he loved with every fibre of his being - and who was currently glaring at him with hatred that he didn’t even know the other possessed. He can’t fight him. He can’t.

“Nagisa, please,” Karma begged, not caring that his voice was starting to crack, “snap out of it.”

Nagisa growled, the noise deep and feral and nothing at all like the pacifist he knew, as he gave Karma another hard shove. Karma retaliated by wrapping an arm around Nagisa’s neck, sending a knee in between Nagisa’s legs and pushing himself up so that he can wrap his legs around the other’s neck in a choke-hold, twisting his body so that the two of them were sent sprawling to the floor. Karma quickly got up but was then hindered by a sting of pain bursting along his calf. Gritting his teeth he looked down to see blood seeping out of a large cut on his lower leg before quickly dodging Nagisa’s knife-wielding (where the hell did he get a knife from?!) fist. Nagisa surged forward again but Karma let his instincts take over, using his arm to block his attack.

“Nagisa, come on, this isn’t you.”

The knife grazed his face, gashing a line of scarlet against his cheek.

“You’re not violent.”

He sent a punch to Nagisa’s face. It made the cracks in his heart grow.

“You’re not aggressive.”

He held onto either side of Nagisa’s face, trying to look past those tinges of unnatural green so that he could dig deep into the other’s unconscious, searching for any hints of the boy he swore he would spend the rest of his life with. Eyes. ‘The windows to the soul’, Nagisa called them. Well, it seemed like someone decided to close the blinds because the blank look he got back showed nothing.

But still, “I love you, Nagisa. I love you. Stop this, please. I don’t want to fight you, Nagi.”

Nagisa’s reply to his cries was a sharp thrust of his head, colliding his crown with Karma’s nose, sending him staggering backwards. Before he could even gather his bearings, the blunette jumped and kicked him with a spin, firing him to the floor yet again. His face burned, both from the grazes and from the stinging of his still tearing eyes. God, he felt useless. He’s the highest ranker in combat - why the hell was he still fighting a battle he could’ve won ages ago.

Wait a minute. Why was he still fighting?

Nagisa wasn’t a fighter. It’s no secret that he wasn’t the best at close combat (the amount of times he would find himself as the loser during sparring practice was more than enough evidence). His skill in assassination was suprise attacks. To come out of nowhere and then disappear into thin air like he was never there to begin with. If Nagisa was really trying to kill him, he would’ve just used his knife to slit his throat or stab him in the chest or something within the first few seconds. The fact that he chose to draw it out instead of using that speed that even managed to let him get the drop on Karasuma-Sensei - that meant that -

He was holding back. He was fighting it.

Karma felt like crying again. Even when he was under mind control, even when he was reduced into nothing but a killing machine, a soldier with no conscious thought and only had murder on his mind - he still didn’t want to kill Karma. 

God, he really f**king loved his little blueberry. And he sure as hell isn’t going to lose him to some stupid brainwashing serum. He knew what he had to do.

Karma dashed forward and…

He felt Nagisa freeze when he wrapped the other in a warm embrace. In the corner of his eye he could see the shorter teen’s hand clenching on the knife but that didn’t stop him from burying his face into the other’s shoulder. He murmured, ignoring Nagisa squirming in an attempt to get out of his hold, “Please come back to me, I’m begging you. I love you Nagisa and I know you love me too. You’re stronger than this, I know you are - you’re one of the strongest people I know. I might be the one that gets higher grades but you, you’re the one that always knows what to do when it comes to people, who knows exactly what to say and how to say it. I can’t do this Nagisa please, I can’t.”

Nagisa had somehow managed to free an arm, raising it so that he had the point of his knife aimed at Karma’s back. Karma closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to strike only-

He heard the clattering of something metal hitting the floor. He felt small hands press tenderly against his bruised back. He pulled back to look down at an adorably confused face (still so beautiful despite the scrapes and bruises littering here and there), sky blue eyes looking at him with bewilderment.

“Karma? What’s going on?”

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: So I'm a Spider, So What? Fei Voice Actor Eri Kitamura

  In coordination with the current season of So I’m a Spider, So What?, Crunchyroll News was given the opportunity to officially translate interviews with the staff and cast of the series. You can read the original Japanese interview with Eri Kitamura right here.

The interview was conducted by Daisuke Iwakura. 

    So I'm a Spider, So What? Relay Interview with Eri Kitamura as Fei: "I'm trying to portray reservedness as a human, and strength as a monster."

"Me" (a.k.a. Kumoko) has obtained Parallel Minds. Meanwhile, on the human side, the Hero Julius has entered the Great Elroe Labyrinth ...

Things are starting to take shape on So I'm a Spider, So What?  For Part 9 of the relay interview series, we speak to Eri Kitamura-san, whose character was reincarnated as an Earth Wyrm. We spoke to her about what it was like to play a character who isn't human.

  —What was your first impression of this project?

Kitamura: I thought it was pretty bold. (Laughs) I think I expected the heroine to be a cute girl because of how things normally go, so I was really surprised to see Kumoko's design. But when I saw the way she was throwing around internet slang, along with the typical video game elements like skills and leveling up, I realized that the story and writing would be just as interesting as the designs, and how Kumoko is really iconic of the show's appeal as a whole. 

—When you auditioned, was it for the role of Fei? 

Kitamura: At the tape submission phase of the audition it was for the role of Katia, but during the studio audition I also tried out for Filimøs. After that, they suddenly asked me if I could read for the dragon. There was no art or script at the time, so when I asked whether or not I should go for something more natural or exaggerated, they told me to show them what the difference would sound like. (Laughs) I thought they were maybe looking for someone who could do monster voices on the side, so I tried making battle sounds and talking cutely, and at the time, I had no idea whether it was what they were looking for.

  —That's interesting.

Kitamura: When I was on my way out the door, Director (Shin) Itagaki said I did a good job, and I had no idea if he meant my take on Katia, Filimøs, or the dragon. (Laughs) But something about what I did made them think I was a good choice for Fei, so I'm glad about how it turned out. 

—What's your impression of Fei?

Kitamura: Before being reincarnated, Mirei stood out a bit in her class, and tended to get on Wakaba's case, so she struck me as a pretty traditional high school character. The kind of person who is a bit more confident about themselves because they're one of the popular kids. But Director Itagaki explained that she wasn't just a simple heelish character, and that when everyone was fawning over Mirei, Wakaba was the one person who didn't, which is what caused that animosity. Essentially she's a young girl who was convinced she should be the center of attention, and that's why she picks on Wakaba and takes a high-handed tone with her specifically. It's not that Mirei is a villainous character, and that balance was something I tried to be careful about.

  —She does have a bit of a precocious high schooler feeling.

Kitamura: I think so, too. I don't think she was quite what you would call a party girl, but she does come across as playful in the way that high school students who try to seem mature do. That was something I made an effort to get across, from Episode 1.

—Is there anything you're careful about because she's a monster?

Kitamura: Mostly just how monstrous to make her sound when she's using magic. An example of that is the scene in Episode 3 where they are using water magic for class. She becomes more powerful over time, so I didn't want to make her seem too strong from the get-go and tried to establish a baseline for how that she would sound initially instead.

  —During the battle with the Earth Wyrm, Fei really demonstrated her strength.

Kitamura: There was something about that I was curious about. After the battle, she earns the title of Kin Eater, and I was wondering if there was a point in the battle that she realized her relationship to this other creature. It's pretty clear she's realized what happened in the scene right after the battle, but it's not specified in the script, so I wondered when she realized who she was fighting, and asked the director about it. Fei doesn't seem the type to be able to fight while keeping a lid on her emotions, so depending on how that works, I thought about maybe changing up the tone when she has to bite into the wyrm's neck.

—What did the director say? 

Kitamura: He wasn't sure about the specifics of the Kin Eater thing, but he pointed out that she would be more analytical and cool-headed than Shun, and that she'd have a better idea of what's going on. Essentially, even if she did realize she was fighting a blood relative, she'd be able to figure out what needed to be done quickly, and would be able to fight normally. That being the case, I tried to make sure that it didn't sound like Fei was wavering or not sure about what to do, and tried to match the way the animation looked. 

—You let the animation direct the way you performed that scene.

Kitamura: I think so. When your character's face is on screen, there's always a temptation to try and get across some kind of subtext for the non-verbal parts, but in Fei's case, I generally try to make sure it's a neutral performance unless something specifically suggests otherwise. 

  —What's your impression of Fei and Shun's relationship?

Kitamura: They're pretty casual in an uncomplicated way, so I try to make sure that the performance comes across as low-key. She's a bit like Shun's pet in some ways, but instead of her being his familiar, their relationship is more of an extension of the one they had as classmates, which means they're on pretty even footing with each other. It's a bit like she's his adventure buddy and older sister.

—Adventuring Buddy and Older Sister is a great way of putting it. (Laughs)

Kitamura: She comes across as a lot more mature and reserved than Filimøs, who used to be their homeroom teacher. (Laughs) So when Hugo is being prickly, her reaction is to sigh and go, "Oh, well." She's not the type of character to push back when someone pushes her. She's reserved as a human being, and strong as a monster, and I think those two factors form the core of why I try to depict Fei with a pretty level-headed attitude.

—The way her relationship with Shun is so steady makes them seem like really good partners.

Kitamura: (Shun) Horie-kun is playing a character who's more calm instead of a really fiery young hero, so together we both give off a vibe of being level-headed. With these two, there's not a lot of, "Okay, let's do it!" "Yeah!" action. (Laughs) The way that they try to operate in a more collected fashion ends up making Hugo seem really impetuous in comparison.

  —With Hugo in the picture, what's your take on how the human part of the story is developing?

Kitamura: The way they don't all get along despite being classmates is realistic to me. They're not exactly in open conflict with each other, but they're not forcing the idea of being friends, either. The fact that you still have different cliques among the class, even after reincarnating in a fantasy world, gives it a strange feeling of realism. Hugo and Yuri stand out a bit from the others, but I feel like the others don't let that bother them. 

—Now that you mention it, excluding Yuri and Hugo, everyone seems to respect each other's space.

Kitamura: That's the case with Fei and Shun, too. Nobody has any idea what Filimøs is up to, and nobody is sticking excessively close to anyone else. They've all got a fair bit of independence from each other. I think Katia might be the one who's most on guard about their surroundings, though. It's that awareness that leads her to warn Shun about Hugo's hostility. There's no telling how everyone's relationships might change over time, which is one thing I'm looking forward to.

—Are there any characters you find interesting other than Fei?

Kitamura: Sue's brother complex is genuinely cute. Half of that is just me finding Yui Ogura cute, though. (Laughs) Other than that, definitely Kumoko. We record separately, and when I see the footage of her and how many lines she has, it always comes as a shock. Her sessions must make her feel like a ping pong ball being knocked around. When I encounter Ao-chan (Aoi Yuuki) in the studio, I always tell her she should be getting paid for three roles' worth this time around.

  —(Laughs)

Kitamura: The simple fact is that the amount of lines means that it'd be a terrifying role for any actor who can't process that amount of material efficiently, which makes me believe that she's a character that can only be pulled off by someone like Ao-chan. I think a big part of that is that she herself is a bit of an otaku ... Granted, I am one, too, so it's not like I can talk. (Laughs) But the way Kumoko talks to herself and certain things about her speech have that distinct otaku style to it, right?

—I agree.

Kitamura: I think the otaku audience has certain things that they like to hear that they recognize, and Ao-chan is able to pull those parts off. Usually, if you're not an otaku yourself, it takes a while to really wrap your head around slang like that. And you can't just say it convincingly, but you also need to incorporate it into your performance in a way that feels natural and sounds good. With her, you're like, "Yes, exactly like that!" And between the chaotic action bits and the comedy parts, she does a great job of displaying her range.

—Thanks for speaking with us. Is there anything coming up after Episode 7 that you'd recommend people keep an eye out for?

Kitamura: A little bit further on, we're going to get a picture of what Fei ... or rather, what Mirei is like as a person, and I think that'll be one of the highlights for the first half of Fei's story. Not just her, but we'll also see what Shun and Wakaba were like during school, so I'd keep an eye out for that. I hope everyone enjoys it.   

By: Guest Author